Don´t you look back?

The houses look stupid. Somebody must have thrown them there like the stones that playing children throw on a summer day at random. Then I watch the beautiful waitresses move about graciously and confidently in the breakfast area. Still I decide not to eat much so that I don´t have to carry the load when I am out. Another waitress is busy squeezing oranges in a machine and the oranges look like lottery balls rolling. But the winning numbers are not mine as usual. I cannot forget that refreshing orange smell.  

I go up and down and take a picture of an old vending machine. I buy a coat of a totally different colour but I believe spending a day here will bend your taste. I don´t understand why people meet and eat together at dining table each with her and his own plate but don´t sit together on a large loo designed as a table for both sexes. Is this not the ultimate gender communication?

I go up and down the road. How stupid of me the cars move past at high speed. Isn´t it a miracle I am still alive. Am I really back in my house or I am dreaming. How can I be sure? I wonder how can such a young girl work in a 1001 nights country as an au pair? Yesterday I saw some of these faces in the cloudy sky. Probably such young girls are fascinated by the difference, the other, the strange.

The moutains in my country are different. They are dying from lack of water and the people do not respect them. Maybe that´s why they sometimes sulk. Who knows what will become of them in a hundred years?

Jamshid

Bremen, 31 December 2015