Sitting, talking; sometimes it’s nice to just end up sitting and talking. So here is me, in a wee sort of beer garden and sitting and talking. Of course, for all of you who know me, you know that I am not just sitting and talking.
There is at the moment an ardent thirst for distant scenes for getting away from the all too familiar or at least back to the more familiar. Away, away, away from the little row of shops and cafes that sit on my front door, away from the guy today who encouraged his little kid to piss on the pathway that runs up to that row of little shops and cafes rather than take him over to the bushes six metres in front of him, away from the drivers who drive as if they were the only people on the road, away from the guttural clearing of throats and the big spit, away from the “re4 nao4”, away from the nice little cleaning lady who is really ever so nice but who wet mops a marble floor at two in the afternoon without thinking that people are likely to slip on it and kill themselves, away from the internet connection that cuts off for no apparent reason, away from my diet of dvds and satellite television.
Now where will the ardent thirst for distant scenes take me; back to the more familiar and my home near Munich or to the last great adventure? Real involvement in the West Bank or an incredible lightness of being as I motorcycle from Alaska down to “tierra del fuego”?
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