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December 2008, vol 4 no 4

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Marleen Wenneker-Hulst

 

Monday Morning

Eight thirty a.m. The city awakes. People on bicycles and on foot pass on their way to work. Hasty shoes echo in the narrow street. Here and there shops are already open. Owners put their advertisement-board outside and add today’s special offer with fresh white chalk. A pink-haired lady stands on a stepladder and washes the windows of an antique shop, waving enthusiastically when greeted by a passer-by.

Monday morning—
the hum of vacuum cleaners
before opening time

During these few hours before travelling home again I am having a final taste of the old city centre's friendly atmosphere. A picture on a bill board; the silence between the walls of the public garden; the renovated façades; the festive window displays. To be sure I miss nothing I study my city map once more. Halfway through the morning I choose a seat on the heated terrace of a restaurant. A friendly waiter welcomes me and disappears again quickly with my order for coffee and apple pie. I am suddenly aware that I haven’t thought about you since last evening.

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