Last leg (original) (raw)
footpad gentle
May 21 2011, 06:27
It's all about perspective. (Disclaimer: at least if you include the possibility that one's perspective just might be from the centre of a midden from which you are about to be summarily evicted on the tusks of a rabid boar.)
In this case, my perspective is left over from the moment when the fat Zugbegleiterin told me that I'd make a connection in Frankfurt that would get me through to Cologne, and thence to home and hearth and dog. It was a connection that would take me through the arse end of nowhere, at an hour of the morning that by rights should not even exist, but nonetheless it was a way home and it meant I wouldn't be stranded in Dickdarmdorf without a paddle.
It's a grey dawn over Cologne and I'm on the last leg, the little commuter train that gets me to within ten minutes' walk of home. The entire landscape is sketched in a thousand pastel hues of green fading to grey; so many different kinds of green. Through a minute fracture in the clouds, I can see one tiny curve of cloud illuminated by sunlight, and below it somebody is flying a gas balloon.
Which reminds me! Don't forget, folks, today's the rapture! When you see the golden hoover nozzle descending from heaven to suck you right on up, be sure to hang on real tight to something solid, because you sure as hell don't want to spend eternity with the crowd who're going there.
Anyway, I have a dog to cuddle. Be seeing you.