Ukrainian Barszcz
I returned. To foot. Of the bus stop at the crossing Kastanienallee/larch avenue. By the last holperige piece of the Kastanienallee. Before it ends before the Łaski house. , Where my room under the roof is. Here one has the impression, one is somewhere on the village (and not in one of the best accomodation Krakaus). Broken road surfacing. Of weeds practicing adult inclined sidewalks. I go in the middle on the road. To the right side a new house is built. Afterwards the meadow comes. The horse stud. And I have the impression in the last days the whole world to have orbited. To carry the whole globe on the back. Home. Like my Engelin. The wings. There yet three o'clock in the afternoon and I would like to only sleep. In the kitchen Ukrainian Barszcz cooks. In an enormous pot. The long board is already covered. What is here the matter? Nazar with new hair-style. Looks still nobler. Loads me in. To the meal with all around five. I returned evenly only. Legend I. Redundant way. On the refrigerator in the kitchen a letter for me lies. From Switzerland. The death notice of Beat M. addresses from my friend, its first wife and nut/mother of its children. The world presses on my shoulders. Nobody could at that time, when they separated from cheerful sky, because Beat a new Partnerin did not have, which also none understood, anybody could know at that time or suspect that Beat must live fast. In the Trab. Gallopp. Zweispurig. In order to keep up. With which, today none of us knows until. But we understand now that it little time was vergönnt. It died at all souls at heart failure - with 47 years. In the room under the roof the laptop draws 72 new enamels to me from the net. W. arrived lucky at Guangzhou. Reported that it carry a kurzärmeliges shirt. Daytime temperature on the average with 24 degrees. I answer that I call before five. Because we around five in the kitchen to the Ukrainian Barszcz meet.
