A late night train. Rude people & Problems.

Oh this old & cold place! If ever they could return home.

Her hair  – in a bun – emprissoned.

Her ears – pendants – little easter eggs.

Po-Russki – not hers – somewhere in the distance.

Her neck – no description – at arm’s length.

Does she shows any metamorphosis?

Unfortunately her husband was involved. That is, primo, he was the cook, which invariably meant “hutspot” with carrots, secundo, he also was a guest at his own table, ergo a real show-off.

“You know, when I went working for a year or so in one of their countries, I had to adapt my habits to their customs, to their laws. Hey! No problem! But if they come here, they wanna change everything, even our culture! Isn’t that so? And we, we just have to let things be that way? I reckon , that ain’t right! You won’t hear me saying Happy Holidays or any of that nonsense. What’s wrong with Merry Christmas anyways ?”

She could not help thinking about her man as the ultimate embarrassment! These were her slightly left-wing friends sitting at his table, he doing all this reactionary talking of them against us.

Luckily wine there was plenty and everyone was in a good mood from the beginning. So her friends argued a little bit with the hubby, and it didn’t come to a quarrel,  not a real fight.

But everyone agreed about one thing – what is wrong with Merry Christmas ?

After the gig he went for a meet & greet, buying all her records, taking pictures -hand stetched out- pictures of them both cheek to cheek, smiling, telling her how much her music means to him, …

… blah & blah & oh & blah & blah & ah & …

Oh my gosh, what a freaky earthling – she was thinking – why don’t I ever meet some real people on these little shit hole planets – where I always give the best I have with all the love of the universe bursting from my intergalactic soul.

She was aware that all of the staring all of the time from all of the people went to her friend always & everywhere.

The talk was about boys.

How dumbassed they were.
How they would not or could not replace a bulb.
How lazy they were.
How they didn’t manage to get a job.
How they couldn’t express their feelings.

In the mean time the staring kept on going – all of the world trying to reach the high end of her stockings.

Anyhow
Opening soon
Kinshasa dim sum deli

Brisk movements
Rude manners
Friendly eyes
A jacket that read autonome nationalisten

He asked the fragile woman – entschuldigung !- this train – Antwerp?

She felt assaulted – afraid, as if (and so it looked like for a second) he would bite her nose, as if he would throw himself upon her, swallow her.

He did not – she backed off – he looked puzzled – seemingly unaware of his effect on her.

& then – there was that song hanging in the air

It’s merely a subject shift.  From me, to them…
And them, they, the others is what this is about.

What it should be about.

Them – could be a litle rich girl, could be a poor old bummer, but them can’t be me.