Notes from Nowhere

fimmtudagur, nóvember 17, 2005


How is it that I remember myself so uniquely, popping out of town on a bus to buy a battery to start the car? Something about the locality speaks of a deep breath; the boarded up bingo hall, the sea not so far. Like an opening, an expansion, as the blue sky echoes infinite, the promise of winter starts delivering. The people, behind the counter, old boys all or old boys to be, cheerful and friendly (and I'm sure equally able of the opposite), unpretentious, unhurried, rooted. A lunch break brings me home somewhere slower than this mad city and my mad city dreams. Oh that my car never starts again.. Or that I ride away more often to places like this once more.


At 1:45 f.h., Blogger Olivia said...

With me!


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