Torben B and more Ramblings

I found a book at the bookstore on Brak Street. The bookstore is about halfway up the hill on the left side. It is rarely busy. A young man with curly red hair pointed me to this book, eager to sell something. The ink is blotchy, reminiscent of books printed around the advent of mechanical printing. It is not the subject of the book that caught my eye, it is the handwritten addendum signed by a certain Torben B that did. He writes of deaths which he tried to prevent. There is an accusation. I dare not repeat. A high up official with investments to protect. I said too much already. I bought the book and hold it now. The content is fictional, a love story. It reads comfortably, has me drawn in. A good distraction from deeper feelings I wish to push aside.

Later. I drank a dark coffee at the small store on the east side of the New Kwarter. I like the local delicacy of honey in coffee. It suits my tastebuds well. A lady sat at a table by the window. I casually appraised her beauty as all men involuntarily do. She smiled at me. I smiled. Nothing more, just smiles. I finished my coffee.

Walked through the park. The dog turd was still there in the park. Sun baked and cracked. A fresher version lay steaming a few lengths away. I studiously avoided the smell by steering well clear of it, at the expense of a few extra steps.

The price of bread was higher at the bakery. Perhaps some shipment of grain failed to arrive or the harvest was bad. I don’t know. Who knows. Maybe a harbour master would.

I bought an alcoholic beverage. I consumed it by a well. Then I made my way back home, to the hotel, which isn’t like home at all. On the way I passed a beautiful woman. It just reminded me of my yearning for the one. She wrote of me and then mocked me for recognizing it.