blablabla


4/04/2012

The Morning Train

Traveling by train is time well spent. I like nothing better than watching the world move by, or actually me, moving by the world. I love train rides, they are one of those luxuries, especially for aimless mind-wanderings, that may very well lead to great ideas, most of the times though, they lead nowhere.
Fun, nonetheless!

I imagine, I must look stupid when I space out like that, with my mouth half-opened, and empty-eyed sockets. I'm working, people, what did you expect! Anyways, back to my train of thought.

I am noticing an elderly man and his dog getting on the train, slowly, they move to a similar tune, and I find myself wondering, how long these two have been friends. I imagine them living together in an apartment with two rooms, lowered shutters and floral textiles everywhere. Too much of a cliché, I know.

It's apparent however, how much they like and depend on each other, how could they not. The old man with the cane, he's not looking grumpy at all, quite a rare sight for a morning train, with everyone looking displeased. The dog, the epitome of serenity, a brownish-colored collie mix, with those trustful dog eyes sits down beside him. He sticks his tongue out at me. They must have known each other for a very long time. There isn't one without the other. It will be sad, the inevitable day when one of them...beep..beeep.

The train comes to a stop. The opening sound of the door shrills through the coach, a teenage girl comes in with a large basket. She's carrying food for at least four people, the typical Munich brunch with large pretzels, Obazda, and some sort of trendy healthy fruit. She slumps herself into the seat across from me. She looks sad, disappointed even, with a slight hint of anger somewhere in between her brows. Immediately, my wheels start turning. Why is she carrying all this stuff? Is she on her way to a picnic date?

She grabs a large piece of the jumbo pretzel, dips it into the Obazda bowl, then eats it, munches. The nice decor of napkin against pretzel, it is gone. She destroys it on purpose. Maybe she comes from a date. A blind date. They didn't even get as far as the eating part, because it was awful, and they parted ways shortly after saying "hello".

Or maybe the nice basket is a parting gift from the firm that just fired her.

I would have loved to find out the truth. The things that happen, daily, worldwide, to every single person out there, they amaze me. Everyone moves towards something. How is this even possible, so much room for so many stories, one for each person, and squared egos, broken, and rebuilt several times over the course of a lifetime. Every train holds a library, a truckload of people, and all of their thoughts and memories are on board. It must be heavy. So very heavy in fact, that no one can lift the damn thing.


 München nähe Hackerbrücke; Oil painting by Susanne Kiesewetter