Summer Days

On a Saturday, in a little flat, the sun shines through the little edges of the window. A new day, a weekend at that, in this bustling city. Three piles of laundry wait at the corner. Separated by function and fabric, more than by colour. Coins into the slot and of goes the purring washer. A merry walk downstairs to the shop around the corner, weekend edition of FT in hand, a happy boy marches on. An errand at the bank, a morning smoothie to quench the thirst. Coins into the dryer next, and playing truant online he goes ahead, akin to pulling a girl’s hair at the playground.

Late lunch at a place with ponds and fountains. And walk on and on he does with his companion for the day. Shopping is the name of the game. A Burberry raincoat he will not buy, regardless of the logic being attempted on him. Only a student he is now. A functional pair of shoes, more formal looking than usual should be enough. By the road he sits, diet Coke not coffee. No coffee so late in the day for him. A veggie delight crepe for dinner. And another round of laundry he does. While watching the flat idiot box on the wall, fascinating story of the movements of people into this country.

I make not much sense. The green lines of MS Word are all over the place. But who cares. It’s carefree summer days. In a city delightful for the summers.