A police car sounding like a bitten monkey just rushed past the building towards the river. The cheese from the morning sandwich does not feel right in my warm mouth. The coffee was too light and too sweet, but I should really not complain, because no matter how hard I tried I could not have made coffee myself. Or milk, or sugar, or any of the ingredients. Including the tasty paper cup, the most prominent of the flavors on this one.
I have had the strangest of dreams for the last few days. They all somehow involved places I somehow knew in Germany. Most of them featured some real loss of control. (As in driving a car, not as in personal hygiene.) As if the reality of things left behind had not been enough of a bizarre beast, my brain manages to somehow create incredible variations of the situations past. Franz Kafka and Sigmund Freud would have had a ball at the party I attended last night. The images were as clear as they were murky. The visitors had tongues as sharp as their hearts were dull.
I woke up to a feeling of complete failure. Why would such bitter ghosts choose to hunt me down all the way to this actually not so unhappy place on the upper west side? What have I done? Or what have I not done?
I will now close this little browser window and get on my way through the bellows of this beloved city into the bellows of one of my favorite skyscrapers, to work on one of my favorite projects with some of my favorite people who happen to be part of one of my most favorite agencies on the planet.
Who is trying to send these disgusting vibes my way? (It is always nice to blame somebody else for very private feelings of "Angst". Well, whoever you are... please stop, okay?)
The paper bag in which my sandwich came is called Joao de Sousa. I like that they all have their names.
Will we ever know if the police car made the monkey sounds because it had to get somewhere, or just because the boys inside really wanted to run a red light? Good morning silly thoughts.
