It is already autumn. At least late summer. It’s almost a month since I quit my job to become a full-time writer. If not a true author yet, then at least I conduct research for a book project I have been working on for some time.
All my working life I have had problems getting up in the morning, but lately I have woken up very early every day. At first I thought it was a little scary to wake up at 5am, but eventually I started to appreciate this too. I can spend a couple of hours reading or go for a walk and still start working at 8am! Some mornings I just sit in the living room with a cup of coffee and read in the light of a dim lamp and a candle. Other times, when the sun breaks through, I go for a walk to the park. This was such a day when I just wanted to go out and watch my street come to life.
Out in the street I see a window cleaner who cleans the windows in store after store so they will shine when the customers arrive. There are some delivery vans parked. A man rolls a rack of clothes across the street and into a store. The bakeries that have names that should indicate that they bake themselves get bread, buns and pastry delivered.
The air is a bit chilly, but the sun is rising and it seems to be a nice day today as well. I make the trip through the alleys and across the square. Some salesmen are in the process of setting up their stalls. Some sell only crystal, while others put out something very similar to scrap. One never knows what is gold or gray stone in this market. I stop by Maria who is about to put out goods in front of the small shop she runs. This little crowded shop on the corner has everything from flowers to whatever you need. Last week I bought a corn pipe from her. I do not smoke pipe, but could not resist it where it sat between odor fresheners and jellymen.
Maria also makes fajitas that taste absolutely heavenly. My Spanish is so bad that our conversations always become pleasant with lots of laughter. I buy a couple of fajitas and she gives me a loaf of bread from yesterday that I can give to the ducks in the park. I stop in the middle of the cobbled street and feel the warm breeze blowing straight at me. The air is mixed with the delicious smell of coffee from the coffee distillery down by the harbour. Apart from a car in a neighboring street, it is completely quiet and every sound can be heard quite clearly.
When I walk through the gate into the park, there are already some joggers out, but otherwise the park is empty. I stroll past the bridge and down to the water where the ducks have already spotted me. I take a stand by the big birch so the ducks do not have to risk being taken by the current and carried over the edge under the bridge. The ducks seemed happy to see me.
In the corner of my eye I see a slightly sunken thin figure coming over the bridge. He submissively approaches me and asks if I have any money to spare. Unfortunately I do not have any. He has no response to that. He is just standing there looking out over the water like he is a friend of mine. None of us say anything for a long time.
– My name is Mink, he says suddenly and breaks the silence.
Are you baptized Mink I ask. He laughs and says his real name is Phillip. I notice that he is wearing a hat from one of the more famous hockey teams in town. As with all big teams there are both ups and downs. His team is currently down in a deep valley. Unlike my team which is consistently bad.
He begins to tell a story about how he has been thrown out of the apartment at the hospice and how tough life is. His story does not require a response but I nod and say that life is always hard for fans of his team. He laughs a little. If I were a duck I would fly far far away, he says without taking his eyes off the water. There is a lot of pain in his voice. I listen quietly, thinking about the decisions he has made that have led him to this point in life. Or how many good or bad days I have ahead of me before I end up as Mink. He suddenly finds that the pain of telling his story was too much and goes off to get a fix. I say good luck as he wanders off.
The pond is just mine again and the loaf is gone. The ducks have lost interest in me. There are more joggers out now so I head home. Even if I choose the longest route, the way back always seems shorter.
On the way, I stop by Maria and tell her in my best Donald Trump voice that I will build a wall and she will pay for it. She laughs and shouts; Buene suerte para ti!
There is now lively trade in the square nearby. I stop outside my apartment and look up at the sky. The morning has made its entrance and the sun is shining down on me. Despite all the challenges I can envision in my new life as a writer, it feels like I have found my own formula for happiness right now. I love my adopted city and the life I have chosen here. At least for now.
Billy Bronco is telling you 