Emptiness

Blistering under  a sweltering heat, impaled on a vertical shaft, the pork bleeds beads of sizzling fat with every rotation. The Doner Kebab attendant is absent, and all 'round the streetcar there is an uncanny silence.

The Wait.

For the third time this week, I sit by a window at Cafe Goethe whilst a dark pedestal fan carries out sentry duty. Students of the Institute, occupy the pavement between classes but when the break is over, and the pavement empty, there is an suffocating quiet, a quiet, disturbed only by the propeller beat of this oscillating fan. I am waiting.

Harvest Time

A warm, brisk, breeze blows across dry, paddy fields carrying with it the smokey stench of dead rats and the smoldering ruination of shredded, rices stalks. Old men swing the sickle in timeless rhythm whilst the less experienced gather up sheaves to be hauled away, two by two, from the fields by foot, cart or boat, prior to being threshed at some designated collection point. It is late May and the Harvest has to come in.

Fisherman Paul

"Moin, Moin!" said Paul in a deep, gutteral growl through his beard and whiskers; his fisherman's cap leaning lopsided over one ear. I waved as he continued, "Na, wei geht's?" "I'm good," I replied, "so, Paul... what's got you dragging me out of bed at 3 am in the morning?" "The fish Bettina, they're glowing! You've got to see the fish!"