It was a gorgeous at half passed three this afternoon, as I headed into the city to buy a new DVD player. The one in my bedroom whirred and buzzed and then banged and the lights went out. It's funny how there is never any discussion with some appliance. Well, maybe I could do without it.
Half passed three? Is that what people say now, half passed three. Or, is it all three thirty now, anything else is showing ones age.
The afternoon had a lull, not unlike siesta in Italy, or Spain, or other civilised cities, where the rain stopped but the sky was still awash with grey and there was quiet, a peace, a comparative lull, that was both embracing and strange. A moment where all the inputs for peace lined up and there was a momentary contented sigh breathed by one and all. A slow, a moment, a sit on the fence, sniff the flowers blooming in the park. Melancholy without the angst. Silence without the boredom. A moment when every thing was right with the world.
I was on Albert Street, crossing by the church on the corner, heading for Parliamentary Reserve. Albert Street was empty, whichever way I looked, like a quiet side street.
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