{724} поездa. or post with instructions manual.

first, go to the end of the post and press play. then, get back here and start reading. in the end, shutdown the computer and pay me a coffee.

late morning rise, departing sintra – people who overslept and jumped straight into the train, whitish collar people going to some depressive job, teenagers on the phone with themselves, lost people who wished they’d gone to be earlier the previous night, the ocasional bitchy lad who likes to shine his muscles, the pair of old ladies who chatter everyone away, the (not so) ocasional bitch gal who probably didn’t pay the electricity and mistook the belt for a skirt, the pair of even older ladies who snore, the bunch of punk wannabes who flash everyone their not-CK underwear (and the ocasional private hairs…).

crossing the morning river – as many people as tits in a bitch. generally, me and the security person…

the south underground upperground – the usual hormonal inconsequent teenagers tweenagers, the ones who recognize me propmtply, the others that chit chat all the way “is it him, it’s not, yes it is” through my sunglasses, the ocasional gay student who talks to no-one and deafens by the second, the cleaning ladies who bark (by this order!) at each other, bitch their husbands, their bosses, their friends, their daughters, their sons, and, time allows, at themselves, and the ocassional male underteen who gets fascinated by the tweenager girls, the ocassional reitered elders who i believe buy the monthly ticktes to spend the days back and forth, and always, but always, the same idiotic, overproduced, underbrainded (and completely assed-up) geekish nerd!

the afternoon upperground – the sweaty students are still sweating each other at college, the sweaty cleaning ladies still bitch at everything, the male underteens are long curfewed, the teens and tweens are probably reproducing themselves bionically or texting themselves in the bathroom, and i go home, amidst the downing sun…

crossing the afternoon river – the city is beautiful in the evening, the lighting is something special… i don’t know… the ocasional dandies that flee to lisbon for the nite are there. some poshly junked in suits and sport shoes. some undescribable in sleeveless shirts with bare hairy chests supporting chains and more chains shouting at mobiles and showing off their not-CK underwear accompanied by the occasional gals with g-strings too stretched up and once by a gay guy with a string beneath his linneen see-through short, and suits, lots of suits going to the capital.

evening, to sintra – semi-full. it’s late for most of the people who stopped working at five or six, it’s early for the flamboyant dandees that take up the nights to themselves. it’s neither early nor late. it’s my favorite time of the day. not alone, but in my world, just me, wondering, and i go on wandering…

and now close your eyes and sing along…

The Wanderer, U2 and Johnny Cash