Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne
here, when he comes in we’ll let you know.
You’d also meet her outside the gate waiting for him to get off work. Everyone had already left, but she’d sometimes wait till dusk, till night. It would be raining, pouring even, but she’d wait. She didn’t have her umbrella anymore, who knew what had happened to it. Out of pity the watchmen would sometimes bring her in to the watch house so she wouldn’t get so wet. Or they’d tell her to go away, that there was no point in waiting.
“My husband works here,” she would reply.
“He used to, but he doesn’t anymore. And what do you mean, your husband?”
“He’s my husband, he took an oath. I wore a wedding gown, a priest married us.”
“What do you mean, a priest. He was a welder. Besides, he’s dead now.”
Sometimes she’d beg them to let her onto the site.
“Let me in.”
“Come to your senses, girl.”
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