Trafika Europe 6 - Arabesque

the physics of sorrow

memory and you remain in your childhood forever. To a certain extent, it ’s merciful. He also might be going crazy, everything might just be in his head. He got up and slowly went over to the window. He stood there for a moment before drawing aside the tatty curtain, then abruptly yanks it away. Down below school kids really were marching around, in the same uniforms as fifty years ago, men and women in sui ts and long gray trench coats were standing around them. The marching band was doing its routine, while the sun showered its glimmering rays into the brass instruments, which had been shined with putzing polish in advance. He hadn’t thought about putzing in ages. A little farther on stood the platform. He got dressed

quickly and went downstairs. They were all real, three- dimensional, living, the men with crew cuts, the women cold-curled, they smelled of strong, cheap cologne, green apples, and once-ubiquitous “Ideal” soap. They must be shooting a film, how could he have fallen for it?Somewherehere thewhole cinematographic machinery would reveal itself. The trucks with the generators, the cameras, the dollies, and slider tracks ...He carefully looked around. There was no sign of any equipment, they had hidden it that well. But still, a bearded director with a megaphone would have to appear out of somewhere shouting “Cut!” and making everyone go back for a second take. The demonstration continued, however, the music was


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