Sweeping up any stray leaves or runaway wrappers, “The Mayor” (and largest property owner) of my street is up at five in the morning, as usual. Today he has extra work to do because the night before, for mysterious Dutch reasons, kids went on a kind of Halloween walk. As usual, and despite the hour, The Mayor is smoking a cigar.
Outside the supermarket, while his mom gets his younger brother up on their bike a five year old with white hair and thick glasses—kid sure looks like a nerd— practices spinning. This he does until he falls over. The brick may be hard, but he does nothing except laugh as he hits the ground.
The gigantic guy who serves me a veggie sausage at the market enjoys that I ask for sauerkraut too. “You like it rough,” he says as he tells me he likes the the word sauerkraut than in the Dutch, bloomkool. “More flavor in that one,” he says.
Fix things if you can, entertain yourself whenever possible and, you know, suck the marrow out of words.