Fairy-tales

November 9th

This is the only moment I have to weave fairytales, this stolen transversal black hole between two townscapes. From the statue of Lenin, his guesture almost flowing with the wind to protect and offer community to the bare, brazen Karousel - ironic name for a supermarket,; this, children, will be your playground when you are tall enough to negotiate the winding isles. It is not a playground, its’ colours are taken from the electronic vocabulary of a computer screen.
These moments with strangers. Is it ever the same stranger? We are mixed together like a pack of skittles. Perhaps sometimes in an adjacent carriage, a stranger I sketchedthe day before waits.
Nov 1oth
Today, in the carriage, there was a man with a rodent-like face, I thought then as I looked more closely I realised that he was a gaunt alley cat, something very feline skulking in that sucked in face. A graying pen and ink cat. A black cap.