Monday, November 22, 2010


it was dark and quiet outside. Early in the morning. The radio was humming in the background. The rest of the house was sleeping. I cut some bread with a knife. The radio told about the weather. Danger of slippery roads. Where the traffic might get jammed. The man telling about the traffic was a kind of a thypical traffic-radio-man. Music. From the 80s. Then the news. About a family being robbed. Someone just walked into the house and tied the family up. Parents and children. Then collected all they could find of valuable stuff. And left. I could hear such news almost every day. About someone being robbed.
Somewhere ahead. Behind forest and hills. Was the big city of sickness. It was boiling. It was the place where everything wrong happened. People who was stealing, robbing and murdering. In a way I felt quite safe in this house in the forest. It was hidden and not easy to find.
At the same time. It could be dangerous. If someone just found us, it could be difficult to get help, being so desolated.
Earlier this summer, a man came at the door to sell something. He had a note, telling about lots of difficulties, and that he needed money. I told him quickly that I had no cash and locked the door.
What if this man just was an informant for the criminals in the big city?
I got dressed and went outside. Some dogs howled at the distant. I went down to the main road. The bus breathed and stopped. Then transported me to my new job.

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