this is not one of them — Daydreaming as a profession

the old boy wakes up three hours ahead of the world that lives in concrete buildings and one hour ahead of the competition and emerges from his damp tent looks around the park looks at the sky

Overcast

He stretches a bit and scratches his head and walks over to the fountain and has a drink collects some mint leaves chews on them spits and rinses his mouth

The work clothes are already on him

Boots two pairs of socks cotton and wool faded jeans a shirt a sweater and coat over them mittens and a cap that covers his ears as well It’s now time to set about collecting tin cans around the neighborhood to make just enough for a meal and a half and maybe a few cigarettes sold individually

It’s been enough years for all this to become routine

When you don’t know of any better you don’t expect any better

And now he only did this to have just enough energy and life force to visit the public library and read heart warming poems

this is not one of them — Daydreaming as a profession

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