In Lars' home in Ettlingen, they let me sleep late. I had breakfast with Lars. We walked the dog past Lars' high school and a public garden across from his back yard. We took the car, and Christina, over the autobahn at higher speeds than I've ever been before, with Gordon Lightfoot blasting and Lars and me singing and harmonizing to him. We ventured to Heidelberg, where we saw a castle (destroyed by war) and a tourist shopping town that is too much. We walked "Philosopher's Way'" up a hill to overlook the city from the opposite bank of the Rhine river. We ate Pizza Hut pizza vigorously and walked up to the castle, straight up the hill many steps, which somebody had taken the liberty to number, but it was hard to read all the way and I lost interest. It would be fun to number everything in a house, like each of the steps, wall panels, and tiles with every written out number of every language.
Then back to Lars' home for some soup and coffee. I took a shower. We had the infamous slide show of our trip through Canada and Lars' trip with Barbara beyond that. He had over 800, but I only saw 600 of them then. We watched the video of last weeks production of Lysistrata. I was not impressed with my filming, but it is good for memories. Barbara came later, during the play/film, and we talked. Those two broke up one year ago. She gave us a ride to the train station, and we set off on the trip of a lifetime. She gave us a ride to the train station, and we departed for Paris.
St. James, MN
Hell if I'm not deep staring into my untouched coffee cup, big spooning bean & something soup into my mouth, missing some. And on top that still cup a coffee reflects the tin decorations of the brown ceiling. It is far clearer in my cup than it is in this hazy room. In my coffee it takes on a clean wet look. I pause in my gaze to take a sip on the smooth american taste.
Sweet strawberry pie contrasting coffee white whip creamy and warm brew. Strawberry pie gets me. how could any unbaked good be so good. Anti-people, this place pretentious in its un-pretention. A plywood plaque placates "The world needs more people like US and fewer like THEM." An expedient but generous waitress with a soft brown afro of german stock asks "anything else?" every time she passes. And I am not half done with my pie. She fills coffee at half cups. The Crescent cafe. "There's a lot of eaten establishments in this town." This is the only one I've eaten at before.
Not 4 years ago, my bus stopped here on my way to Worthington to meet old friends. Soon I must go there again. I perform there this week.
Grey mosaic table booth with faux paint job. No, it's true mosaic, encrusted with "Wake up the next day in the black hills with..."
I'm getting a grindin' urge to go west with Kerouac croning in long sentence assumptions. This place is a millenium of a cafe. I'd like a soda-less cafe, a dairy bar perhaps. Everything as old as sin.
"People just don't know.... just don't know." Names, 1st names, are known here. I better up and leave. It hurts to know no one knows me. If I was a traveler, I would be a minstrel poet. A guitar and flute in my trail bags.
I gotta up and leave someday. Just up, and out, like a no good, like a sleeper.
Rachel went to the Ballard House to help get the shop ready for a rummage sale day in town, which they thought would spill over into customers in the room we rented there.
We had a Games Night at Sara's, and played "Apples to Apples" and Buzz Word.