2013 (323) October (15) September (12) Southampton rain and you Knut Odegard - a window opene

From "Knut Odegard. A window wide open", ed. "Janet-45" Translation: Valentin Krastev, 2012 Women who work as a shop Today is one of those clear, cold December days: new moon shines like a flashing belly than women who work in shops - they are on the way to work beneath it glow. Early morning is among this sliding string of women in yellow-gray glow in the snow is in store for the running watches. I figured this woman that breathes nine hours among all these types of watches, clocks ticking and neighborhood, waving to and fro. Such an unstable time with such unexpected changes and twists ups my choice in snowfall and temperature. Now, as she unlocks the store, ups my choice in the poem rain starts softly snow. I call her Lisbeth. Everything is here, she thinks - Lisbeth - which works in the shop for watches: All existing here. Peekaboo, it's the clock on the wall when it comes watchmaker ups my choice and can go for a morning cigarette. Invent other women who work in various shops: they go with glossy black handbags ups my choice together with Lisbeth. They are slightly plump and sexy and sleek open bags; fingers ups my choice with painted black fingernails digging for cigarette packs and lighters. Time so intermittent, worsened while they smoke outside, clutching ups my choice her cigarettes with these prominent, silky delicate fingers and lacquered black fingernails. Rain rain starts. Wet cigarettes - menthol, stained with outrageous pink lipstick on the filter. Yes, everything is here - thinks Lisbeth throws unquenchable butt on the sidewalk and entered the store - everything. Peekaboo, it's the clock. There kurdisani clocks everywhere ups my choice breathe her lungs, her job is to serve here. Christmas is approaching and evening ups my choice sticky snow melts on the roadway where the tires break the ice with chains over dark matter, Lisbeth goes over the head with red leather boots in slush home. Dark matter gets into whiteness as a foreign language writing, thinking as she heels of her boots dig into the gaping black abyss beneath her feet
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