Reggae music can be heard from the apartment across the street and someone sings along loudly. Nobody was happy for that long, but Bob Marley is still not allowed to become the usual sound reinforcement.
Yesterday was a full moon and the combination with the heat, the Saharan dust and the thunderstorms contained a certain tension. But something is always, as the saying goes, so the accusing look at the sky is something of a white lie, but at least it helps for the moment. It was the moon. The sheet metal damage on the car is also tiny, actually just a scratch. You can hardly see it at all. Only if you look closely. “Then don’t look,” says the colleague.
This reminds you of the physiotherapist, to whom you explain the pain for a long time if you bend your right arm back and up at a certain angle. “Then don’t do this movement,” he says, recommending a number of exercises before trying to see if it has gotten better. And what do you do? Keep checking to see if it still hurts.
Children like to do that too, fascinated by checking whether blood is still coming out of a wound if you squeeze hard enough. Maybe it’s something like an automatic inventory that is hard to get used to. So even adults still jiggle a loose tooth, it just shows up in a different face.
Speaking of which, still. The teenagers in the apartment across the street play Bob Marley and it is thanks to the noisy city that you can hear every song. It’s like Chinese torture, every drop is a sound. He sings about the “Three Birds” chirping sweet songs. “Don’t worry ’bout a thing. Cause every little thing gonna be alright “. My Turkish pigeons add “uh-huh-huuh” and the grumpy crow also interferes. Some of the guys are singing loudly “this is a message to you-ou-ou” and because nobody has sung so happily for so long, it is okay for once to endure one of the most played songs in the world again, but when everyone is better again goes, not just briefly, then we have to talk about it seriously.
(“Die Presse”, print edition, June 25th, 2021)
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