Fell through a trap-door in the universe and find myself working in a hotel again.
If that's what it is. It's a place where the janitor is the boss, the building is a former refugee camp and half the receptionists don't speak decent Finnish. Mysterious Russians are the brains behind it all. It has the run-down look of an old gangster movie about it. And a huge bird, a magpie, has built a nest just outside the reception window. I've only seen one magpie in it yet though there should be two. "One for sorrow, two for joy..."
3 comments:
The birds fly with the change of seasons. You, my dear PP, emulate that in the occupations.
Surprised that you can consider a side-occupation in addition to the full-time job of stormgazer and pianopoet!
i can well see the building.strange staccato bursts of a foreign tongue. And of course, some 007 style russians.
**yodeling**
Have you been kidnapped? By nightmares on midnight steeds?
Yes, I really have more than enough to do, stormgazing and pianopoeting (I made a new word!). Still, even a poet sometimes have to spend time in a kitchen stirring oatmeal porridge for suspect hotel guests in order to get a perspective of the world such as it is.
Will get back to blogging as soon as I learn to reconcile my world and reality....
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