(Fragment Chapter 4)


I’m at my window again and looking out, as goose bumps overtake my body.

Three stories down a tram crosses the Blauwe Brug. The front of the tram is clearly marked number nine, as were many before it today. Dutch gables and stepped gables, trees and steeples prevent me from seeing the horizon. It’s not the pleasant summer breeze blowing in that is giving me goose bumps, it’s the entries in the notebook.