Post Titled: Tuesday Morning Non-Fiction 8:35am, the Canals of Fair City (and Their Regulars)
Unlock the big fast bike and crank the newer Beirut album into ye olde heaphones, the immigrant kids are playing kickball before school on the cobblestone street just on the edge of the Gräfekiez. Grass is green along the banks sloping down into the water and there are tons of new adolescent swans, bike traffic bike traffic big bike riding quicker along the canals, on the path and on the grass and under the trees along the the canal are two groups of mixed people -many different ages, perhaps 25 in all- with either Down syndrome or another mental retardation - the first group is being lead by a pretty blonde with a swinging ponytail, she is teaching them to jog while punching the air -kinda like Rocky- they are catching on quickly and before long look like a force to be rekoned with. Group two -a bit further along- is all over the path and lawn getting into sync with group jumping jacks. "Sunday Smile" rises and the young swans are mottled, haly white half grey, all patchy and naieve, learning how to eat- watching the retards and watching me go by. we all blink blink blink in the morning whitelight.

sitting in the hinterhof park in the sun...
"but what is a baby duck called. In German there is a word for it: küken, ist ein küken."
"I think... ok, a chicken is a chick and a duck... is just a baby duck."
"that is boring."
"no, it is cute. a baby duck!"
"no..."
(2 minutes later)
"oh, shit- no, it is called a duckling! that's right." as I slowly forget pieces of my own language... things I have to wring my brain now for...