melancilie

Melancolie The August heat is hotter than other summer months more lethal going in for the kill,  The olive trees gasp, bark crackles and leaves hang  lifeless, but the sun keeps on shining  I think of Norway. to be back to my hometown run down to the park and remember the joy when  Stavanger became a modern town Cafe Alexander where one could have  a pint of beer without eating a sandwich that has been the norm The idea was to stop people from drinking alcohol  that was, in our narrow-minded society, a great sin  there were other places to go on a Friday, say Inter cafe, but to get in after nine, you had to be a friend of the doorman who wielded immense power but  was open for a bribe  Then there was a place called "Hunters Lodge." always full, the dominating waiter at the inn, grew wealthy  taking bribes, keeping order his way, believing in free enterprise. It often rains in my hometown, and I refuse to carry  an umbrella, which is a defeatist sign giving into the vagary of the weather.  As I walk on steep streets, I remember how sad I was feeling like a loser and not finding  the tune, I knew  was there only to get old and understand that I had demanded too much of life, the not obtainable   perfection