There’s a million questions I have asked her in my mind, but now I don’t know what to say to her. I’m slowing down, counting my steps.
Then, finally she opens the door, carrying a big crate of empty bottles. She curses when she can’t pull the door closed behind her. She tries to swing it shut with her foot but it bounces back again.
She starts towards the street with the bottles. She doesn’t notice me.
A man passing yells at her and she looks up. They know each other. He crosses the street and she puts down the crate.
It’s about 50 meters towards her front door. I do not hesitate.
She’s standing at the street corner and talking to the man, nervously hopping from one leg onto the other. Hands in her pockets. It’s cold. She laughs and kicks the crate with the tip of her shoe.
The grass is covered with ice and I hear it crack under my feet, when I approach her front door. Nobody sees me when I enter. All sounds are muffled in the grey morning weather.