| prose by Barbara Busch | |
| London landing today looked like Johannesburg. Sunshine, dry mist. Flying in, flying out, all cities look the same if the weather is right. Stranded desert of buildings, green in-between. Still scared of flying. Old couple beside me from Dallas, on the way home. Introduced themselves but I wonder whether they hear me when I talk. Wrapped around themselves in their habit. They still make contact with me. Give me the newspaper. Fashion in New York and Paris. ‘Hahaha’, says the old man, ‘are you ready for Heathrow.’ ‘The food gets worse as we hit the States.’ says the wife. ‘Remember New York? I must remind them of somebody they knew. |
| commentary by the teachers |
|
We find the second and the last lines to
be quite true. Die Sätze sind knapp und unsentimental. The story is like a snapshot, a travel photo. It's good! |
