Av evening with my friend. We walked past a pile of garbage, usually I see around this pile a couple of fearless and fairly huge rats but tonight the rats have gone AWOL.
My friend points at two chairs on the pile. You cannot sit on the chairs anymore, but besides that: very much chairs.
‘I love the wood,’ she says. She lifts one of the chairs from the pile, examines it closely. ‘Maybe I should take it home,’ she mumbles. ‘My daughter will hate me for it. But it’s beautiful, it’s gorgeous.’
I would hesitate to call this chair gorgeous, but for a chair on a pile of garbage it could have been worse.
We bring the chair back to the building and leave it at the doorman.
‘And the second chair?’ I ask.
‘Maybe on the way back,’ she says.
After dinner we walk back. The wind is getting stronger.
‘Whenever we see each other it’s always so cold,’ she says.
I point at the second chair.
‘No not as beautiful as the first one,’ she says, ‘this is really garbage.’