I am your man
Monday, bloody monday. In the evening Going home. Instead of taking the streetcar I walk. Start almost at the boarder of town, at Stalle: walk up the Gatti de Gamond looking for small paths that are there since people used to walk to church on sundays. The neighborhood is fairly new (seventies) but paths are still there and fairly well kept but hidden. I enter in the heart of the residential part of Uccle; nine o’clock in the evening but you can hear a needle drop in the streets. After a while I arrive at the Vossegat, a cobble stone road (fifteen minutes form the grand place ) with wooden houses & gardens. I think Pippi & Heidi live over there when they are not in Scandinavia or Switzerland. Down to the main road the street becomes a path with lampposts and security camera’s: 19th century workers lodges refurnished by some lucky bastards.
I feel like Nani Moretti: looking at houses in an emptied Rome (Caro Diario), he on his vespa I by foot.
Looking for a bar is quite a problem after 9 p.m.. I walk up to the square noticing an ambulance in front of an Italian restaurant, all customers are outside: a murder, a dead costumer? There is a bar at the end of the street (5 minutes from where i live and never been there). Time for a drink: A glass of Tripple Westmalle. One customer is a flemish guy Marc, a postman accompanied by his girlfriend Anneke. Five minutes later I decide this will be my holiday-bar-in-my-hometown. In september i won’t come back here but now it is MY spot.
Had a nice evening although I knew the truth about the ambulance: A man of 55 years old died of chocking in a piece of meat. Was there with friends who invited him since his wife and children were on holidays in Turkey. My age and the children & partner are as well on holidays. I could have been that man.