Go west young man...

Serra on my lap, I'm drinking a coffee with condensed milk.. it's my first coffee alone in 3 days. Having switched all the outside lights off, I'm sitting in the dark on the back porch; the very last of the half light has faded to black velvet.
It's a perfect frog & cricket evening, except for muffled country music wafting up from the camo-capped neighbour below.
While I'm in almost-perfect peace, I know the family and friends in the street below are in shock, mourning the dark-headed young man who drowned in the river this afternoon, just before the hail storm.
As I warmed up Louis' braai meat for supper - on almost stale rolls with happy & excited cheese from friday afternoon care of Angel Bear - the newly hung curtain rail ripped from the wall. Now to hang it up again with gusto, while exposed, in full light, to the street.
All of this while my heart travels at give or take 120km/hour westwards to Johannesburg, and another world.
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