Blue uniform shirt tucked and slightly unbalanced, bellied older Mediterrano cabbies stopped kerbside with their boots up taking stored refreshment. Family men avoiding take-away prices in order to present their wives the whole of the earnings. Out beside the car the unstable focus noticeable even on a drive-by, the lopsided posture against the traffic. At their station the masterful taming of the daily frenzy: from the crotch lightest feather-touch on the wheel, under-grip lane-changing and cornering without discernible rotation. (In conversation the same delicacy of measure negotiating all-comers.)
Under the relentless observation, the head-turning, gawping, hooting and honking, the rigid, pointy fixity of young girls transfixed at the wheel. Turned to stone. Flickered monitoring of mirrors, wary of capture even there.
Graduated and secure, the successful older young woman as polished and gleaming as her wheels, high in the seat, back pressed into plush cushions. Ringed and bangled hands stretched full length and locked on the wheel 10 to 2. Set and immoveable as her young sister.
Foxes and hounds, country estate, vineyards and alpine retreats out of reach a couple of generations now.
Bent at the wrong angle, the white line slipping under the wheels, unreeling from its spool in the side-view and confirming the passage the bigger picture fails to convey.
od ove price bi se mogla napravit zaista dobra knjiga, nesto u stilu Balzaka ali ne kopija vec neki novi realizam. uh sto sam pametna:) zaista mi se dopalo.
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