THE NINETEENTH
He got off the tram and a shred of wind and rain chased him along the pavement under the blooming linden trees, from which sweet water was running in tiny drops. When linden trees bloom, they get covered entirely in honey, even the surface of their leaves. Honey and dust, that’s what life tastes like in this city. He pulled the zipper of his leather jacket right up under his chin. It was an old leather jacket; shiny from wear on its sides, around the pockets, and on the elbows too. It never rested in some safe and secure wardrobe. He had this sort of habit, in common with his father and his brothers — whenever bad times come round, get yourself inside a decent coat, preferably a leather one; something that won’t soak through or let the wind in. He snorted with a smile at th
