And when I get back to Warsaw to the university, it's quite soon that I start wondering: what is this stacked emotional stuff that I felt at home about? There is nothing, after all. What friendship? What love? What feelings?
Remember to buy your bread and write a paper for Wednesday. Prepare your lesson with the eight year old boy and in the evening maybe call mom. Nothing beyond that.
I may be provoked into a seeming ability to imagine IT. That CONTENT. I may be haunted by the vision.
But there is nothing beyond the same streetcar routes. I don't know how it's elsewhere. But surely not here.
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