Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

A city that right from the start invites one to stay. At
driving in on the two storied Bay Bridge. At the smell of
water, salt and fish. At the many wooden houses, painted
in blue, yellow, pink and green. At the fresh air that
wafts off the ocean, thanks to which we can sleep without
air conditioning for the fist time since leaving Denver.
Windows open.
In the bay close to our hotel room ships use their foghorns
to announce they’re there. In the street a woman
is crying. A man shouts ‘fuck’. Much later a man sings a
song in Spanish. It sounds like something from an opera,
classical, with stretched tones. A beautiful song. For nobody.
For everybody. For himself. The sound comes and
goes. Graceful and pure through the silent night. I hear
him sing until he’s beyond reach.
August 2007
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