Light switches. "Naechste Einfahrt auf Gleis vier". Trains that you can't hear. Coffee from the minibar. Great baguette sandwiches. Migros yogurts (the ones with the shiny packaging). All sorts of chocolate. Thomy mayonnaise. Migros ice tea. A dozen or so free newspapers all over any train or tram. "Good morning, yes, thank you, here you go, thank you, three fifty, thank you, have a nice day, thank you". Cookies. "Can you spare some change?". Even the city air is so extremely fresh. Ordering a Latte is a difficult process involving many questions. Fabulous milk products. Smiles and short chats with strangers. Light switches, door locks, chairs, water taps, everything works as smooth and flawless as if it had never been touched before. The shop around the corner closes at 19:00, and that's already considered being open quite a long time.

...this woman around 30, wearing a fake fur coat in leopard pattern, who walked into the local Irish pub in Riga during yesterday evening's Champions League games, some time around 60 or 65 minutes into the game. She went to the bar, seemingly to order a drink, but then left the bar without a drink, and went to sit down at a table in the corner, a place from where she could have watched the Chelsea game, should she have wanted. She sat for a while, silently, staring on the table in front of her, then opened her black leather hand bag, searching for a long time in there with both hands, and took out a present box of sweets, the kind that you give someone for his birthday if you don't know him or don't quite care, and the ones that your grandmother would put on the table when her family comes to visit, sometimes. The woman started to eat some of the sweets in there, carefully picking which ones to have and which ones to leave (at least for the moment), then carefully wrapping the sweet box and putting it back into her bag.
She stood up and went closer to the screen, which actually was fairly close to her, she must be shortsighted, yet doesn't wear any glasses. Stood close to the screen for a while, possibly reading who plays, and the score, though people who care about the score usually don't arrive in the 65th minute and then eat candy or stare at a table.
She went back to her table and starting searching her handbag again, this time revealing a portable CD player, a kind of device I hadn't seen for years already. Took it out, plugged the earphones into her ears, and started listening to some music, yet seemingly she couldn't find what she wanted to hear, and after pressing buttons for a few times, she put the player back into her bag, and sat.
And sat without a motion. At all. Eyes closed. Leaning against the dark wood of the bar's fake Irish interior. No sound, no move, no sign of life.
Until all of a sudden, she opened her eyes, gathered all her belongings, stood up, and left.
About 75 minutes into the game.

Sleep-work-work-work, washing clothes, work-work, play,
Lunch.
Work-work-coffee-work;
Work-work, ring:
Skype, work-work-work.
Watching an episode of an old SciFi series,
drinking juice,
Sleep.

Sleep: Work, work, work. Fast.
Coffee-work-coffee-work-coffee-work,
Laugh, meet, work.
Talk, work-work:
Lunch.
Work, play, work, read, juice, sleep.

Sleep: Work. Coffee (big).
Work-work-work-work-work,
Deadlines! Afternoon!
Coffee, coffee.
Work. Work-work-work!
Printing tickets!
Coffee.
Work!
Packing bags!
Work!
(and coffee)
Packing bags again!
Work!
Hurry:
Airport bus, pick up Ms. K.,
Hear stories from the South,
Hear more,
And maybe a bottle of wine.
Happy birthday.
Sleep.

Sleep:
Coffee.
Any liquids, Sir?
Airport.
Paris:
Paris.

Half a day, half a meal.
Half a coffee for breakfast.
Smoking the first cigarette till the middle,
half-outside,
in a weather that's in between
cloudy and sunny,
indecisive.

Half a point, really,
watching half a movie
with half a bottle of champagne
and one more, that gets completely
lost in the shop.

Half an eye open for half a reason.
Most things make sense
from half a perspective.

Dark.
Storm.
Lightning.
Rain.
Storm - rain - lightning - dark - rain - rain.

Deep down inside a room that could as well be a thousand meters below ground.
No silence, but a strange kind of calm.
Triggers archetypal memories of the home cave.
There's no connection to the outside world
(he, except for that Internet).

Think we had the idea of going to sleep early today.
Think we failed.
Again.
Talkingtalkingdrinkingtalkingtalkingdrinkingtalkingtalking.
Musicmoodlightwindowcatwindowrainrainrain.

Soft light is glowing, it all comes from electricity:
in the sky
on laptop screens
in brains.

Two computers simultaneously running, one for work, one for fun and news of war.
Coffee, damn-I-forgot-to-buy-milk.
Cleaning up the kitchen, of things that remained untouched.

Alina Orlova is my carpet of the day, I sit soft and comfortable on her voice, the voices that leaves the window and flies into the peaceful morning skies, maybe to her home, maybe to mine, or maybe to a place unknown.
Thinking twelve thoughts at the same time, watching them change colors and mix into each other, as if they were not mine.
Sketching cartoons on scrap paper.
The cat that had been alone for two days doesn't leave me for a second, as if it was afraid I'll leave the moment it doesn't watch over me (and it's right, I might).

Loading my mobile phone batteries, energy flow on Energia tänav.
My brain is about to come back from a few days of relaxing holidays; not that it was dormant, but in comparison to the days before, it's been relatively calm.
Starting up the systems again, be ready.

I unfriend someone on facebook, odd feeling to have such a symbolic-electronic act for this, it's quite like writing little notes to each other in kindergarten
"You're not my best friend anymore"
"I love you do you want to be my girlfriend"
(Hey, but you know almost nobody can read in kindergarten, right?)

Zeme, sukis greitai, says Alina, and I don't understand her words, while she doesn't hear mine. Sounds vaguely familiar.
My morning voice sounds of the whisky I didn't drink, and of cigarettes I haven't smoked yet. Good time to start a very short singing career. Guess I'll stick to writing the lyrics.
Alina left, all of her voice must have flown away, I had no reason to close the window, why to trap her. Or me with her.

The cat is purring on my lap, and when I stand up, it jumps on my shoulders and purrs into my ear: You stay.

I might, I mumble, and covertly prepare my bag for leaving.

Body asks for coffee. Gets coffee.
Body asks for shower. Gets shower.
Body asks for breakfast. Gets breakfast
(within the limits of the hotel's offer, that is).
Body asks for more coffee. Gets more coffee.
Body never really asked to give a presentation today. But gets to do one.
Who's the boss.

Sometimes
(despite the weather)
going North
is better
than going South.

Hi. Wanna dance?
Let's go for more drinks.
Hey, we're leaving now.
Can you give this paper to that girl, please?
Ty mnye ochen nravitsya: 29 85 .. ..
It's Madonna or Michael Jackson or something like that.
Jump!
Then let's all three get married. Got to find a priest who does that sort of thing.
One? Two? Ah, three beers?
I actually have two children. - And I have a cat!
She'll organize something.

Shiny metal. Holes where needed. Sunlight slowly dripping down.
It's raining light, and if I was still on the phone,
I'd mention the reflections.