Teacher from the black lagoon

Across a lawn with a lining of Winterling and Mohn, lives my neighbour. I don’t really like her. We almost crossed paths going into town.

I can really see her mumbling to herself.  Her lace curtains allow me to see that she is waiting for Sackemeier, the neighbours down hill. My mother says she must be one of those… I guess I’m calling this afternoon. With luck they will come soon and drag her to the train. There, all the teachers from the black lagoon might stop rotting this country from the insides. 

Deja un comentario