objects like witnesses of time


Yesterday, a sunny Saturday morning. MeinMann in Leeeds, me here.

The good thing is, friends are visiting from Bremen and Rome and off we went to have breakfast at our favorite café in Pempelfort. They were recollecting their pleasant stay chez nous in Berlin, on StValentin 2015, when we sent them our keys and they could wake up from the February slumber our little flat there and have a cosy weekend in the gray cisurprised myself saying ty. When answering on how was the flat before we renovated it, I don’t really know why I had to specify “…and there was still the old phone of the old Fritz”.

Maybe because it was a phone like these, old, heavy, dependable – not a flimsy quantum such a silly cordless or a voyeuristic remain like a cell phone left behind. Still it was the only impersonal yet personal, institutional, belonging of the previous owner of the flat. Whose name must have been in a phone book (an object I always venerated – a directory of humanity).

It rested on the old parquet, still plugged, not far from marks on the wooden floor which revealed where the bed had been. I stowed it in a carton in the cave. For some reason it seemed wrong to throw it away.

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