619 People line the counter for their breads and salads. Florescence of Brie. Of olive. In the humid afternoon the brick edge makes a triangle of garden shade. Two starlings slowly pace. The distant highway serves as partner to the silence. Dust motes cross the shaft. Yuri's last mask possessed: blind despairing reason. Three weeks left. In the Station den Haag the people look; they face in all directions. Love, I need.