Jörgen

"Jörgen!" . The name exfoliate on her tongue like a verwelkte tea rose. Two weeks ago, they groan, shrieked and anger trembled as the narrow wooden bridge in front of her house when the milk truck bollernd it goes.

"Hau simply," she whooped. After only one of the dried mett taken from the hook behind him hergeschmissen and following the kitchen chair against the wall cracked, in its fragmented parts. He went easy. With kaltfeuchten eyes. Shaking, shrugged, dumb. Behind him, she hollered her. The chair was later repaired, but something they had done wrong; It is something different now than before. Jörgen is not returned. Weggeblieben. She had him not even to speak. Maybe they had indeed made a mistake? Maybe he did not ...? Not to if.