In the morning I wake up hearing pounding coming from behind the window. It grows.
Normal: a bum takes the find. I approach the window. A yellow container, eight, maybe ten, two strollers, couple of already familiar faces. A few larger ones, as if too large. One is frightening: tall, hunched, with a pronounced eyebrow, prominent cheekbones, dusty complexion. A thick chain dangling from a dirty, baggy jeans in the rhythm of hits on a washing machine drum. Blunt tapping. The old man tries to separate the plug from the cable with a rusty hammer.
– Poznań, October 2014