Lost and Found in the North Station

Photo: Courtesy to Lucia and Viki ūüôā

Not much was visible of the man on the platform: a hat pulled down to his nose, eyes downcast on the device he was holding in both hands, wrinkled grey coat, o-shaped legs. Still, she recognized him. Her husband Hubert. He had on that impossible t-shirt with a message across the chest: OBEY NO RULES!

He did not see her, she was on the train coming from the direction of the town of Mechelen, two rails across the platform. It was an early evening and Anne was returning from her regular Wednesday mission of baby-sitting her twin grandsons. She almost shouted to Hubert through the closed window and refrained from doing so with quite an effort. Her peace of mind was lost. Why was Hubert standing on the North Station platform when he was supposed to be in his office in Nivelles good forty kilometres from there? Or to be on his way home already? She would no doubt ask him the question, when he comes home. Continue reading

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Estar (o de la imposibilidad de la ubicuidad)

(by María Dulce Kugler, photo credits by Jonathan Eden-Drummond)

‚ÄúNo puede ser Miguel porque Miguel se muri√≥,‚ÄĚ te dices mientras pasas a trav√©s del hueco que dejan, al abrirse, las puertas autom√°ticas del metro. M√°s all√° del individuo que lo suscit√≥ ‚ÄĒun hombre que pasaba las barreras en sentido contrario‚ÄĒ, te da risa la aparici√≥n de ese pensamiento. Pero, en lugar de descartarlo, como a algo sin importancia, te quedas con √©l. Lo dejas flotando en tu mente hasta que surgen las muchas veces en que ese tipo de pensamiento te sucede. Cosas como ‚ÄúNo puede ser Cristina o Flavia o Ale, porque no est√°n en Bruselas‚ÄĚ. No est√°n. Tampoco Miguel est√°. Estar o no estar, esa es la cuesti√≥n.

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