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20 MinutesSaturday, 6th October 2001
Twenty minutes time. It is fall. The season which I most like - if the wind with the sheets his singsong executes. Actually it is too fresh for a T-shirt, but I want every movement of the wind am aware, still such a tiny sunbeam takes.

I sit on «my» bench: «In Loving memories of happy times at this, here special place.»

Evan Bruger Donaldson 1933 - 1994

Alarmingly, how familiar and at home I feel here. Can the lack of the kindest US milk brand, at supermaket and dairy opposit of the apartment, take something like home? Alarmingly, that I have the feeling, I'm been here, just yesterday. Am I, end May, not flown back to Zurich first at all? Am I, end May, stayed simply here? Is this «stayed here» the true virtual reality?

The flag is ubiquitous. Who will say people, that it is time, to roll up her again? Or shall she lose the effect as a symbol of the mourning, like the black dressed nonnas (grandmother) in Italy? Dilapidating to the daily one - tatter by wind, snow and rain. But - when will be mourn enough?

It is more quiet than in May. Less wailing sirens. Less yapping horns. Perhaps, nobody wants to startle a other one unnecessarily - pull out from his virtual reality.

What a marvellous day!

It is time! In twenty minutes I have agreed with Laurenz at the Columbus Circle. For today I say to «my» bank good-bye, they stands on the hill at the entrance Central Part 5th Av./79th St. East.

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