After 72 hours of madness the last sloppy drunken notes left the last standing violin as I was waking up at 8a.m. after 2 hours of sleep on Thursday.
Over the next 6 hours exhaustion finally took hold of everyone combined with what I believe was food poisoning from the main cafeteria.
The sky takes a deep blue and the rain began pouring as an old man in river boots mozies under the canopy where I am having coffee.
The shop lady struggles to keep what is breakable dry and delivers a palinca and whisky to the local old farm hands. It looks like it takes a lot to them drunk. Big mustaches. Palinca is the Romanian answer to moonshine. I had bought a round for the gypsies band in Budapest and I paid off the next day in a terrible hangover.
The rain is pounding. I would ask for another coffee but everyone is trying to save either themselves or something from the rain. Booming thunder and every breath of wind empties gallons of rain collected from the top of the tarp. The barista is almost giving up and the roads are looking like a swimming pool. The man has taken off his shirt as the barista grimaces and I realize it just started to hail. At this point in the story it is too wet to hold ink on the page and anyways I have to help with the unloading of rain from the tarps.
I took this shot of two elderly townsmen half drunk and arguing with each other. This resulted in 20 minutes of back and forth gesturing and incomprehensible Hungarian culminating in them giving me their signatures for some strange reason.
No comments:
Post a Comment