A fallen angel of immaculate whiteness. The clamp didn't catch it properly. Or the hand just threw it onto the rope. And there it is. Left, fallen, abandoned. But that pigeon lurking...
Male. Female. Him in shirt. She in panties. That's it. Of course, it could be that this man or woman is dressed like this. Maybe. In any case, both naked, both stepping on the same little towel. And no more space is needed. In any case....
They talk to themselves. They are talking to their own. Clotheslines, like cats, don't get on well with water. They prefer to stay sheltered from the rain and talk, they don't stop talking even when it rains, but with their hand, I mean with the window, in...
The white becomes immensely dirty white. The garment does not lie, it is defeated. Dull. There are moments when loneliness rhymes in free rhyme with abandonment....
Pink jumper, yes. The colour that was a man's colour until the 20th century. But also the yellow jumper. That daring, rare colour. Sometimes indiscreet, sometimes garish, sometimes shrill. The colour of childhood, usually feminine. As we grow up, yellow becomes grey or black. But who...