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This was Joseph Marigold's daily morning routine and, if a little obsessive, seems perfectly normal. Perfectly precise. As Joseph himself thought (every day at 8:47 exactly, precisely) one had to live in the present; one cannot plan for the future. This is a sentiment you will hear on a regular basis however Joseph knew that it is a sentiment that is incomplete. For all time is unreliable: the past, present and future cannot be tamed by plans or gears. The only thing that can be controlled is the perception of time which Joseph, upon making this realisation, set about doing one day at a time and, of course, precisely.
It was wednesday morning. Jospeh was, par the course, wearing his Wednesday grey suit and holding his prized leather suitcase under one arm. Again Joseph went about his routine. Walking, stopping to wave to his neighbour who for her part had stopped waving back two years ago when she died. Wearing his Wednesday Morning smile he walked once more to the bus stop. Waited the fifteen minutes in vain for a bus service that had changed its own schedule four years ago and walked to the park. Moving for and nodding at a phantom cyclist Joseph strolled through enjoying the regulated admiration of the beauty of the trees and grass.
Emerging on to the busy thoroughfare Joseph, contemplating the joy of uniform colours, angles and people, travelled to his cafe and ordered the usual coffee. The proprietor, Edward, had gotten used to this charade since buying the place a year ago and simply went about serving his customer.
cont.
