civil tongue

walking down cold, empty streets still recovering from the nuit blanche, with that crisp sense of deconstruction in a cool wind. i happily engaged it, breathing deeply and enjoying the fresh air and muted sounds of a city half-asleep, then realized that i'd been walking five minutes in the wrong direction.

back up, then almost patiently crossing the road to see the numbers.
odd, and i was looking for odd, so good.
across the road, the numbers were going in the right direction. i kept on, then suddenly the numbers were too high. i turned, then turned again. nonsense, i thought. i looked across the road, and decided not to ask myself why there are odd numbers on the even side; at least the number i was looking for was in giant lettering and not too far away.

i entered the building and took the elevator to the listed floor, from where they'd send me back to the entrance. i asked the security man if i'd arrived at the right place, and he became helpfully talkative as he pointed me to the tail end of a long, long line.

"i don't know how long you're going to wait here, though. and it's full upstairs. it could be a while. most people can't afford to come back when it's quiet."

music to my ears.

"until when can i come back?"
"if you're at this door by 4.29, you're safe."

that civil servant just made my day.