Old mind

I travelled to my mind four times today. Each time was in its own way definite and distinct, so much so that it urges the narrative of my four tales to their possible outcomes and finally to that outcome manifested.

The first story involves a sweet Italian granny, whose sole purpose is to pretend to understand English while at the same time speaking it. Her house has an old triangular roof with a window sitting perfectly in its middle. This window, I noted a while ago, was once vacant but now belongs to the old lady. It serves as the perfect vantage point that she probably uses to aid her in that paranoia she got diagnosed with when her husband passed away. I am still caught in awe at how the two of us became friends.

I walk in -always- to a glass of red wine. A cushioned armchair has been prepared for me and its rest with a table fixed permanently to its one side, awaits to support my note pad that has us engaged in those moments trapped inside of a single pen and an excellent piece of storytelling. I provide the pen and obviously Tina provides the stories. The three other stories are embedded within these little adventures of ours. Her adventures, to be precise; of escaping Italy to arriving in apartheid South Africa and eventually to following that path that had her end up as an old paranoid lady whose face may be continually seen balanced on the pane of a window trapped by the only triangular roof in the neighbourhood of Towerby.