THE AESTHETICS OF PETERBILT TRUCKS:

Strawberry, blackberry exit. Electric picture of a view from windows
that would show the same view for real if the curtains weren’t drawn.
Colour coded bottles, empty, perfect, plastic grass, books on shelves
not meant to be read – to look at only. Incongruous music, background
noise, just another irritating sound, not even as sweet as the
reversing alarms of the Peterbilts delivering cement to the
construction site below my window. The waiter wears a sharp suit,
the sides of his head are shaved high, a island of thick black hair
floats on top. What’s the story? Everything about breakfast is out
of sync.

(K)