The hotel restaurant closed tonight
at 10 o'clock for lack of guests.
I watched the news at the bar and drank a beer.
Isn't it Thursday? When everyone goes out?
When I send the letter home there's a notice
on the postbox saying stamps are dearer now.
In the beergarden up the hill,
a sea of empty tables.
The floodlights blind the trees, the music blares,
so I keep on walking, up to the castle ruins
where normally all the young lovers sit.
The dog star holds on weakly in the haze
and far below, the city shimmers too.
There are few tall buildings here.
I stride back down the cobblestones.
The alley cats gaze blankly from the garbage.

Translation: Luke Davies