Leaving the flat at 5.57am

Another day. Another debilitating tram journey, standing with tennis elbow next to reeking alcoholics. But, today, it's different. It's officially Spring and the temperature gauge has shot up to over 20 degrees (well, falling laughably as I write, but still a genuine revolution that confirms climate change in the most lower-case manner possible.)
I'm off at Dworcowa this time to teach at an Internet domain company (me neither... and no-one is there apart from a smiling girl from Novy Sonch - a mountainous region in Southern Poland.) As usual, I am lost before arriving at the sliding double doors of the company. A girl on the street tells me alarmingly I'm in the wrong town five minutes before.
Faintly coloured tower blocks rise up around me in this new part of Podgorze ( a McDonalds sits at an intersection making sure no-one misbehaves). Cars drive unceasingly on a busy road. A single magpie flits high up between blocks in the blue sky. Maybe this is where they will build the proposed Margaret Thatcher statue in tribute.

Phantom tram

At the Borek this morning or afternoon the number 3 trundled up. I thought it was the 8 with the part of the number indent missing - a torn squiggle, an eight with a piece bitten off by a spider.

You never can tell what trams will turn up. They have the John Paul the Second tram. They have a tram where you are tricked and when you embark a waitress asks you for cash and a charity box is swung your way. Photographs of sorry-looking dogs adorn the wall, the canine melancholy ushering you on your way guiltily. The tram is skeletal as if it was a dream.

And now, this number 3. That annonuces stations that don't exist. But no-one seems worried. Everybody knows the secret of the Number 3 tram, except me. I wonder whether to keep going and see where I end up.

But I play safe and get off at the Rondo.