To Lodz 'Gazeta fakt-tylko jedno zloty!' says the man-dirty ball cap faded pink jacket-monday morning 9 a.m.-tram number 11 I see him again-Saturday morning black pants and shirt, pink and yellow feathers an earing and a black fedora 'Gazeta fakt mother fuckers!' Nobody bothers to laugh. Maybe he's a gypsy king maybe he's just another drunk with an odd taste in clothes. I don't know. It's hard to break through the shell of ice behind which the true lies. Later on I hear the familiar melody of a trumpet and accordian people open their windows to listen to the same song their grandparents heard they toss down coins wrapped in tissue. This is Lodz-the slow catepillar gently unfolding its wings. Maybe like that man, restrained so many Mondays and Tuesdays has finally reached Saturday morning. The city starts to shrug off the sluggish movements of a past life. Old buildings are reborn and the dull grey blocks of flats of the socialist workers paradise are being embraced with a jail break of colour Lodz-you will be the rainbow city and forget, maybe not forget, but recover from the shcok of the jews starving in the ghetto the dull November concrete the tanks in the streets. Adam Tod Leverton (email@example.com) Want to show your financial appreciation of my work? Please go to: http://www.adamtodleverton.blogspot.com/
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