Bella Peacock


I sit; Berlin passes by me. A child with a howl

of gold hair lobs a question across the carriage.

Warum hast du keine Wohnung?

Ich habe kein Geld dafuer.

The words wink at me as he hands them over.

Bist du arm? says the golden hair.

Ja, ich bin arm, replies the deep wrinkle. His voice unbuttons the boy's head

and colours the word WITHOUT.