Helen left today, I saw her off to the airport, and waved goodbye. I couldn't wait until her plane left, since I had some work to do at home. (It was more than three hours delayed, she told me later.)Back home in Crellestraße, I found the bench in front of the small museum decorated with flowers, toys, and a print out. Harald, the strange old man who had been sitting here for months, with a bottle of wine, and a glass, reading his newspaper, had died.
The neighbours had been worrying about him, we were used to having him around, and found him dead in his room. Passers-by stop and read the notice now. It's funny how fast Harald had become a part of our lifes, and got a place in our hearts!
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