Walking home today reminded me of skiing in Austria. The slush, sludge and ice. Roads glossed and cars coated amply with snow.
We'd arrive at a cabin, mid-afternoon, our ski jackets sticky with sweat. We'd strip to vests and braces, whilst logs burned on the fire.
2 euros for a tall, cool glass of coke.
Austrian waitresses, with goddess overbites, would pass underneath the stuffed boars' heads, plates piled high with salty chips.
Golden beer, german laughter, the slapping sound of cards mid-game.
Outside, the thin cool air would slice through the windows along with some sun. If someone was smoking, that too cut through the air. The pleasant waft of tobacco and snow.
Freedom.
