The One with the Thoughts of Frans

Home again

Yesterday, around 20:30. “Well mom, I’ve arrived at my mailbox, so I’m gonna hang up.” “Okay, we’ll talk again tomorrow!” I get my keys out of my pocket to open my mailbox. Two weeks of mail. A bunch of advertisements, a pre-filled transfer form of the health insurance and a specification explaining why the rent is up almost ten Euros. I could as well have left it all in there. And then the € 25 fine for driving without lights on in late November hasn’t even arrived yet.

I open the door, and continue directly with all of my packaging to my room. With my rucksack on my back, sportsbag over the left shoulder and mail in my left hand, I use my right hand to insert the key into the door of my room and open it. While carrying my luggage inside, I switch on the light, grab the remote and turn on the radio. My journey’s done, I stretch and jawn. Then I feel something against my leg. I watch down right away. It’s the rabbits. They must be hungry, otherwise they wouldn’t be like this. The girl who’d feed them during the holidays probably last came here two or three days ago.

So I walk to the shed, turn on the light, reset the flatserver (which had crashed halfway during the holidays) and grab the food. I turn around just in time to see the rabbits moving in at high speed, hiding behind the washing machine. Shaking the bucket so the seeds inside make noise against it I slowly walk out, expecting to be able to lure them with me. After all this is the sound they associate with food. Flokkie, the white rabbit, follows. JW, the brownish one, does not.

So I offer Flokkie some food from my hand. The voracious reaction shocks me a little. I drop a few extra hands of food in front of him and go to the shed again to take care of JW. Luckily he had already left. Shaking the bucket, he comes towards me, anxious. I offer him food from my hand, he takes a quick bite and turns around. I quickly walk backwards while offering him food. He finally comes to eat, I drop a little more and close the door of the shed. I drop plenty of food in their own little home and go to my room and turn on my laptop.

Five minutes later Thomas arrives. After a customary handshake and backknock he takes me into some kind of strangling grasp you’d expect a boa constrictor to perform on his prey. “I needed that,” he explains while releasing me. Later we’ll drink a bit in the kitchen, but first we each go to our room to perform some MSN-ing. The normal flow of life begins again. Or well, almost. I have yet to catch on.

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