just Brussels
I went for a run this morning, over mounds of spoil from the canal, along the railway tracks, past stagnant ponds, following the line of pylons. Here and there were a straggle of barbed wire, an abandoned car, a run-down shack perhaps inhabited by someone deeply evil. It could have been the beginning of a suburban horror movie, or a public-funded topical drama about industrial waste. But it wasn't; it was just Brussels.
It was surprisingly pleasant for all that, with the sun and the grass and the trees. After ten or fifteen minutes I came to a little house, overlooking the railway and the industrial district, with trees round about and a sign saying, "te koop". Someone had loved that little house; there was a rockery in the garden, ornamental cartwheels and a sculpted lawn, window frames complementing the brickwork. Next door was a shack cobbled together from cardboard and bits of plastic; below was the railway line, the canal, and factories beyond; to one side, some rough grass with a discarded fridge and other debris. I stood there, wondering: who could have built this? Who wanted to live here and make a charming home for themselves amongst the industrial waste? Why? Something hinted at a tragic story behind the locked shutters and "te koop".
No answers. Back to the streets of astonishing art nouveau and inevitable dogshit.
It was just Brussels.
It was surprisingly pleasant for all that, with the sun and the grass and the trees. After ten or fifteen minutes I came to a little house, overlooking the railway and the industrial district, with trees round about and a sign saying, "te koop". Someone had loved that little house; there was a rockery in the garden, ornamental cartwheels and a sculpted lawn, window frames complementing the brickwork. Next door was a shack cobbled together from cardboard and bits of plastic; below was the railway line, the canal, and factories beyond; to one side, some rough grass with a discarded fridge and other debris. I stood there, wondering: who could have built this? Who wanted to live here and make a charming home for themselves amongst the industrial waste? Why? Something hinted at a tragic story behind the locked shutters and "te koop".
No answers. Back to the streets of astonishing art nouveau and inevitable dogshit.
It was just Brussels.