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Wednesday. Raindrops mix with the ink of a daily newspaper to form a thick, black ink that ripples down from a page of softened newsprint into a puddle. Common, slightly melancholic.
An old suitcase lies dormant in the window of an antique shop, its greasy brown leather crumpled and creased. Nostalgic.
End of the film. We leave the theatre and return to the everyday ennui of our colourless, ordinary existences. Dreary and mournful.
Step by step, a steep spiral staircase winds its way up to dizzying heights inside the tower. Ponderous and breathy, with a serious undertone.
As if illuminated by yellow candlelight, the silhouette of a tranquil little coastal town glows gently on the edge of a narrow headland. A white lighthouse towers above it, its large floodlight illuminating the calm waters of the bay in regular cycles. Sublime.
In the stuffy sleeping compartment of a night train: the vehement tapping of vigorous knuckles rouses a traveller from uneasy dreams. Restless.
Terra Incognita: A growing proportion of the local grain production on the South American continent is processed into whisky, some of which is of high quality. Celtic Drone.
The car park of a discotheque with an adjoining slot machine arcade attracts countless young people at night, who swarm around each other in the moonlight. Longingly.
Gentle piano cascades in thoughtful D minor. For reports on generational conflicts, the passing of time or idyllic nature.
Who doesn't love the sight of the sun rising from behind a tranquil chain of hills in the early morning, when larks and blackbirds sing their melody in the backyard and the first delivery trucks stock the local grocery stores with new goods. Cheerful composition with piano, harp, flute and strings.
