The stop is right outside the station building;
no other bus stops here.
People are gathering; they carry blue bags from IKEA, black garbage bags, colourful plastic bags. They pull trolleys, or push them.
The women hide their long, dark hair inside scarves - red, green, patterned, blue. Their faces are tired, teeth are missing.
They talk, they shout, they bicker and they are.
They dress in pink and yellow and orange, in any colour you can imagine. The men are more neutral, more polished, more black and white. They seem protective, but about their words coming out of their mouth, I can say nothing.
The sign at the stop reads one word only: Romania.
no other bus stops here.
People are gathering; they carry blue bags from IKEA, black garbage bags, colourful plastic bags. They pull trolleys, or push them.
The women hide their long, dark hair inside scarves - red, green, patterned, blue. Their faces are tired, teeth are missing.
They talk, they shout, they bicker and they are.
They dress in pink and yellow and orange, in any colour you can imagine. The men are more neutral, more polished, more black and white. They seem protective, but about their words coming out of their mouth, I can say nothing.
The sign at the stop reads one word only: Romania.
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