I’m out and about, at 8 on a Wednesday morning in late-April.
In the midst of the (in)action.
A creaky door opens and closes.
Clanging sounds of pots and pans.
From around the corner, a dog barks.
A word from a woman to her young daughter, on their way to school.
A delivery van slowly makes its way down the narrow cobbled-stone streets.
And a morning passes, in the middle of Neustadt in the German city of Dresden.