fimmtudagur, mars 20, 2008

í neðanjarðarlestarstöðinni

I'd said it right, but tracing the letters with my forefinger I couldn't decide whether it was -ar or -ir. Ég er að tapa niður íslenskunni, segi ég. Mér sýnist ekki, segir hann. We walk. It is sunny.

She has long, wavy honey-colored hair and the long limbs of a beauty in the theater. Here, she says. Since you're interested in language. Heitir það að hekla eða að [eitthvert sagnorð sem ég næ ekki] hekl? I hesitate, trying to reconcile the two phrases, half sure that the second means "to drop a stitch," though it can't. Hekla, segir hún. Það er gamalt orð. I am still confused. En hvernig var frasinn?

She gets distracted as we reach the subway entrance. Down we go. I sit astride a triangular-eared dog, not much larger than a shepherd, and I feel badly for my mount as he jounces down the concrete stairway. He doesn't seem overburdened.

Now I need my wallet from our friend in order to pay. He is riding around on his baggage now. He takes it out of an inside pocket, and I thank him. Where are we going?

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