110
The Way of the Cross
come warm, because of the many people, and the fugitives rush to take the train by storm, crushing one another as they push forward.
And they lug along their bundles.
And how much of the strangest, most unnecessary rubbish do they pull along with them into the trucks, and heap up in the places which might otherwise be occupied by extra people!
Rubbish for us—but the last possessions for them.
That is all that remains.
I return to the town.
In endless series, meeting one another and passing on, go the two processions up and down the street.
They come, they come, they come, without respite, without interruption, the grey carts.
They are all like one. One like another. And on the other side of the road come
