Nothing much happens on Sundays in Graz. The bratwurst stands on the main square are shuttered up, and a monk waits at the counter of the only one that's open. A half-empty tram clangs its bell and moves off towards Jakominiplatz. Church bells ring out of synch. By the river, two nuns talk to a family on bicycles while a man waits behind on the ground, plastic cup in his outstretched hand.
Kebab sellers smoke on the pavement, a prostitute leans out of an upstairs window eyeing a drunk staggering into a cafe. Her right arm's covered with tattoos, her left flicks ash down a red and black sign that says 'Peep Show'. In the park, a man feeds bread to pigeons next to a Buddhist stupa. All of the supermarkets are closed.
We get to the train station and hour before we have to.