Dit land

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De wijsvinger van de linkerhand priemt naar de koeling.
‘Is dit echt?’, vraagt ze.
Ik kijk naar het aangewezen bakje.
‘Ik neem aan dat het echt is’, zeg ik wat onhandig.
‘Het is niet echt’, zegt ze aangebrand, ‘dit bestaat niet.’
‘Nu wel’, probeer ik opgewekt.
Ze kijkt me aan.
‘Dit is niet grappig,’ zegt ze luid.
Ik haal mijn schouders op.
‘Dit land gaat kapot.’
Ze pakt haar rollator.
‘Ananasaardbeien. Idioten.’

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