dozing half asleep half awake neither a viable quantity of either nor an ability to change the situation.
think, and even that does not work, just a carousel of ever the same fury at frustration.
Psychopaths do not have an easy life, they have things to do….
And so, while there are these magnaminous thoughts on the people at work circulating the synaptic routes in the head, the alarm sounds.
The fury dissolves into functionality, take the sweat-sodden sleeping shirt and tousers off and go for a cool wet shower.
The cat squeaks at the bathroom door, squeaks because it is a kitten and has a kitten voice and not a cat voice yet.
It gets a pat on the head. It runs off, going to the kitchen ahead. And that was wrong.
Dress for the day, fresh underwear, and leave the other clothes from yesterday. It is work, and not a fashion show.
Admire the hops growing in front of the balcony. They are for decoration only. and they are nice that way. They have grown twenty feet in the last two months.
Fast plants.
And then sit in front of the hall mirror. A fat old bloke with grey hair sitting on a wood and metal waitingroom chair.
Two bells, downstairs, out the door, down the lane.
Something big is being prepared for the weekend,there is a stage put up outside the town gates.
The bus stop is deserted, people pass by on bicycles. Those who took the bus in winter take the bicycle in summer.
the pig tailed smoker at the ashtray smoking his cigarette, wearing five-eighths length trousers showing his ankles obove his slippers.
Good morning.
The station door is broken still, and Anastasia has the coffee ready and only wishes good morning as she hands out a new rebate card after throwing the proffered one into the bin.
Free coffee day today.
The train comes in on time, and the second train that should couple to it gently, rams it instead, causing damage.
A loudspeaker announcement tells everyone to disembark and move into the forward part of the train.
So everyone disembarks.
chaos.
Friday
think, and even that does not work, just a carousel of ever the same fury at frustration.
Psychopaths do not have an easy life, they have things to do….
And so, while there are these magnaminous thoughts on the people at work circulating the synaptic routes in the head, the alarm sounds.
The fury dissolves into functionality, take the sweat-sodden sleeping shirt and tousers off and go for a cool wet shower.
The cat squeaks at the bathroom door, squeaks because it is a kitten and has a kitten voice and not a cat voice yet.
It gets a pat on the head. It runs off, going to the kitchen ahead. And that was wrong.
Dress for the day, fresh underwear, and leave the other clothes from yesterday. It is work, and not a fashion show.
Admire the hops growing in front of the balcony. They are for decoration only. and they are nice that way. They have grown twenty feet in the last two months.
Fast plants.
And then sit in front of the hall mirror. A fat old bloke with grey hair sitting on a wood and metal waitingroom chair.
Two bells, downstairs, out the door, down the lane.
Something big is being prepared for the weekend,there is a stage put up outside the town gates.
The bus stop is deserted, people pass by on bicycles. Those who took the bus in winter take the bicycle in summer.
the pig tailed smoker at the ashtray smoking his cigarette, wearing five-eighths length trousers showing his ankles obove his slippers.
Good morning.
The station door is broken still, and Anastasia has the coffee ready and only wishes good morning as she hands out a new rebate card after throwing the proffered one into the bin.
Free coffee day today.
The train comes in on time, and the second train that should couple to it gently, rams it instead, causing damage.
A loudspeaker announcement tells everyone to disembark and move into the forward part of the train.
So everyone disembarks.
chaos.
Friday
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