19 February 2018
The little brown shoulder bag is heavy today, two small bottles for the mechanics who repaired the mechanical parts of the lens, the Imagon. That was a kindness, and deserves a kindness in return. But the small bottle are heavy, they make the bag bulky.
Leave the house, walk down the alley. There is a beam of light from one of the doors, a man wheels out his bicycle, it is bicycle lamp. This is a lamp of piercing brightness, it hurts the eyes. The man is wearing a helmet., he has jammed the door open, before pushing his bicycle out onto the street.Pass them both, the man and his bicycle.
There is the sound of an approaching engine on the town's main street, it is the small snow tractor with the salt hopper. By now, most of the s now has melted away. The man with the bicycle drives;by on his brightly lit vehicle, on his way down to the river. He has obviously closed the doors behind him, has obviously mounted his bicycle, and is now heading off into the distance.
Leave the old town via the town gate. The traffic noise is louder now-huge long-distance trucks are passing on the main road, slowing for the right angle bend at the bus stop, crossing the bridge, heading off into the distance. The road is the german federal route Bee-fifteen, a
major highway, always busy. Even at five forty in the morning.
The bus ride is boring. Spend the time heading the ticker-tape-style news text on the monitors in the vehicle. The text passes by on the screen with incredibly excruciating slowness. It is painful to read. And it is boringly written. Full of stylistic flourishes that have nothing to do with the actual information.
The little brown shoulder bag is heavy today, two small bottles for the mechanics who repaired the mechanical parts of the lens, the Imagon. That was a kindness, and deserves a kindness in return. But the small bottle are heavy, they make the bag bulky.
Leave the house, walk down the alley. There is a beam of light from one of the doors, a man wheels out his bicycle, it is bicycle lamp. This is a lamp of piercing brightness, it hurts the eyes. The man is wearing a helmet., he has jammed the door open, before pushing his bicycle out onto the street.Pass them both, the man and his bicycle.
There is the sound of an approaching engine on the town's main street, it is the small snow tractor with the salt hopper. By now, most of the s now has melted away. The man with the bicycle drives;by on his brightly lit vehicle, on his way down to the river. He has obviously closed the doors behind him, has obviously mounted his bicycle, and is now heading off into the distance.
Leave the old town via the town gate. The traffic noise is louder now-huge long-distance trucks are passing on the main road, slowing for the right angle bend at the bus stop, crossing the bridge, heading off into the distance. The road is the german federal route Bee-fifteen, a
major highway, always busy. Even at five forty in the morning.
The bus ride is boring. Spend the time heading the ticker-tape-style news text on the monitors in the vehicle. The text passes by on the screen with incredibly excruciating slowness. It is painful to read. And it is boringly written. Full of stylistic flourishes that have nothing to do with the actual information.
coffee in the station cafe is the same as last week, but a free cup today, the little discount card having ten stamps on it. Something to celebrate . Sit down in the station cafe's waiting room, turn the back to the fidgety man. His nervous perfectionism is hard to take today, as every day,
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