How does one end up on a train at eight in the morning on a Sunday? It can only be the shriek of duty. The incoherent rambles of the people I still for somehow even reach out to here. I tried; I hugged all the sick and crippled between the stadium and the railway station, but nothing life threatening unfortunately clung on.
I wonder what they’ll have me do today. Price tags don’t straighten themselves, although they’ve certainly had the encouragement to do so. Yesterday I saw an opportunity for branching out in a new area of business, though. The Zamboni-man looked old, frail even. He can’t stick around forever, he might retire soon. I’m gunning for his position. Fate could be of help by giving him a gentle push down a slippery sidewalk. I’ve seen him going, it doesn’t look like sometime I couldn’t pull off with an ice proofed bike (I don’t have a driver’s licence). Ecologically valid. Sustainable. I bet I can also squeeze logistics in there somewhere and then I would have got my work placement in the pocket. School will be proud.