Qui Sumus

The man sat at the counter reading a newspaper. The title, “Muslimit Pommittivat Amerikkalasiet!” stood out to the man, and he read the article. After a while, a waiter brought the man a cup of black coffee, and then walked away. The man finished his coffee, folded up the news paper, and walked toward the door.

Two people walked in the door. They were wearing skíỗi grímur and said, “Allir fá niỗur!” repeatedly. The man said to them, “don’t worry, I won’t stop you,” and walked past them out the door.

The street outside was bustling with activity. The cars and birds flew past in their never-ending struggle. The people shuffled by with their geboë hoofde and bose gedagtes. The ebb and flow of the city was palpable. The man turned to his left and proceeded down the avenue. The man heard a short “whoosh” and an ongeluk, with all the skree en oproer that comes with it. The man kept walking. Sirenes followed him back to his work, preventing him from properly enjoying his morning.

The man crossed the foyer of his building and stepped into the elevator. The crissement et cliquetis were covered by the soft music from the speaker above his head. A short ride later he stepped onto his floor. Left, right, right, third door. He stepped into his office. He could hear Arthur and his client next door faire l’amour passionnément. The man began typing his latest report, “Sur la Pauvreté et la Saleté de Cette Ville.” Once he had finished, it was nearly lunch time and the man decided to step out for une bouchée à manger.

When the man stepped out onto the avenue, the first thing he noticed was that the enkaz was still there. After crossing the street in order to avoid it, he heard elde bir adam dövdü. He glanced in to see if it was worth his while. It wasn’t. Two blocks later, he entered his nineteenth favorite restaurant, “Dil-Az Adam.”

As the man entered the restaurant, a quick glanced to the right showed him a young couple, die sich streiten. The man happened to be put directly next to them, so he was able to overhear their conversation. The Flüche und Vereidigung reached such a level that the man was unable to hear the song playing in the background, “Fick mein Leben.” The man ordered a turkey sandwich. It came; he ate and paid. Then the man heard the young woman brach in Tränen aus. The man stood, adjusted his jacket, and left the building.

On the opposite corner from the deli was a ngân hàng. It served the majority of the city, and was therefore well stocked. This was the reasoning of the two cướp. The còi báo động và than khóc engulfed the street, preventing anything else from being noticed. The man walked down alongside the cảnh sát. His office was only one or two blocks away, he could make it.
Upon returning to his office, his boss cyfarch ei. Leading him down into his office, the man’s boss handed the man a small slip of paper with the phrase “Rhybudd Terfynu” written in bold across the top. The man thanked his boss, turned around, and headed back the way he had come.

At the base of the building, the man hailed an oncoming taxi. The blob of yellow pulled into the curb, xocar contra un arbre. Dubiously, the man stepped into the taxi and asked to be taken to his house. The man in the front seat had a mocador i un mundt de cicatrius. Even so, the ride was smooth and soon the man stepped out in front of his apartment.

The man walked up to the door, DESHAUCIO oharra off bota, and proceeded inside to his bed. Flopping down, his last thought before he passed out from exhaustion was “gutxienez dago bihar.”

Copyright 2011 | Sam Zimmerman | marylouz.com

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