Monday. A lot to do. Queues on the Bridge. If stress had a scent, it would probably be the smell of burnt clutch plate. Maybe the daughter still not completely in the wrong when she insists on just wanting to take the driving test for a car with automatic transmission.
at the top of the brokrönet it will be completely stop. Plenty of time to check out both social media and e-mails. With a on a side of adorable view over the Old town and on the other side of the glittering Lake. Get vantage points in the world can beat Västerbrons crest on the fingers. Now, if the bridges had fingers. The only shame is that the car stinks of burnt plastic.
as a morning tired teen to the job. Colleagues who have taken a different route to work, or helicopter, the smell of coffee from the newly completed måndagsmötet. It is a welcome return of one of the younger colleagues who have been absent for a while. But he is not at all similar. After a successful gastric banding has he disappeared, to the half.
“Congratulations,” I say. It must be nice to not having to lug all that excess weight. Hard on the joints. Knee and back and so.
Not only the joints, exclaims the colleague. The doctor who listened to the heart warned me that I was floating in mortal danger. My heart was as that of a femtioåring!
to see his colleague so relieved. Sure, I was glad for his sake, but at the same time felt my femtiofyraåriga I themselves heartily cleft.
I Thought, still not a bit better about his missing half?
Paul Hansen is heartily tired of the Stockholm traffic congestion, and narrow halvfigurer. Read also his columns on the place where Eric Clapton threw up and days when you love Stockholm very much .
