It’s a Sunday evening in May, sunshine, warm, everything.
I should be outside having the officially okeyed three half-beers, and be totally glad about being alive.
Instead, as You may have aforethought, I’m kind of bothered.
And it would even be indecent to directly write about the immediate cause for this; thus I have to circumambulate the problem.
It is one, as You may have anticipated, of truthfulness, of loyalty.
Therewith it is also a story of might and weakness. (weiterlesen…)
