I go to the courtyard today. It is dark, nothing is visible, the last lamp is broken, that on the asphalt, that on the sidewalk a bunch of dams. A couple followed me. And you can hear that the guy periodically stumbles and matches through his teeth in the spirit that, say,... this road,... did and does not repair.
Roland: And then we went into the light and where the hole repair is such flat rectangular dark asphalt patches on a gray background.
Roland: And then I understood how I would always call these slugs now. Because the guy stops for a second and absolutely calmly and without a single motherly word cries out:
Oh look at it! There was censorship all the way.
Roland: And what is characteristic, I listened specifically – I did not hear a single mate from him before the very entrance...