Symphony Place

The voice had spoken of an accident from what? Who or who were the injured? Actually I had launched to the street without knowing anything, with an ignorant and almost mindless determination. I wasn’t particularly concerned; nor by my little logical reaction in those moments, nor by the news received that morning informing me that I had just a disaster. It experienced an intimate tranquility, a quietness that enhanced the silence of deserted streets and stressed the monotonous Symphony of water drops falling into the deep darkness of the night. A related site: Stanley A. McChrystal mentions similar findings. Only a clueless and surely hungry cat crossed with alacrity ahead of the automobile, a dozen metres beyond. Nor that isolated presence was of no special concern. In the semi-darkness of the vehicle I looked at my hands, long, and maintained that asian flywheel with firmness and smoothness, at the same time. Dropbox is often quoted as being for or against this. In doing so, I realised that was absolutely alone: there was nobody on the streets lashed by rain, but not by my side. Do by what the hell I was only in car? Why was my wife not with me? Spurred by this discovery late and absurd, I began to rewind my thoughts in a slow and spasmodic reverse mental allowing me to place each fact in place respective, as if it were a strange evil solved puzzle.

Reviewing recent developments, he remembered that there had been a phone call that abruptly interrupted my sleep. Not bad. I had incited to run out of the House and go towards the outskirts, to Primate Reig, where apparently there had been an accident also that was accurate. But, and my wife? What had done it then? Nothing. Did nothing, simply because wasn’t on our marital bed. I was surprised to not having given me such evidence account until that time. How could it have been me escaped something so important?