A: The young and rather gallant Polish workman that greets me in what seems a Slavic version of my mother tongue, being in front of the building next to the library and being asked whether THAT is the library with two women pointing at the building that does NOT have the word library spelled out on it's rooftop in 4ft high letters, sitting on a bench along some flowing water and halfway through page 56 being interrupted by a stray dog that decides he wants to sit next to me with his head in my lap and doesn't even drool on the only jeans I have at this point, alternative plurals: Indonesia style, supplying myself with candle-making essentials, instructing people on how to varnish their wooden floor and a new Sue Townsend book.
B: The not so young and less gallant un-Polish workman that practically forces me to get out of my well-paid for dwelling so that he and his minions can take out a window, cover my entire room with dust, decide to wait with putting in the new window untill I back at around 1:45pm, make me wait for my lunch and tempt me to look out of the hole in my outer wall so that I have a direct view on one of the minions taking a leak.
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