16. This morning Jukin hoarse for nothing.
He howls at the window of his residence that he makes his pencil. That the person who did this has stolen some of his life. This pencil was indeed impregnated his brain after spending a day in his ear. It put him even more furious that everyone seemed to ignore it, seemed to mock them. As they saw his life unimportant. And suddenly, a huge swarm of doubt crossed. His eyes widened, his house becomes gigantic. Were they right? His life was it a hole in the ground? Jukin immediately joined the nearest forest with a shovel on his shoulder. At the park, he stopped in front of a poster. It represented a cast iron flower pot which exceeded two mini legs stiletto heel. He was flabbergasted. This image was to him the exact day of a condensed abstract of his past. As it had been someone to summarize mind a full day. And especially as he had found a way to capture the essence emotional, that in itself kept in his memory. Someone used his pen!
To relax, he whipped out his shovel and pulled on a clod of earth in a hurry. The grass moaning and disfigured. His reaction was a little heartbreaking to actually calmed down when he saw the hole. Was this life? It was hard to believe. This dark featureless him shudder. He continued along the road that borders the forest. From time to time, he cast a glance through the trees on the right. A small car, the windows wide open, the radio background, beyond him. A radio spot advertising the whispered in passing: "This morning, the urge to come up? The epoxy is there balm to free you from your bacteria ... "He stopped in shock. Another of his personal memories had become an advertisement. These people really did not scruple to succeed in selling their crap. They were not even the effort to widen the head, they stole ideas outright.
The largest advertising agency had its headquarters across the forest in fact, he left in a hurry. Arriving near the building, he knelt down and walked along under the windows. He cast a quick glance at the offices to find an employee who wrote with a pencil. The latter seemed surprised at what he wrote. Jukin is concluded that this was his pencil. He also wondered why the man was wearing latex gloves. A mark of respect was moved from people too shabby. But perhaps the fear of an object whose creative substance certainly seemed inhuman. They were unable to realize that their general attitude toward life they closed the doors of creativity and that from the pencil was just normal for an individual with a minimum of openness.
Jukin wasted no time. He threw an explosion over the building. The shock wave was vibrating all the windows of the opposite wall. The employee got mad and joined his colleagues in the hallway. Jukin straightened up and slid the window. He crept softly and checked what was going on in the hallway. The crowd was so great that nobody paid any attention to him. Then he turned to the desktop. His pen was sitting there, casually. It seemed trivial! He grabs it and understood immediately the use of gloves. All along was still fat and creamy his ear wax. He took a glove box, slipped, replaced a pencil on the desk and the same made off by closing the window with her tight little treasure in his palm.
Returning home, he returned to his hole in the ground. He believed there to see this time of distorted perspectives disappear into obscurity. But he did not have time to stop, he was too excited.
In his stay, he gently placed the pencil on the table, engulfed by the same movement in his bathroom, took off the gloves and washed his hands meticulously. Once dry, he carefully drew a blank sheet of the closet and placed it next to the pencil. He sat down opposite. He was fascinated, but it frightened her. He knew beforehand that he would be afraid of the result may be that he would find himself in the presence of his future. The curiosity and excitement drove him to try anyway. He knew then he would lock the double pencil round because he was a coward. But he could not help but grasp it, deliberately this time to enjoy the contact with her and let the wax pencil to form a short sentence: This morning Jukin broke a hunter.
To relax, he whipped out his shovel and pulled on a clod of earth in a hurry. The grass moaning and disfigured. His reaction was a little heartbreaking to actually calmed down when he saw the hole. Was this life? It was hard to believe. This dark featureless him shudder. He continued along the road that borders the forest. From time to time, he cast a glance through the trees on the right. A small car, the windows wide open, the radio background, beyond him. A radio spot advertising the whispered in passing: "This morning, the urge to come up? The epoxy is there balm to free you from your bacteria ... "He stopped in shock. Another of his personal memories had become an advertisement. These people really did not scruple to succeed in selling their crap. They were not even the effort to widen the head, they stole ideas outright.
The largest advertising agency had its headquarters across the forest in fact, he left in a hurry. Arriving near the building, he knelt down and walked along under the windows. He cast a quick glance at the offices to find an employee who wrote with a pencil. The latter seemed surprised at what he wrote. Jukin is concluded that this was his pencil. He also wondered why the man was wearing latex gloves. A mark of respect was moved from people too shabby. But perhaps the fear of an object whose creative substance certainly seemed inhuman. They were unable to realize that their general attitude toward life they closed the doors of creativity and that from the pencil was just normal for an individual with a minimum of openness.
Jukin wasted no time. He threw an explosion over the building. The shock wave was vibrating all the windows of the opposite wall. The employee got mad and joined his colleagues in the hallway. Jukin straightened up and slid the window. He crept softly and checked what was going on in the hallway. The crowd was so great that nobody paid any attention to him. Then he turned to the desktop. His pen was sitting there, casually. It seemed trivial! He grabs it and understood immediately the use of gloves. All along was still fat and creamy his ear wax. He took a glove box, slipped, replaced a pencil on the desk and the same made off by closing the window with her tight little treasure in his palm.
Returning home, he returned to his hole in the ground. He believed there to see this time of distorted perspectives disappear into obscurity. But he did not have time to stop, he was too excited.
In his stay, he gently placed the pencil on the table, engulfed by the same movement in his bathroom, took off the gloves and washed his hands meticulously. Once dry, he carefully drew a blank sheet of the closet and placed it next to the pencil. He sat down opposite. He was fascinated, but it frightened her. He knew beforehand that he would be afraid of the result may be that he would find himself in the presence of his future. The curiosity and excitement drove him to try anyway. He knew then he would lock the double pencil round because he was a coward. But he could not help but grasp it, deliberately this time to enjoy the contact with her and let the wax pencil to form a short sentence: This morning Jukin broke a hunter.
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