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He got to work immediately, detaching one of the fence’s bent support bars and hammering it straight on the asphalt.For the next hour, I watched out my window as he doggedly fixed the fence, straightening and reattaching its support bars, scrupulously unbending its bent chain-link. He stole a support bar from another fence farther back in the parking lot and added it to this one.This means, of course, that my phone is not really a window at all.
Sometimes, I find myself thinking about life in general and I ask myself, "Why... " Today's society is so harsh; war and crime are everywhere. There are so many questions to life's story that I long to get the answer to.
Many wars have raged and many millions of people have died over 'freedom'. " From what I understand, it is the ability to do or say what you want. I mean, don't get me wrong, sometimes they make positive decisions, but just as many negatives. You have heartache, shed tears, feel hurt, but in the end, love always prevails.
The fence was mangled, bent out in exactly the shape of the car’s back end. As the child ran around the parking lot, the man tried to repair the damage he caused.
I couldn’t believe I was seeing this, on an otherwise ordinary weekday morning, out of my office window. He was stocky with a shaved head; he wore cargo shorts and a flannel shirt unbuttoned to expose his chest hair. After a few seconds of assessing the damage, he walked around the car and opened the passenger door — from which a very small child scrambled out. He attempted to tug the ruined fence back into place, but it wouldn’t move.
The view through that piece of glass is not out onto the actual world but inward, down a digital depth over which I exercise near-dictatorial control. If I want to see a manatee captioned by a motivational slogan, I see that.
Mine roams, for much of each day, in a space roughly the size of a playing card: the rectangle of my phone’s screen.
Now the fence would be extra secure, stronger than before, impervious to damage. was the lazy one, with my knee-jerk judgments and distant clichés, my superiority from three stories up.
My window had taken a break, that day, from its usual programming — crows and squirrels roaming over a dead tree, cars piling up at a stoplight — to put on a little passion play for me, an allegory about the nobility of the human spirit.
He tried to shove the fallen piece of bumper back onto his car, but that only made the rest of his bumper fall off too.
I sat in my red chair, looking out my window, silently cheering. He grabbed its vertical support pole, which was wickedly bent, and pulled against it with his full weight.