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Sep. 21st, 2004 10:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
artyartieMust...take...break..from...translating original poem into Quenya. Dear Gods, this is hard. My brain is going to start flinging itself out my ears. And so, let's try some NaNo practice instead! Today's prompt? Taxis.
(I may switch to a different journal for NaNo purposes - will keep anyone posted if I do.
His English, lilting with a faint trace of a Yorkshire dialect, is nearly as fast as his driving, which is alarming. We grab on a little more tightly to the seats as we zip along the small roads leading to hadrian's Wall, wishing, for once, for the handles above the door used to hang clothing on long distance trips.
Now I know what their true purpose is.
The only thing more alarming about our velocity is the fact this man's day job is the school bus driver for the town of Haltwhistle. I can only imagine the looks on parents faces when they send their children off to school.
The children must love it, i imagine, shrieking across the moors, through the fog, past the ancient stones that now linger upon the hills, a wall once great. A wall that once protected 'civilization' but now only protects sheep and tough grass.
And of course, buses full of screaming children riding through the hills at breakneck speed.
(I may switch to a different journal for NaNo purposes - will keep anyone posted if I do.
His English, lilting with a faint trace of a Yorkshire dialect, is nearly as fast as his driving, which is alarming. We grab on a little more tightly to the seats as we zip along the small roads leading to hadrian's Wall, wishing, for once, for the handles above the door used to hang clothing on long distance trips.
Now I know what their true purpose is.
The only thing more alarming about our velocity is the fact this man's day job is the school bus driver for the town of Haltwhistle. I can only imagine the looks on parents faces when they send their children off to school.
The children must love it, i imagine, shrieking across the moors, through the fog, past the ancient stones that now linger upon the hills, a wall once great. A wall that once protected 'civilization' but now only protects sheep and tough grass.
And of course, buses full of screaming children riding through the hills at breakneck speed.
