Jega Hi! So far, quietly ketering but very eager to read both your blog, the previous location. I w

This story is still in the mid-sixties happened to me. Back then, as a young girl working as a waitress in a small cafe in the city's oldest, ten kilometers from the village. It used very little train went to the train station was far away, there was no bus service to the countryside. So if you wanted to work, I was forced to ride a bike. This day did not cause any trouble, since I was young, had few cars on the road, a little truck. From the villages, people went to work in the city by bike. Anyway, it was high fashion, and fashion today, around the bike. The vast factories built bike storage, garden city because the city lay in being a very large area, and then it was the only bus that went through the factories to the station, it also had or six miles.
Well, I did the bike twelve kilometers from our house which is held at the pastry shop, which was a lot of traffic, ketering and at the end of working hours, barely felt my feet. At that time, not value each other pubs, bars, pastry shops, as they are today. Here is the line of those waiting for ice cream, at that time, and in summer the streets snaking. . The afternoon shift late shift lasted from two to eleven at night, but by the time we settled, even the clock struck ketering midnight. At the time, came into fashion in the hurricane jacket, a brown plastic, was nothing but a simple rain jacket, which is a major rain over too well known. I wore happy unhappy if rainy, turned wide of the time. The cool night air protected from the wind is a bit on the bike. The work has been jumped on the bike and start off the highway. When I met one of my village I had the pleasure ketering of intestinal who is also on his way home, but at this hour than the default has long since returned home. I met a young musician sometimes, but mostly he has rolled back to later. The second village was ours, just outside ketering the village on the road while you just passed, were in all the border guards stopped and checked, because the border ketering area, the villages could only get a license. Such borderland permit us always had to wear it, because otherwise ended up in the military precinct.
It was a black, moonless night the day, as I left the city, I felt like a dark bag ride. My eyes stared out the small light of what biciklilámpám given just enough was enough for me not to go down the road. As always, the wind was blowing in the face. In addition to the bike surrogása heard a faint rhythmic clatter, and it appeared as if someone rolled up behind me. I was hoping that the musician son, and I slowed to catch up. The snapping slowed down.
I pedaled faster and faster, he has also accelerated. I felt torn out of my chest zihálástól, drove so fast and I could not wait to touch you to the soldiers. But the soldiers were not always checked everyone out, because if you recognize the Son of Man minds intention was not to stand up, I think sometimes ships were sleeping in the forest zone. Well, not now circling the lámpájukkal, it scared me and I thought that now I get off, and called out to them. Then I changed my mind, because somehow ashamed of the whole situation, and I pedaled on, he can. Later I regretted, ketering I thought that people always think the later, at least if you look back there, and when I see the stranger, I would have cried to the soldiers. Stuck on this for a moment when a stranger, the soldiers come out, but it may be that both of you have fallen asleep, because they are people too. Even better you then proliferates, I gasped out loud, and my back was foamy with sweat.
The first edge of the village was not light, but it would have been in vain, because I did not dare look back. That night, more cars next border traffic was very sparse, just a few cars come face to face, going out less. By that time, the prevailing wind speed are you afraid of me setting the pace. Faster than the hunted hare, flew home, and the clatter became faster and faster. Finally, I have seen our village lights ketering flickering in the distance, from my head to my back keeps the sweat streaming down. Hundred meters and heaths, clattered to the brain. And I arrived, I stopped pedaling just rolled, and frightened, but I have glanced at the back. Not a single soul is not twisted behind me, but still accompanied by the clatter of slowing. It was then I suspect that fear drove me bad joke. Well driven cowardice. Coat the bottom of the hurricane, as I sat on the horse rhythmically slammed into the bike's frame due to headwinds. The rate ever measured rekordjaimat the coat thoroughly using toppled, never so fast I do not understand yet home to face the wind.
Jega Hi! So far, quietly ketering but very eager to read both your blog, the previous location. I was very sad when you deleted ketering them, but now is very, very glad that I found you again. Cancel Reply
Hi Hajni glad that you got the olvasómmá again. Unfortunately not voluntarily terminated the NLC Shop the blogjaimat. New blogging system has been set, but is still immature and cumbersome, and they go