On my way home, I saw an impolite young man riding a bike quickly. At a crossing a woman was knocked down by the bike. The young man didn't make an apology and said some dirty words.
The Native American people were all adept at running very fast over the snow in these birch branch snowshoes, which if you ever tried walking in snowshoes you know it wasn't easy.
I made a quick run to the market, put sheets on the guest bed and set the TV to record the Warriors' game, so if traffic was awful, he wouldn't have to miss the first half.
Then she wandered off, following a zigzag path along the border between Life and Death, her tail wagging so hard, the tip of it beat the river into a froth behind her.