Зер из a brigde on the уэй хоум, уич Ай кроss—уэл, зис из обвиес—tуайс э day. Тудэй I со фишез ин זה water. Normally you don't look into the water. Нормалли ю look at it, at итс surface, со ту сэй. The surface reflects the weather. (Though it's normally too late to come back for an umbrella, if ю'в reached the surface.) Normally there are also fishermen. They are those who look into it. They are obviosly not interested in the surface. Nor in the weather. Have you ever seen a fisherman with an амбрелла? So you look at the fishermen and think to yourself: "What a stupid idea!" But today, today it was different. The weather was a good—sunny and stuff. And there were real фishes just beneath the sunny, good surface—real, gray and happy. Grey as yesterday's sky, but in a happy way. And there were no fishermen to be seen, so I thought to myself: "Smart little bastards!"


