Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Techdeck.com The Game

Powder

The afternoon course of restoration was about to end and the worm-eaten old clock on the wall had unquestionably won hands down his personal challenge against the fine table Louis XIV, who, despite being a decoration of exquisite and the subject the lesson of the day, could not absorb a negligible fraction of the entirety of the attention that the slow movement of dust and had hypnotically precise clock from class tired and tormented by a number of cluster headache. The only student who kept meticulous dedication to focus on the dovetail joints of the precious furnishings of course sat in the front row and took notes feverishly on an elegant leather-bound notebook, on which, from time to time, did not disdain to draw sketches that portrayed with astonishing fidelity hours inlay of one foot, now the floor of a shelf, now a knob of a drawer. When the clock struck

wearily seven, with the reflection of feline class rose as one man and sprang towards the door muttering vague and unconvincing words of greeting at pleasing the teacher. Only the man in the front row move with lassitude, closing the notebook and carefully picking up the twenty-seven typed pages containing a detailed account of the iconographic research he conducted about Louis XIV furniture bed. The young preceptress looked at him full of admiration and pride, as only women unmarried, without children and just outside the menopause can do, or perhaps instead one of those looks that whisper of candles, linen, sweat and meat handled, and sometimes even latex, handcuffs and other gadgets applicability of versatile ... one of those looks that only unmarried women, childless, and the gates of menopause known address.

The man had already collected all her hand bag and headed toward the exit of the classroom is empty. The teacher (who, for the record, had forty-six, was unmarried, had never generated creature and had recently started to feel strange hot flushes) intercepted him with a move by destroyers and laid her gently hand-edited on the sleeve of his coat.
- Go away already? - Whispered mellifluous.
- Unfortunately duty calls me - the man said, looking from the bottom of two eyes filled with infinite weariness.
- At this hour?
- There is no time for those who need justice.
The man shook his head, shook him gently and walked away from the gently persuasive but this lady let slip the fingers of his hand on his flannel coat.
- But I'll see her in class next week?
- Without a doubt.
- Remember the tables ...
- Of course.
- If you need some advice ...
- I'll call it willingly.
- So good evening ...
- Good evening.
- ... on Wednesday ...
- ...
- Lieutenant ... Darkness.

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