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BP’s oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico (note into reality)

by Marc Kregting (The Netherlands) on May 27th, 2010

At 6 a.m. near our bed: four teddy-bears and one Mega Mindy. After we’ve surrendered, she debates taking a shower without soap. She barely eats a single slice. We’re the first at school. The bus leaves for the animal farm, finally.

At the office I rethink the bike-trip we did last week, which appeared to be the coldest in a century. The legendary holes in the surface, so violent and full of disgrace, like a movement on Facebook that calls people not to vote, because politics stinks.

In an i-Pod-captured hush I reach the church square right at 4 p.m. While I try to read columns about mass media, parents are chatting in the sudden heat. The bus arrives. There’s no one in it! On the front row she sleeps, so gently.

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