Sunk in thoughts I schlurfe toward exit of the supermarket, ask me exerted, what to hell I could probably write into the introduction of my master work. The supermarket employee, who normally guards the trolleys, disappeared. As I rausgucke, see I him with two police officers of the RATP (that Paris suburban traffic) before the door. I step from the exit and get tangled in red-white separation volume.
Wildly fuchtelnd and inclined grinsend Mister safety man hops thereupon on me to and directs me on the other roadside. When I look at it confused, he spits out: “Those chase directly an abandoned backpack up in the bus! They must make a large elbow around the bus.” Before my internal eye I, as the bus goes à la to “speed” in a large explosion into air, see look me instinktiv after Keanu Reeves over, which will save the situation.
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