On a late evening with a
scarlet sky an old farmer, despised by the other
farmers for his aloofness, woke from his beauty sleep to the
sound of a pack of thrush having a feast on his lingonberries
in his backyard. With superfluous movements he jumped out of
bed to defend his venerated lingonberries. With febrile
and perilous moves he tried to chase them off, being
ineffectual, for the thrush saw this as an iniquity
and demurred.
A group of young proletarians
that were having a scrimmage of football nearby, had gathered
at the farmers fence to look at the tacit folly.
With an over-derisive tone one
of the proletarians gave out an acrid shout:
”Look, the old man is
getting told!”
This prompted the old man to
give up, and enunciated:
”I'm too old for this
shit.”
He went back inside to have
some anodyne drinks from his pannikin, while the thrush
happily continued engorging his lingonberries. And from this day on,
the old man would be known as The Told Man.
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