It's been grey and dark for four days now. In the early morning the light from the car's headlights will suddenly swerve and alight on some object, illuminating it for a brief moment. A signpost, say, receives the light and turns from a pale white and red sign to a blazing gold circle, as if it had that dimension to it all the time.
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The pain of the sweepers' lives is expressed in their elbows.
They sweep the roads relentlessly, as if preparing them for death.
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If wage contracts are voluntary then what explains the authority of managers, bosses to dictate terms to us? A society in which the vast majority of people have to work for other people just to survive can hardly be called a democracy in any meaningful sense of the word.
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