There was a fresh blanket of snow and the sky had a glorious blue shade after the two days long blizzard, although the sun shined brilliantly the wind felt still stiff enough. The broken sash windows seemed like the hollow eyes of the Victorian built brick manor, the white curtains were floating like women tears.
We shortly interrogated the last member of the once large staff in the tiny cottage of the elderly and apparently semi-blind Head Gardener who offered us some bloody strong moonshine in chipped tea cups. The ragged mumbling man was fairly in his late sixties, served his master since his childhood and could not tell us anything we did not know already.

His master lived alone, no living family members whatsoever, only a woman came from a nigh hamlet a few times a week to cleanse and cook. Everything else did the gardener, which was not much considering his age and condition.

He was a lean, avaricious old bastard, his master, we as children were frightened seeing him in town, Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Stan Smith (after not getting a promotion): But I've been here 20 years! I've focused totally on the work! I've never made waves...
Avery Bullock: That's exactly right! You haven't made waves. But people like waves. Waves are fun.

— American Dad, School Lies

State of affairs at a workplace are in all cases intriguing and as the years are passing one ought to learn the difference among waves, fawning and praise. The last two are not to be used to often or most carefully. Waves, however, is a must. Exceptional opportunities may come because of it.

In the last couple months many things have changed, especially the course of my very life — and even though I found it most amusing to observe how stunned people reacted to the decisions I made, I really am aware what I do, I rather do it for myself (or for us) and not for others harm, disadvantage or loss.
Sometimes one has to take a leap of faith, a deep breath and just go with the flow. Amazing things may happen.

Surprisingly and unusually strong aversion to it, especially among hefty number of people. As one can see, however, it has its moments.

The blood of the deceased was all over the place and the corpse seemed like a sculpture of modern age, the kind I never really understood. The report says he was stumbling down the narrow path of a cluttered room towards the French doors in the back. He was stabbed in the throat and surprisingly did not die instantly. The medical examiner said he probably tried to get some help. Yes, probably.
I remember, once I read that no one wants to die alone, so I rather imagine he wanted to see his reflection as one last company.