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  1. #1
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Home care worker - part three, Short story

    Please, would you proofread my text.

    Next morning when I rang on her doorbell Katarina opened the door dressed in a dark blue cape and a white knitted woollen cap. In her right hand she held her walking stick and waved it towards the entrance.
    "I thought it would be nice to take a stroll this morning. Would you like to follow me?" Her flat was in an expensive and quiet residential area where immigrants could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Usually, one saw sour faces of priests, doctors, university rectors, chief executives and similar kind of people who had such a high opinion of themselves that a chat with a manual worker would cause them an enormous strain.

    The river was about a hundred meters from her flat and we walked slowly towards it. She told me that two years ago she fell badly in her toilet and hurt herself. Nothing was broken, but the pain in her right knee which appeared at times reminded her that something was wrong, although doctors could not find the cause for that.
    She used her stick not only to support her body, but also as a pointer to indicate for example a young women dressed in a short skirt on the other side of the street. "Look at this bimbo! She believes it is already summer!" A middle age man with a short leader jacket, a red t-shirt, a beer gut and a pony tail passed by and she turned her body, brandished her stick and said, "Isn't he pathetic? All men over forty with a pony tail should be locked up in a mental hospital!"
    It was a sunny April day, although the temperature was still low and leaves did not start to appear on the trees. However, the birds chirped and insects buzzed and one could feel that within a few days the soil would explode bringing thousands of flowers to the surface. One could see people standing motionless on the corners with their eyes closed, absorbing the sun after a long and cold winter. We immigrants used to call them "lizards" because they were such a strange phenomena in this country where people are always out of time and even when they are on a deathbed they feel stressed.
    We walked on a narrow asphalt path along the river which was almost empty. A lonely jogger passed by or couple waving their poles, walking very fast, exercising Nordic walking.
    "Where have you lived in Bosnia?" she suddenly asked me. "Sarajevo?"
    "I am from the town called Visegrad? Have you heard of Ivo Andric?
    "Of course I did!" she answered almost offended. "Who do you think I am." A stupid cow?" I knew that he got the Nobel Prize for literature."
    "Bravo! There is his novel "The Bridge on the Drina" which is about a child who is taken from his mother as part of the tax which Christians has to pay to the Sultan. Later, the child becomes Grand Visier and returns to his home town to build the beautiful bridge on the river Drina.
    The tragedy of the bridge is that thousands of people have been killed on it since it was constructed and the river was red of blood so many times.

    "How barbaric," she sighed, "and now poetic at the same time."

  2. #2
    Join Date
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    Default Re: Home care worker - part three, Short story

    Next morning when I rang her doorbell, Katarina opened the door dressed in a dark blue cape and a white knitted woollen cap. In her right hand she held her walking stick and waved it towards the entrance.

    "I thought it would be nice to take a stroll this morning. Would you like to follow me?" Her flat/apartment was [situated] in an expensive and quiet residential area, where immigrants could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Usually one saw the sour faces of priests, doctors, university rectors, chief executives and theirlike, the kind of people who have a high opinion of themselves; so that a [to stop and have to] chat with a manual worker would cause them (an) enormous strain.

    The river was about a hundred meters/short distance from her flat and we walked slowly towards it. She told me that two years ago/before she fell/she had fallen badly in her toilet/bathroom and hurt herself, though nothing was broken, but the pain, which appeared at times in her right knee, reminded her that something was wrong, although the doctors could not find the cause.

    She used her stick not only to support her body, but also as a pointer to indicate for example, a young women dressed in a short skirt, on the other side of the street. "Look at that bimbo! She believes/thinks it is already summer!" A middle-aged man dressed in a short leader/leather jacket, and red t-shirt, with a beer gut and a pony tail passed by, and she turned her body, brandished her stick and said, "Isn't he pathetic? All men over forty with a pony tail should be locked up in a mental hospital!"

    It was a sunny April day, although the temperature was still low and leaves did not start to appear on the trees..
    It was a sunny, April day, although the temperatures were still low and as yet, no leaves had started to appear on the trees.
    However, the birds chirped and insects buzzed, and one could feel that within a few days the soil would explode, bringing thousands of flowers to the surface.

    One could see people standing motionless on the corners with their eyes closed, absorbing the sun after a long and cold winter. We immigrants used to call them "lizards" because they were such a strange phenomena in this country where people are always out of time and even when they are on a deathbed they feel stressed.
    We saw people standing on the corners of the streets, their eyes closed, their faces turned towards the sun, absorbing its rays after the long, cold winter. We immigrants call them "lizards" because it's so strange to see them standing motionless; where people in this country never have a minute to spare, and even on their deathbed they’d feel stressed.

    We walked on a narrow asphalt path along the river which was almost empty(was the river almost empty of water?). A lonely jogger passed by, or a couple waving their poles, walking very fast, exercising Nordic walking.
    We walked along a paved, narrow path alongside the river; a lonely jogger passed by and a couple walking fast with their poles swinging rhythmically as they strode along in their fast-paced Nordic Walking style.

    "Where did you live in Bosnia?" she asked suddenly, "Sarajevo?"
    "I am from a town called Visegrad? Have you heard of Ivo Andric?
    "Of course I have!" she answered almost offended. "Who do you think I am." A stupid cow?" I know that he got/received the Nobel Prize for literature." "Bravo! There is his novel "The Bridge on the Drina" which is about a child taken from his mother as part of the tax levied on Christians who had to pay the Sultan. Later/eventually, the child becamethe Grand Vizier and returned to his hometown to build the beautiful bridge on the river Drina. The tragedy of the bridge is that thousands of people have been killed on it since it was constructed; and the river ran red with blood many times.
    "How barbaric," she sighed, "and how poetic, at the same time."

    best wishes

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