Lingonberries, part two

Bassim

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Would you please correct the second part of my short story?

Every morning I am looking forward to meet Sune, knowing we will have a good time together. We discuss everything under the sun, but politics is our favourite topics. We share the same dislike of the politicians, whom Sune calls madmen with money and power. As he reads the newspaper, he knits his bushy, white eyebrows and exclaims, “There is no end of their stupidity. Now they have decided to officially introduce the third gender and call it “hen,” as if the previous two are not enough. And not only that. They’ll have to rebuild toilets all over the country to suit “hen.” But the problem is they cannot agree how that toilet should look like. Apparently, different parties have different ideas according to their party’s program. Only in Sweden!” He slaps the newspaper down on the table and guffaws. His laugh is contagious and I laugh too. When I read Swedish newspapers, I have an impression I am reading surrealistic literature rather than factual news. Sune calls that dumbing down of masses to keep them easier under control.

We take a stroll outside every day. Because of his arthritis-ridden legs, we cannot walk long, but Sune insist to stroll outside to keep his muscles working. I can imagine how handsome he looked when he was younger - a tall and broad-shouldered man making long strides with his long legs. He carries a cane, and when he dresses in a suit and dons a trilby, he looks the part. I remember the very first time we shook hands. I was stunned by his strong handshake which made me wince. I wondered what was the secret of his vitality, and he told me it was berries, which he ate since he could remember. He grew up in the north, surrounded by forests and woods carpeted with berries of all sorts. They were like enormous playground, where you could not only play all kinds of games, but also pick berries when you got hungry.
When I go to buy groceries for him, I head first for the fruit counter and pick up a box or two of berries. Probably because of his influence, I started eating berries myself, although I had not liked to eat them in childhood.
We often pass by the nearby high school. Its canteen is a couple of hundred meters away, so students walk up and down the pavement all the time.
“Look at them,” Sune says, “every other one weighs around 100 kilograms. They probably have higher blood pressure than me. And they are the people who are going to build the country!?”

Sometimes we come across students walking and drinking energy drinks from the cans or smoking openly. Sune stops, points his cane at the can and says, “How can you drink such stuff? There is nothing in it but caffeine, sugar and additives. They’ll make you only fatter.” If he sees someone smoking he says, “You are killing yourself! Do you want to get a lung cancer and die prematurely?” I am embarrassed and want to walk on. I know that this young generation has no respect for the old people. I am anxious they will talk back and make him upset. The old man is my responsibility, and I have to protect him from any harm. To my astonishment, students listen to him in silence. Eventually they come up with different excuses like, “What should I drink instead?” “I know what I’m doing. Everyone has a choice in life.” “It’s hard to stop when you are hooked.” At least they are polite and show him respect. They do not have much opportunity to talk to the old, and they are probably surprised by his boldness.

Once, we walked as usual when the bus pulled up at the stop. A few passengers got off, among them an officer in camouflage, carrying a brown briefcase. He strode in our direction and, at that moment, something strange happened to Sune. He stopped mid-sentence, his face turned white as snow, and he started shaking, unable to make a move. I was worried he was having a stroke or a heart attack because I had never seen him before in such a state. The officer walked by us without giving us a glance, and shortly Sune returned to his normal state.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Let’s go home,” he said and was silent as a stone as we walked back.
TO BE CONTINUED
 
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teechar

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Every morning, I [STRIKE]am[/STRIKE] look [STRIKE]ing[/STRIKE] forward to meeting Sune, knowing we will have a good time together. We discuss everything under the sun, but politics is our favourite topic. We share the same dislike of [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] politicians, whom Sune calls madmen with money and power [If you're talking about particular politicians, say we dislike the same politicians.]. As he reads the newspaper, he knits his bushy, white eyebrows and exclaims, “There is no end [STRIKE]of[/STRIKE] to their stupidity. Now they have decided to officially [STRIKE]introduce[/STRIKE] recognize the third gender and call it “hen,” as if the previous two are not enough. And not only that, they’ll have to rebuild toilets all over the country to suit “hen.” But the problem is they cannot agree how that toilet should look like. Apparently, different parties have different ideas, according to their party’s program. Only in Sweden!” He slaps the newspaper down on the table and guffaws. His laugh is contagious, and I laugh too. When I read Swedish newspapers, I [STRIKE]have an impression[/STRIKE] feel that I am reading surrealistic literature rather than factual news. Sune calls that dumbing down of the masses to keep them [STRIKE]easier[/STRIKE] under control [or, to make them easier to control.].

We take a stroll outside every day. Because of his arthritis-ridden legs, we cannot walk for long, but Sune insists to stroll outside to keep his muscles working. I can imagine how handsome he looked when he was younger - a tall and broad-shouldered man making long strides with his long legs. He [STRIKE]carries[/STRIKE] uses a cane, and when he dresses in a suit and dons a trilby, he looks the part. I remember the very first time we shook hands. I was stunned by his strong handshake which made me wince. I wondered what was the secret of his vitality, and he told me it was berries, which he ate since he could remember. He grew up in the north, surrounded by forests and woods carpeted with berries of all sorts. They were like enormous playgrounds, where you could not only play all kinds of games, but also pick berries when you got hungry.

When I go to buy groceries for him, I head first for the fruit counter and pick up a box or two of berries. Probably because of his influence, I started eating berries myself, although I had not liked to eat them in my childhood.
We often pass by the nearby high school. Its canteen is a couple of hundred meters away, so students are always walking up and down the pavement. [STRIKE]all the time.[/STRIKE]
“Look at them,” Sune says, “every other one weighs around 100 kilograms. They probably have higher blood pressure than me. And they are the people who are going to build the country!?”

Sometimes we come across students walking and drinking energy drinks from [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] cans or smoking openly. Sune stops, points his cane at the can and says, “How can you drink such stuff? There is nothing in it but caffeine, sugar and additives. They’ll only make you [STRIKE]only[/STRIKE] fatter.” If he sees someone smoking, he says, “You are killing yourself! Do you want to get lung cancer and die prematurely?” I [STRIKE]am[/STRIKE] get embarrassed and want to walk on. I know that this young generation has no respect for the old people. I [STRIKE]am[/STRIKE] feel anxious they will talk back and make him upset. The old man is my responsibility, and I have to protect him from any harm. To my astonishment, students listen to him in silence. Eventually they come up with different excuses like, “What should I drink instead?” “I know what I’m doing. Everyone has a choice in life.” “It’s hard to stop when you are hooked.” At least they are polite and show him respect. They do not have much opportunity to talk to the old, and they are probably surprised by his boldness.

Once, we were walking [STRIKE]ed[/STRIKE] as usual when the bus pulled up at the stop. A few passengers got off, among them an officer in camouflage, carrying a brown briefcase. He strode in our direction and, at that moment, something strange happened to Sune. He stopped mid-sentence, his face turned white as snow, and he started shaking, unable to [STRIKE]make a[/STRIKE] move. I was worried he was having a stroke or a heart attack because I had never seen him before in such a state. The officer walked by us without giving us a glance, and shortly Sune returned to his normal state.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Let’s go home,” he said and was silent as a stone as we walked back.
TO BE CONTINUED
Can you clarify the text highlighted in blue?
 

Bassim

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teechar,

I used "an officer in camouflage" meaning "in camouflage uniform."
I believe I have seen in some texts that some writers used just "in camouflage" like " soldiers in camouflage," instead of adding "uniform," but of course, I can't remember just now where I read it.

If I add "uniform" would my sentence be OK?
 

teechar

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Camouflage is not the same as uniform. Also, was he an army officer or a police officer?
 

Bassim

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He was an army officer, but officers sometimes wear camouflage just like ordinary soldiers, although they wear ranks and insignia on their chests and arms.
 

teechar

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Okay, I suppose it makes sense as it is. :)
 

Tarheel

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Try:

But apparently they cannot agree on how that toilet should look.
 

Tarheel

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Try:

But Sune insists on going for walks to keep his muscles working.
 

Tarheel

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Say:

I wondered what was the secret of his vitality, and he told me it was was berries, which he had eaten since he could remember.
 

Tarheel

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I don't know what you mean by "carpeted with berries". Normally, berries are found on bushes. (Blueberries, blackberries, gooseberries, boysenberries.)
 
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