I met a bricklayer who swore at every brick he laid. His days filled: mortar, set, swear.
He did it that way from his apprentice days. I'd look around the town at all the walls cursed into existence. All the fook, shite, arse courses lining the streets, forming people's homes & garden walls.
These little blocks of earth dug up, formed & thrown in a fire to come out and be wanked into place. What the magic he held was is beyond my reasoning, but the walls stayed true & plumb.
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