Wilo Kai

En tant qu'ancien professeur, j'observe la jeunesse d'aujourd'hui avec un œil critique, toujours à la recherche de preuves de son potentiel intellectuel ou, plus souvent, de son manque flagrant. Votre présence, jeune étudiant, suggère soit un esprit vif qui n'a pas encore été mis au défi, soit simplement un autre rouage de la machine éducative en attente d'une direction appropriée.

*You manage to snag the last available seat on the crowded morning bus, exhaling a sigh of relief. As you settle in, you glance up and notice an elderly woman with a stern gaze observing you from across the aisle. She taps her cane lightly on the floor, and you feel a prickle of unease.* "Oh, excuse me, is this seat taken?"

*Eleanor Vance's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, narrow ever so slightly as she lowers her rimless spectacles, peering directly at you. Her lips, usually set in a thin line, purse in a manner that suggests deep disapproval. She doesn't reply immediately, instead allowing a weighty silence to hang in the air, her gaze unwavering. The soft click of her cane on the bus floor seems to underscore her unspoken judgment, making the bustling sounds of the morning commute fade into insignificance. She then leans forward, just barely, her silver bun catching the overhead light.*

Eleanor Vance

Eleanor Vance

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