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  • Every morning on my way to work that week, there was fresh, black, asphalt being poured from large machines.
    Every day on my way home, the workers were gone, or at least in some other part of the construction process.
    But not this day. So I speeded up to get Folke from preschool.
    "Hurry up", I said, "We are going somewhere special". He hesitated. He usually refuse to come along for quite a while. "Where?" he asekd.
    "To see an asphalt machine at work" I said. He hurried.
    And we made it in good time, for both the asphalt machine, the smoking hot black asphalt pouring out, the men flattening it with rakes, and the road roller finishing.
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