It was so ordinary, just four random bolts in the gutter. And yet it wasn't ordinary at all.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlUHg3as6hVmg0jOI4ON3iOMwsonsIEsVG-RP3T4QgTyMOUhLYq6n1iuVgq-ngNJtvf329av0YuYBzVCVLm0iuPTeKUFDs9sgDq0S9mVNJnuXNiwtsVLgVxaSyZr9_fm7XLp8yNP4Lbg/s200/1-WP_20180123_07_30_46_Smart+%25281%2529.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4uBgvA32B3E2Si4lqqGmlep-MGF2GxjB_R_UFILemwy86zKxA0YR9Gt-czunNXat2ZlO6EBV9zCQVSDh86W7qWqWXnJbaQiAt4eTcpxlAVnJYe0gqcMsGFfq0dwT67s2bxqSjFFaIZH8/s200/1-WP_20180123_07_29_42_Smart.jpg)
The postie passed as I was taking one photo. Wonder what she was thinking, as I was stooped down taking a shot of the gutter?
The 1st had no thread. The 2nd was shiny and new. The 3rd was a bit rusted but still had yellow paint on it. The last was just the shiny, silver flat head with the shank shorn completely off. The photo of that one is a bit odd because I was conscious of the postie approaching!
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3glLoEjfU7OaH0DJq5C6EMYpveXT3RcDyA6z646ErmTPMNPpQm8iGz8giLoXkR_UhQUQOV1zd56GR1ypapQ_JQDid1vepqah9gHbU2F28iZdz8QTjaCeX6GEQO_EqSOuuRbxDBgfvXTs/s200/1-WP_20180123_07_31_20_Smart.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfgooI7SO1R4y3iYmF-oJjidoIPoEgwTwXFRp-orhK1wwjEuqnwVQlrUiFDw1atM1hyXwhpTsXCuM4GeO_kMEBHYuzZOIK7R85LnvwIZ9pfDLhugef4jB04ji3M3tNC9zH8LPjxU8j0E/s200/1-WP_20180123_07_17_54_Smart.jpg)
And then I fell to wondering what drama befell someone that day - or maybe even several days later - because that bolt chose to stop doing its job and fall into the gutter? Humans are wired for story and I can't help wondering what the story of each bolt is. How? Why? When? What happened next?
Since I can't seem to make a romance out of it, let alone a historical one, I can only hope I have now written them out of my mind! In fact, I hope they've 'bolted'!
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