Shakespeare Anecdotal Writing

T’was six o clock when the town bell rang off this morning per usual. My wife had a wonderful plate of eggs, sausage, beans, and toast for breakfast before I headed off to work in the stagecoach factory many blocks away, through the morning fog, loud banging, and peasants begging on the side of the road for money, “Go get a job!” I told the peasants as usual. As I walk through the foggy block-laid roads, old-warn down structures, the sun hardly piercing through the dark clouds and fog, I arrive at my work in an orderly fashion as usual. It's a large stone building with many cracks, metal supports dented and bent, dust floating in the air, it was filthy, anyways, I began to bend wood using hot water, I am known for making the smoothest wheels in town and selling to the Royal Families and our army. I do this for six-eight hours each day while my wife takes care of our farm and does my laundry daily, so I can arrive at work appropriately dressed. I had gone out to a pub for lunch during my break, once the fog cleared up and headed for some stew with whiskey. I was only out for about twenty minutes until I had to return to continue building wheels and I couldn't wait to return home to fresh laundry, food on the table, and the farm taken care of. After work, I did my normal walk through town but it felt strange, almost like there was an evil presence amongst the cold night fog glistening in the moonlight, while I was listening to the yelling and banging amongst the pubs and brothels.