LNS acquisition station

Hello, Drealians,

My real name is LNS, followed by 4 numbers that I won't tell you, that's my secret. I'm a little black and white box that stores data, and I live on the edge of the Vallière in Lons. Hélène ness is more class, a subtle blend of the Aegean Sea and Lake Michigan that is only equalled by the semi-salted butter.

I learn that you live in confinement and I live in a tenth of a cubic meter all the time. And in this small space, I "colloquiate" with two partners.

There's Maud M, a young woman who won't say her name because she works in telecommunications, it seems she has family in the secret service in London. And then there's Bubble Bubble, a little bubble bubble, who spends his time blowing in the water like you do in your Coke, realizing that making bubbles requires more strength when the glass is full than when it's almost empty, he finds to the mm the height of the river.

So there you have it, my daily life, a digger who works 5 seconds every hour to transmit data to very important people who are tracking the flood in Lyon, and an anxious person who burps every 6 minutes to find out the water level.

I have 208 girlfriends in Burgundy-Franche-Comté who live the same way, not all of them with a burner: I hope for a mutation to a radar.

But your confinement is costing us. Already, we no longer have the monthly visits of our 13 friends, the hydrometers, who come to pamper us and air our box and it's starting to smell a little fennec, I'm also afraid of the arrival of ants.

No, they don't abandon us because every morning they ask about our condition: are we alive? Is our blood pressure okay? Are we starting to talk nonsense?

Last week, Bubble Bubble was starting to screw up by alternating ups and downs in a yo-yo fashion. His data made me nauseous as soon as I transmitted it to Maud M. who didn't care because in her family, since the telegraph, we're used to sending anything...

I was reassured when I heard the soft sound of my friends' van, but worried because there were two of them: 4 hydrometers to repair Bubble, it must have been serious! Well no, to protect themselves, they always come in pairs, but each in his own truck and with less regularity to be able to repair my friends in the area at the same time. Bubble, he had a problem with the air passage: they intubated him, a blow of compressor and the pipe was clean and the junk went into the river without it being able to contaminate my girlfriends as far as Arles. I was happy to find my "nurses" again, their voices in various tones and the passage of their fingers on my little "validate" button.

All in all, we're doing well, but unfortunately Bubulle and all his friends tell us that there's not much water for the season. The 209 remind you that your hospitals need new blood too, think about it!