The Hamlet Project

Wish I had more occasion to use “lo.”
Lo, a telephone ring.
Lo, the voice of the tourist rose high above the crowd to grate most oppressively on the ear.
Lo, the garbage truck thunders by.
Lo, the gorgeous tough women with the rocker butch haircut explains religion to the child across the room. Lo, the rain bounces off the asphalt.
Lo, the click, click, click of the espresso machine followed by the phlegmatic whir of the milk steaming.