They were listening.
Whispering things. What he should do.
Of course he'd scream that he shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't, and could they just PLEASEJUSTOUTOFHISHEADANDLEAVEHIMALONEALONEALONE
....
....
....
He couldn't suppress a smirk as another blanched and walked away from him as fast as they could. Ah well, they'd just assume it's another 'facet' of him appearing. It'd be lost in the mountain of expressions he showed or said. One good thing about this was he could do whatever he wanted w/o question.
Who knew acting crazy could leave him to be so free?
I've never liked nature. I never saw the point. I've got a perfectly comfortable bed, a nice kitchen, television, the Internet, you name it. Nature has bugs, extreme temperatures, all kinds of dangers and obstacles. That's why humans built civilization - to overcome all of that. What campers and nature-lovers are saying is that our entire civilization is a terrible idea.
It all changed when I fell in love with Eve. How could I fall so hard for a nature-lover? What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn't thinking. She stepped up to me in the grocery store, commented on the...
"Hmm, urg, turn down the heat," he thought to himself as his attention turned to the pain in his armpits and ankles. "Who jumped me?" He thought, before he realized he'd soon pry open the almost necrotic lids of his gummed up eyeballs.
it occurred to him that a lot had already transpired that day, and he was just getting started. He looked out the window and hurried to the kitchen, then started heating up some coffee. Then he rustled up the morning paper and, fuzzy eyed, stared at it without much comprehension.
His companion hadn't gotten up yet, so...
Private Morlane. Rooster. Let the regiment sleep. Gun. Trigger. Regiment sleeps.
Andrew was the worst of all of them, though they were all pretty bad. By about that point, most of them were on the dance floor, throwing themselves around with strained smiles on their faces, or else trying to grind up on girls. Andrew was propped against a pillar though, barely able to move. He was nodding his head to the beat, though even that was pretty out of time. A thin, sickly trickle of sweat ran down the middle of his forehead, seeping out from under his ball cap.
An old Motown song came on, and Andrew thought he...
In retrospect Philip probably shouldn't have put the bologna in the microwave. But Philip was 32 years old. He still had a childish sense of curiosity about the world. And he wondered what would happen.
For the last month Patty had been bringing her dog to work. A small ratty terrier named Bongo.
It barked at Philip every time he walked by Patty's desk. Not a "Let's play" bark either. More like a "Get the fuck away from Patty" kind of bark. Like he was even interested in Patty, a roundish red head with glasses with an annoying whistle...
Harry didn't want to meet Sally...unless he was a cat. Harry loved cats but not in your "here kitty, kitty" kinda way. No, Harry liked cats as his main course. All of that urban legand about chinese food being chock full of cat intrigued Harry. He hung around the locla chinese joint waiting to confirm if it was true. Indeed cats checked in and never checked out...like a hotel California but much worse. Stealing a cat meal was a piece a cake with the new discovery. His dine and dash was complete with a simple request for combo number 7...
"So you can sell me anything I want?"
"No, no, you misunderstand me." He smiled a bit too broadly, his teeth white and sharp, his voice bearing an unplaceable foreign accent, slight but there just at the edges of his words. "I am a salesman of want." And with this, he hefted his large case onto the counter.
It was not without effort that he strained it up. Not that his face would betray this, but Jane could see the muscles straining under his beautiful black suit, perfectly tailored, at least to her untrained eye. The case seemed heavy, but...
No one had ever heard the wind blow like this before. It rushed through the delicately carved holes of the sculpture, Driaz's final piece. Made of metal and glass and plastic and wood, it looked like some insect eaten tree, the haunted remains of a mighty forest. It was shot through with holes, some tiny, some massive, some which threatened the very structural integrity of the piece, especially as the wind was blowing through it.
No one really knew why Driaz's Will demanded that his piece be set up way back in the desert like this. It was certainly a...
She opened the envelope and screamed. Lick, lick, and sealed it tight. His address she wrote in delicate red ink, a thin spidery scrawl which crawled over the front of the envelope and crept over to the back, coming together into a pair of bright red lips over the seam.
Emotion-paper was still a new thing, the idea of some crystal-wearers out in Sonoma that actually seemed to work. Like a flat mood-ring, it imprinted with the feelings of the person using it. And with the proper equipment, a helmet that transmitted some harmless electrical impulses to the reader, those...