The first sentence of Fahrenheit 451 flashes into my head as my last cigarette is lit. That book made me fear a world where books, where knowledge, could not be free. To me that was a crime, I didn't really think I'd have to die for it though.
And for a second I think about how all this started, all I remember of it is a single phrase,"I aim to misbehave." Well I certainly have at this point
Looking back I should have known I'd be caught smuggling those textbooks into this shitty country and really I almost wish I...
"And they thought that was porn?"
"I don't think they would have called it that. Erotica, maybe. But...yes. There's something so innocent about it, isn't there? I love the kimono on this lady here."
"I can't believe you're looking at the kimino."
"This isn't your late-night shocker, this isn't your gorey pop-up nonsense. This is - I suppose it isn't classy as such, but it's... There's something about it. It's old fashioned. Charming in its way."
"They had very different ideas then."
"The world wasn't sexualised, I suppose. Seeing half a naked woman was shocking enough. We're just looking for...
In hindsight, the solution was obvious. It always was, that was the glory of hindsight. And it wasn't so bad when you didn't have someone crowing at you, not quite saying "I told you so" but thinking it very loudly indeed.
She wasn't sure why she put up with him. Twenty-something years they'd been friends. You got less for murder (she'd thought about it - not for long, but it had still crossed her mind). He was cocky and insufferable, and the best friend she'd ever had.
Very irritating, the way these things seemed to dovetail together so neatly.
They'd...
As I sat in the grass, surrounded by the darkness, I saw them all around me. Millions.
Their lights twinkling all through the forest, creating a dancing wave of color. The creatures move silently, using their lights as a path to find each other. I sit silently watching in awe, wondering how such a perfect thing could exist in nature. I admire the beauty, and lay against the soft earth. The fireworks of the lights cross against the dark sky. I smile, and let my mind wander along with the lights. I could not ask for a more perfect night,...
He heaved a sigh as he walked down the hallway. The revolver hung heavy in his hand. He had no idea what model or brand or whatever the gun was supposed to be. He'd gotten it at a pawn shop for $15, along with a little blue soldier toy for a mere 50 cents. It was cheap. The paint on the toy was chipped, but its expression of determination haunted him.
He was exhausted. He was done. He couldn't take this any longer.
"Hey, kiddo..." He called. He'd reached his son's room. This was probably the first time they'd talked...
In order to choose her shoes, Chloe consulted her "Big Book 'o Footwear" every morning while getting ready. Whenever she bought a new pair of shoes, she'd put them on and snap a Polaroid of her feet so she could get a decent idea of how she'd look in them without actually having to try them on. Her fiancee thought this was ridiculous, but she thought it was quite a time-saver. Plus, he had no room to criticize--he often brushed his teeth while peeing.
"Pull!" Erin directed us. We pulled.
"Argh, it's no use!" Ted lamented. "He's never getting unstuck."
Paul's head and chest might as well have been fastened to the tree by some kind of industrial-strength Krazy glue.
"Dammit," Erin said, winded. Even the three of us, with our combined strength, had no hope of dislodging our companion. "Whose idea was it to bring that stuff to our picnic, anyway?" she demanded, scowling at the wicker basket full of the white adhesive.
No one said anything. In truth, we'd all agreed, even Paul and Erin. We thought we needed it to keep...
There was this mouse, see, and her name was Dot. Dot the mouse. Anyway, Dot had a son whose name was Dwight. Dwight was hungry all the time because the only thing he would eat was Egg Foo Yung from the Golden Chopsticks restaurant in downtown Buffalo. Problem was Dot, Dwight, and the owner of the house, Helen Quartermain, lived in Detroit.
So Dot was pigging out on cheese and rice that Helen Quartermain had left on the floor. Dwight wouldn't touch it. So Dot goes up to Helen and says: "Yo, HQ. My baby's starvin and you better pick...
The drugs were beginning to wear off. Minute by minute the butterflies, those glorious, evanescent, friendly butterflies, were fading. She pressed the earpiece of her headphones to her ear. Pink Floyd were sounding like a noisy nightmare. As she gazed out across the valley, with its endless vista of trees, trees and more trees, she came down to earth with a bump. She should get back to work - artificial props might give her a brief respite, but she had a deadline to meet and a quota to make. Sighing, she pressed stop and slipped her headphones down round her...
654 SYH. She sighed. "What the hell is this?"
"The plate," he said, the self-satisfied smirk on his ignorant face.
"Goddamn it." she said. "Mark, you are the most worthless cop ever. Just WRITE THE NUMBERS DOWN. Don't actually TAKE THE PLATES OFF OF THE CAR. That defeats the WHOLE POINT OF LICENSE PLATES."
His smile slipped a little. "Oh," he said, apologetically.
"I really can't understand how you can be so incompetent," she said. "If you were close enough to the vehicle for long enough to REMOVE THE PLATES, why the hell didn't you make an arrest?"
"Well, I...