"Mister Cloone?" said the sergeant as he sat down. "You know why we're holding you, right?"
Cloone shrugged and leaned back. "Fascism? Something something smokes?"
Sergeant Miller took off his own glasses. "We're stopping you here at the Richford/Quebec crossing because you were smuggling Cuban cigars into the country. Why would you do that? You didn't even try to hide them."
"It's the Hemingway in me. Cuba. And 'fuck the system'."
"You think that smuggling cigars makes you Hemingway?" asked Miller.
"I think it's a good start," replied Cloone.
"We have the boycott in place for a very good reason....
"If you weren't strumming that chord over and over, I might think you were asleep," said Howard.
"Yeah, you might be forgiven for thinking that," replied Memmy. "No, I just rest my head on the body of the guitar. Here. Like this." Memmy's head didn't move. It was already on the body of the guitar.
"Don't you guys play electic guitars," asked Howard.
Memmy didn't look up. "Not when we're depressed. Hey, hand me that bottle, would you?"
"Which bottle?" asked Howard.
"The one that's not empty," said Memmy. He still hadn't looked up.
Howard shook several in sequence. One...
"what is it," he asked, "With people today?"
"Well, that's a fairly broad question, isn't it? There couldn't possibly be a sufficient answer," I started to say. I got as far as "We..." before he started back in again.
"No no no no no." The volume doubled. "NO NO NO NO NO NO!"
"No what, dude?" I tried to sip, but my glass was empty. Worst service ever. If I could just catch the eye of the damn
"NO!" He grabbed my arm. "Don't be this, like, moral relativist. Some things are better than others, and people used to read...
My name is Mallard Duck.
I have BiPolar disorder.
I will fight it to the living end. And lose, probably
Starting with: this is the WOST topic ever posted here.
Still -- I'm a hero on a Ducky Scale for saying so.
Eternal life.
That's what he'd promised, wasn't it?
Jane didn't know the tall, dark-haired man who had approached her late that night. He appeared as if an apparition as she exited the lonely subway terminal on the way home from an excruciating double shift.
He had spoken just two words. Eternal life. It was a dreamlike declaration - not quite a question, not a statement, just a whisper. But that was impossible.
She had looked at him with a mix of fear and curiosity before shaking her head and walking briskly up the dimly lit staircase. Just before walking into...
Tigger was not just any old Maine Coon Cat. He was *the* Maine Coon Catt. It was perhaps a lengthy code name for a spy but he liked it all the same.
He unfolded the small piece of paper that had been folded up inside the sole of the shoe he had just been handed at the dry cleaners.
"Distract the Family Dog Captain," it read.
Tigger knew the Family Dog and knew that distracting him from his important task of manning the security barrier that led from the A Zone into Second Street and beyond would not be easy....
The icy cold seeped in through the cracks of the old window. Time and time again Thou had thought of sealing the gaps. But as always had settled on doing nothing.
His instincts told him nothing was best. So when he phone interrupted his depressive thoughts, he thought of letting it ring out. After it had rang three separate times, he hauled his heavy frame up from the bench and clasped the receiver to his ear.
"Yes?"
"Hi, uh is this the Museum of Museum's?"
"No it is not."
"Oh...sorry."
"Me too."
Safura M Bhapavit had believed that the secret of eternal life had lain in discovering a relationship between religion and science. He had scoured his native India, from tropical south to mountainous north, in search of evidence that would lead him to the human being who most closely represented God, or Buddha, or however one choose to express it. The longing for this eternal life, Safura argued, must have its roots in the tangible and the real, despite centuries of confusion and myth.
He found Jane as he getting out of a taxi at Heathrow Airport, ready for the next...
What is the meaning of life? More importantly -- What is the meaning of eternal life?
Jane had an inkling that something was off that Thursday. Something didn't just quite feel -- right.
She went to the coffee shop as she always did for her latte in the morning. Today, however seemed peculiar.
She paid, as always, in quarters, and went to sit at a table.
A man stepped up to her and intoduced himself.
"My name is Safura", he said.
"I'm Jane. Nice to meet you".
"What would you say if I told you I could offer you eternal...
Jane was only footsteps away from the door. She was within earshot of the rest of her existence. She took 3 cleansing breaths, as she had in yoga, time after time after time. But this time, this time would be the clincher. She was coming in and out of consciousness now as she heard the voice. The Voice of her alter ego. Her Fear.She called her Safura after a Western Bad guy she use to see on Kung Fu. Safura was calling her to come back.Come back to Fear, Come back to pain, come back to the land without compassion....