-
194 Postari
-
0 Fotografii
-
0 Video
-
Male
-
16/07/1997
-
Urmarit de 0 people
Recent Actualizat
-
The Weekend TyrantI. The free bookstore was in a church basement on the south side, and it was run by a woman named Martha who looked like she had been made out of leftover parts—too thin, too tall, with a face that had forgotten what it was supposed to do but kept forgetting anyway. She handed me a book without looking at me, the way you hand a cigarette to someone you've seen before but don't know....0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 4 Views 0 previzualizareVă rugăm să vă autentificați pentru a vă dori, partaja și comenta!
-
THE WEIGHT OF NOTHINGI Raymond Kowalski woke at 5:30 every morning. He dressed in the dark—dark trousers, dark shirt, the same jacket he had worn for five years. He ate toast with margarine. He drank coffee that was too weak because he had stretched the grounds with extra hot water. He walked out the front door at 5:45. The factory was two miles away. It took him twenty minutes to walk. He walked at the same pace...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
-
Sample V-10: The House of Whispers(Gothic Horror) The Blackwood Estate sat on a jagged cliff in the Scottish Highlands, a brooding mass of grey stone and ivy that seemed to grow out of the rock itself. For three generations, the Blackwoods had been keepers of the "Great Ear," a massive, archaic radio array built into the mountain. Arthur, the last of his line, had spent his youth in the shadow of the array. He had been taught...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 7 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Cold DarkThe rain in Los Angeles doesn't cleanse. It just makes the grime slicker. Leo March knew this the way a man knows his own pulse—without thinking about it, but constantly present as a fact of existence. He stood under the awning of his office doorway on Sunset Boulevard and watched the water track through the dust on the sidewalk, creating rivers of brown that carried cigarette butts and...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 8 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The rope jerked on the third night, and Jack Morrison hung in the mine wondering how a story about a golden serpent had led him to hanging three feet above black water behind Mount Wilson.Three days. He had been suspended in that darkness for three days, listening to the distant hum of Los Angeles traffic that sounded like ocean surf to a man who had never been to the ocean. The mine smelled like rust and old timber and something else—something that had been dead a long time and did not mind being forgotten. The brothers had lowered him at dusk. They had waited through the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 12 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Last Dance at the PairsThe Last Dance at the Pairs I The music at The Pairs had a rhythm that Cora Delaney felt in her knees before she felt it in her ears. She was dancing the second matinee — a number called "Fringes and Follies" that required five girls in silver-lined dresses, thirty kicks in unison, and the ability to smile while doing both. She was the smallest girl in the line, the least remarkable by...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 9 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Patient from BelowChapter I: The Braking The letter arrived on a Friday, which in Vienna is the day when everyone pretends the weekend is going to save them from things they should have dealt with on Monday. It was typed on government stationery, in a font that was designed to look friendly but achieved only the effect of a smile that does not reach the eyes. The letter informed me that the Weiss Institute for...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 11 Views 0 previzualizare
-
THE PARANOIA ENGINEDr. Henry Webb was giving a lecture on cognitive asymmetry at the University of Chicago when a woman in a dark suit handed him an envelope during the question-and-answer period. The lecture hall was mostly empty — it was a Thursday afternoon in April, and most of his students had better things to do. The envelope was plain white, unsealed, and contained a single sheet of paper. The paper held a...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 19 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Lavender DialogueClaire had once been the sun around which the Parisian art world orbited. As a lead curator at the Louvre, she had the power to make a career with a single nod. But the world of high art was a world of knives. A single political misstep, a few leaked emails, and she was cast out—erased from the guest lists and the galleries in a single weekend. She fled to Provence, to a crumbling farmhouse...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 10 Views 0 previzualizare
-
THE LAST LIGHT OF NEW CARTHAGEI found Grandfather's diary in the cellar on a Tuesday in October, 1872. The house was cold—the coal fire had been banked too early, as it always is when one lives alone—and the smell of damp stone and forgotten things rose to meet me as I descended the narrow stairs with a candle in my hand. There, behind a stack of water-stained furniture covers, in a tin box whose lock had rusted solid, was...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 6 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Absurd HorizonElias Thorne lived in a world of beige. His apartment in New York was a study in minimalism: a white bed, a white desk, and a single, grey chair. He worked as a data-entry clerk for a company that specialized in "Efficiency Optimization," a job that required him to move numbers from one spreadsheet to another for eight hours a day. Elias did not hate his life; he simply found it appropriate. He...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 14 Views 0 previzualizare
-
Frost of BetrayalThe champagne was cold, the band was good, and Violet Ashcroft was pretending, with considerable skill, to be someone who belonged at a Long Island party in 1925. She stood near the punch bowl in a dress that cost more than her entire wardrobe had before the war, watching the other women glide across the dance floor in silk and sequins and the kind of confidence that money buys without effort....0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 10 Views 0 previzualizare
Mai multe povesti