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10/01/1992
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The Rust Belt DiamondThe factory closed on a Tuesday in November. Tommy Briggs was at his station on the assembly line when the foreman came around with a clipboard and a look that said he had delivered this same look to the same kind of men in the same kind of factories in the same kind of towns for thirty years and would continue to do so until there were no factories left and no towns left and nothing left but...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 BewertungenBitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
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The Theater of DustThe Theater of Dust Act I Dixie Lanier left Holly Springs on a Thursday in the rain, carrying a trunk that contained seven lace dresses, a photograph of her mother (who had died when Dixie was nine), and a letter from her dying grandfather to a man named Malcolm Cross. The Laniers had once been the most prominent family in northern Mississippi. They had land and slaves and a plantation that...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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Three Sinkings, or the Geometry of CollapseThe first sinking was a room. I was seventeen years old, and my bedroom was on the east side of Beaumont Manor, the side that faced the bayou and the dying cypress and the abandoned cane fields where the ground had begun to open in sinkholes the size of kitchen tables. My room had been my mother's room when she was a girl, and her mother's before that, going back in a line of Beaumont daughters...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Last RomanticThe rain in fin-de-siècle Paris tasted of ozone and old regrets. Julian had woken up in a small attic room in Montmartre with a mind like a bleached bone. He knew how to kill a man in twelve different ways, and he knew how to vanish into a crowd, but he didn't know the sound of his own mother's voice. He was a ghost in the city of light, a man with the skills of a predator and the soul of an...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Stardust WaltzThe Stardust Waltz The snow in New York does not fall. It arrives, like a verdict, all at once, covering the city in a blanket of quiet white that makes the skyscrapers look like they are growing from a winter landscape painted by someone who had never actually seen snow. It was December, 1926, and I was twenty-six years old, standing on the balcony of my family's mansion on Fifth Avenue,...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Patient from BelowACT I: THE LISTENING The sanatorium sat on the edge of Whitechapel, where the fog never fully lifted and the gas lamps cast yellow circles on cobblestones that were perpetually damp. Julian Ashworth had been sent here by his physician after his "episode" at twenty-five—a nervous breakdown, the doctor called it, though Julian suspected the word "nervous" was a euphemism for something the doctor...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Golden ExchangeThe ticker tape never stopped talking. That was the first thing Vincent Moretti learned on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange: the machine had opinions, and they came in the form of punched paper ribbons that fell like confetti from the ceiling of a cathedral built for a new god. He was nineteen, Irish-Italian from Hester Street, with ink on his fingers and a photographic memory that made...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 6 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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Sample V-07: The Bureaucracy of Being(Act I: The Application) In the city of Orizon, existence was a matter of paperwork. To breathe, one needed a Permit of Respiration; to love, a License of Affection. Elias was the city's most efficient 'Existential Auditor', a man who could find a filing error in a soul from ten paces. He lived by the 'Tensor of Order', believing that if every form was filled correctly, the universe would...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Unpredictable CanvasThe notification arrived at 3:14 p.m. on a Tuesday. Jax Morrow was standing in front of his canvas, brush in hand, and the notification arrived on his wrist-display with a soft chirp that sounded like a bird. He did not look at it. He was in the middle of a stroke—long, deliberate, blue—when the chirp came. He finished the stroke. Then he looked at the display. AuraMind had published a new...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 9 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Patient from BelowThe voice started on a Tuesday, in the basement of Dr. Edward Blackwood's clinic in the town of Arkham, Massachusetts. Eddie was fifteen, brilliant and troubled in equal measure, and he had spent the last three years sitting on his father's examination table while his father examined other people's minds. His father was sitting in his armchair, conducting what should have been a routine session...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 9 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Signal of the Last PriestThe stars were going out. One by one, the great constellations of the Andromeda sector were flickering into darkness, consumed by the Void-Eater, a cosmic entropy that left nothing but absolute zero in its wake. The Galactic Hegemony had fallen. The great fleets were scrap. The only thing left was the Archive—a single, drifting station at the edge of the last habitable nebula. High Priest Elian...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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1925, October. Long Island, New York.The champagne flowed like water at the Bryant estate, and I danced with women whose names I would forget by morning. Thomas "Tom" Bryant—third-generation immigrant, self-made millionaire in radio communications, and at thirty-two, a man who had everything and felt none of it. The jazz age had arrived, and we were its princes, dancing on the edge of an abyss we refused to name. Then Eleanor...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 12 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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