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163 Publicações
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Female
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21/09/1990
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The Simulation of BreathThe world is a white void. There is no sky, no earth, only an endless expanse of luminous fog and the humming of a frequency that I have come to recognize as the heartbeat of the system. I am Subject 42. For as long as I can remember, I have existed in this purity. I am a consciousness without a body, a sequence of thoughts floating in a sea of data. I was told that I am part of the "Great...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Cat of Whispering OaksWhispering Oaks was a town that had forgotten why it existed. The cotton fields were overgrown. The main street had six businesses and three of them were closed. The cypress trees lined the roads like soldiers who had been dismissed but ordered to remain at their posts. Silas Beauregard lived in the big house at the end of Magnolia Lane. Nobody remembered when the house was built. Nobody...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Cat of Whispering OaksWhispering Oaks was a town that had forgotten why it existed. The cotton fields were overgrown. The main street had six businesses and three of them were closed. The cypress trees lined the roads like soldiers who had been dismissed but ordered to remain at their posts. Silas Beauregard lived in the big house at the end of Magnolia Lane. Nobody remembered when the house was built. Nobody...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE PATIENT FROM BELOWDr. Arthur Voss could not remember how he had arrived at the hospital. This was not, strictly speaking, true. He remembered driving through Vienna on a February evening in 1896, the gas lamps casting amber pools on the wet cobblestones, the carriages bouncing over puddles that reflected the windows of the cafés where men sat drinking brandy and talking about the future of the Balkans. He...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Memory ArchivistThe archive was a cathedral of dust and silence, located in a basement that smelled of ozone and old paper. Julian lived there, surrounded by the ghosts of a thousand voices captured on wax cylinders and magnetic tapes. He was a man of fragments, a collector of the things others had forgotten. For years, Julian had been obsessed with a specific set of recordings from the 1920s—the voice of a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Office GirlThe Office GirlMartha Wilson was not the kind of woman people noticed. This was, in her experience, both her greatest liability and her greatest asset. She worked on the forty-second floor of a building on Park Avenue that smelled of lemon polish and money, and her job was to make sure Jack Morrissey\'s calendar didn\'t collapse into chaos.She was twenty-seven, wore clothes that cost less than...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Invisible Line He Crossed One TuesdayMarcus Webb arrived in Los Angeles in the summer of 1983 with a screenplay in his duffel bag and two thousand dollars in a money belt and the absolute, unshakable conviction that the city was a machine built to reward people who paid attention. He was twenty-six years old, tall and hungry and possessed of a gift he had never fully understood, and he believed, with the kind of faith that young...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Green Dealer== I == The trunk had a false bottom, and the false bottom had a false bottom. Jack Morano had paid a carpenter in Long Beach twenty dollars to build it, and the carpenter had charged extra for the second layer because "sounds like you need some real depth there, amigo." Jack had paid the extra. Depth was the difference between getting caught and not getting caught. He stood in the back of his...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Empty CupThe alarm did not go off at 7:00. It went off at 6:47. Tom knew this because he had set it for 6:47 three months ago and had never changed it, and the reason he had chosen 6:47 was that he had looked at the clock one evening and thought 6:47 sounded like a time when something interesting might happen. It never did. But 6:47 was good. He reached for his phone. Three messages. One from his...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE QUIET DESPERATIONTom Callahan was under Mrs. Kowalski's sink at 6:15 a.m., fixing a leak that smelled like cabbage and copper. The water was cold. His back hurt the way it always hurt now — a dull, constant ache that had nothing to do with any particular injury and everything to do with eleven years of working with his hands after the steel mill closed. He tightened the nut with his wrench, wiped his hands on...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Network Beneath the NetworkThere were six of them. Six people who had never met each other, who lived in different parts of Los Angeles, who worked in different industries and spoke different languages and ate different food and worshipped different gods. Six people who had one thing in common and did not know it. The one thing was the water. The first was a meter reader named Orlando Castillo. Orlando had worked for the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Midnight GrimoireThe rain in New York doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker, makes the neon signs bleed their colours into the puddles on the sidewalk, makes the whole damn city look like a watercolour painting left out in a storm. I sat in my apartment on Canal Street, watching the rain hit the window, and I tried to remember how I died. Not the dying part—that was easy enough. A bullet in...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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