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Dream Missions - Oct 17-Nov 9 2012October 18, 2012
I was back in the hot rod I had driven the night before. I was driving back to the plateau city to report my mission progress to my superiors, and to call it a day. After I had failed to apprehend the woman I was pursuing, I really needed a rest.
Driving through the city gave me a much closer look at its interior detail as opposed to when I first saw it from the hilltop farmhouse the night before. Most of its technology seemed to come from an alternate-reality version of the United States in the early 1930's. The upper class citizens lived in the upper level on top of the plateau, and most of the working and middle class lived in the lower level at the base. The upper and lower levels of the city were spanned by three different means of transportation.
First, there was a steep road, like what you'd find in San Francisco, for automobiles and streetcars that climbed up the side of the plateau, flanked on both sides by pedestrian walkways. Most of the city's workin
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
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