Tinha uma cara bonita, mas estava com o ar

Tinha uma cara bonita, mas estava com o ar aborrecido de quem acorda antes do tempo. Deixou-se levantar. Não desligou o despertador de imediato e o ruído...

Walking through the slums of Rio, he was surprised to hear such poetry. Looking up, he saw the open window from which the words emanated. He picked up a pebble and hurled it

at the source of his torment. The glass shattered, but in complete silence. Were his ears ringing? Rio's slums went crimson & the haunting voice vomited forth its damned soliloquy

of gibberish. It was a howl that could tidal waves through the earth's mantle. The dog snarled but edged backward. This one was green and big. It reached it's colossal hands

across the street grabbing the crossing guard. Helen had been a crossing guard ever since her husband had died. She had never worked and loved children so this seemed to be

better then staying home and masturbating to the Dr. Oz show with Gail and Oprah again. That scene was getting old. It's why she now volunteered as a crossing guard, to ensure she

interacted with at least one real, living, breathing human being at least every once in awhile. Sure that only meant an occasional nod of the head or hand wave, but

it was contact, of a sort. I fear that it might go farther. Is this plague really over? Or might the machines release something else, something more deadly than the bedbugs? How

would it all end. Not well for us was my bet! If only we could find a way to fight back. Then a thought struck me. Perhaps if