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turned off onto into a gas station hoping

  • turned off onto into a gas station hoping to locate a hose to cleanse my soiled shoe, or gun with which to shoot myself. I fantasized walking into the mini-mart that almost all

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  • of the local rednecks visited after school to buy dip or cigarettes or donate money to the state coffers. I noticed a piece of foil that reminded me of my first bank job back in 80

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  • 88. Danny Boy (real name) was second in command but got caught by the spacefeds and was doing hard time. Now I was planet hopping, looking for

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  • that Nira Girl I met that night behind the Drill Station. She had eyes like dew drops on Muan petals. I hitched a ride on a junker, looking

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  • like it would expire at the next pothole. The driver was a elderly chinese man wearing thick spectacles. He smiled showing a few yellowed teeth and then squinted through the dusty

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  • windshield. We stepped out of the way but my companion took down the license plate number. It was a vanity plate: "NI HAO." "Do you think that was him?" Kim said. "Do you think

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  • he was trying to assassinate you with car?" I looked at Kim, " I don't know. At least we have narrowed the cuplrit to one of several billion who speak Mandarin Chinese." Kim would

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  • know that somehow, the West Mississippi Plastic Pants Task Force could narrow down one of a billion Mandarin Chinese speakers, but she had no way of getting in covert contact with

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  • herself or anyone else. She held her Bleep-o-Matic TrackBakk high overhead and attempted to secure a signal to Plodd. She despaired at the unrelenting static that answered.

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  • "CURSE THE GODS!" she yelled and slumped into a whimpering blob. "Isn't there anybody out there?" "NO!" came the reply. And she was smote.

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1 Comments

  1. SlimWhitman May 09 2012 @ 04:06

    Smote she was.

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