A.Journal

Checks

3,676 checks

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No way, she hates us. Can't häng with gäng.

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Impressionable.

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The metallic mouth, still warm from her lips.

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A reason to live.

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An intake of breath. A hesitation.

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AUTHORITY REASSERTS ITSELF.

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Best to sound it out, just to be clear.

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The former overseers of Essilk #3 stood at this very window, studying the movements of the dye workers, looking for any signs of disturbance.

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Except Vespar. He left a bit of a trail to chase, at least.

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Here's a mystery for you: why isn't Operant CASCADE focusing on the assignment?

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The man's a role model. He has much to teach us.

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Then why the hell aren't we lighting up right now?!

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A shame that the damage to your skin may already be locked in.

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What a miserable waste of paper.

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People hunger for that happily ever after.

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Part of the charm of the mass market paperback. A proper copyedit would've sucked all the juice out.

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After her work attracted the attention of the Ministry of Mass Culture, Barcide was forced to flee for the relative protection of the Eastern Republics.

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Equivalency, Heracles, Vantalangicon, Annihilation, Singularity, Nanoscale, Hyperdrive...

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Once you're done with the sections here, you'll want to go through those big, unsorted piles too. Could be something premium in there.

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The craftsmanship is obvious, as if the seamstress manipulated a fragment of a fallen star.

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A hole in the collective memory that won't be noticed at first... but it'll be felt, sooner or later.

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A big win for productivity. No more of that pesky human error to contend with.

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That might be one cover that's beyond you. Not much mother in you at all.

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Hffff, ooooo, mmmhhhmmmm...

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In a place like this, it wouldn't be surprising if the kids were the ones who put them in here in the first place.

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TEMPTATIONS OF THE FLESH ONLY INSULT THE INTELLECT OF THE PEOPLE.

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Images aren't enough. You need to get hands-on -- rolling around, biting, giggling.

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It's almost like you don't have more important things to be doing with your time...

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Blood and guts in black and white. Wicked.

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You've seen that name before, browsing at the newsstand while Tempo badgered and bartered over cigarettes.

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Feel for the most expensive magazine.

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Higher quality materials don't equate to better editorial content -- it just pushes up the base cost per unit.

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REJECTING THE PETTY APPRAISER'S HAND. COMMENDABLE!

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The faintly sweet smell of old paper, tinged with an unpleasant hint of mildew.

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A prisoner of his own desire.

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A bubble just waiting to be burst.

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Blood rush. Boiling. Fist clench.

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There. The little mental tickle -- that's your brain telling you you're close to something important.

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If it weren't for the handset he's clutching you would've laid him right out.

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But also attention. He won't brush you off so easily now.

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THE ENEMY FLEES FROM THE POST-HISTORICAL DUSTBIN.

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COWED BY THE LIQUID ENEMY. YOU'VE BROUGHT DISCREDIT TO THE PEOPLE'S SPIES.

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But also attention. He won't brush you off so easily now.

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He won't brush you aside so easily now.

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Your approach is laughably unbalanced. See how he deflects you with a flurry of maladroit gestures.

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The physical body often telegraphs the feelings that trouble the insides.