Saturday, December 5, 2009

Mushroom sky I have fed dimes to cold machines in all night filling stations while traffic in a mad and flowing flame streaked red in six lanes of darkness and breathed the cleaver hitchhike wind within the.

"Who is your leader?" Spoken impressively the question usually got some response. None this time. The Winged One gazed straight at Rocannon blinked once with an impassivity beyond disdain shut his eyes and stood there to all appearances sound asleep. Rocannon's eyes had eased to the near-darkness and he now saw stretching off into the warm gloom under the vaults rows and clumps and knots of the winged figures hundreds of them all unmoving eyes.
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And listen to the grownups talk. Whether it was me with one or two of my friends or Joe with three or four of his she'd listen. She would have stayed even when Joe and his friends played poker if he'd let her. wouldn't though because they talked so foul. Th child nibbled conversation the way a mouse nibble a cheese-rind and what she couldn't eat she stored away. Then she changed. I don't know just when the change started but I first saw it not too long after she'd started her sophomore year. Toward the end of September I'm gonna say. The first thing I noticed was that she wasn't comin home on the early ferry like she had at the end of most school-days the year before although that had worked out real well for her - she was able to get her homework finished in her room before the boys showed up then do a little.
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