Bus driver: Me. I always think I am as big as a bus. Take up all the room.
Three-year-old: Me.
Thirteen-year-old: Me (but why?) This confuses me. Where does me as a thirteen-year-old come in?
Stairs: Going down into consciousness (black).
Papers: Letters I write to Micha? Letters she writes back?
Mall: Activity.
Sports car: Going for one hell of a ride — it would seem. Was there not a phoenix painted on the hood of that car?
Sportswear: Hmm…new as a symbol. Getting ready for a match of some kind.
Bernice: Going on a trip?
Husband: ?
Grandpapa: Now there’s a surprise. Never, ever dreamt of him as far as I can remember. Does he know something I don’t? What did he say in my ear? For that matter was I the thirteen-year-old? If so, why? He looked like the walking dead. Why was I so passive?
No date (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt like throwing a temper tantrum. I felt like screaming,
“I’ve had enough! This has got to stop! No more!” I want to scream, to trash everything in sight.
June 20, 1999 (Computer Journal)
Describe what you're looking for in as much detail as you'd like.
Our AI reads your request and finds the best matching books for you.
Popular searches:
Join 2 million readers and get unlimited free ebooks