HOORAY FOR THE GREY!_About Pecht_Even the Trolleys are Transplants_Lying In His Grave
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HOORAY FOR THE GREY!
HOORAY FOR THE GREY! Mildred and Bill Williams often spent a Saturday afternoon at Belmont Racetrack during the race season. They shared their passion for horse racing on these afternoons among friends and relatives. The track at Belmont Park was a convenient twenty- minute walk along the sidewalk path that lined the nearby freeway. The Saturday afternoon get-togethers would start when they all gathered at the Williams house en route to the racetrack. Jerry, Mildred’s brother, was one of the few that really understood the sport. He always insisted upon rubbing Mildred’s hair as they approached...
About Pecht
Pecht had found over the years that he sometimes lost track of time. He knew that this happened to a lot of inpiduals. He didn’t think that this happened to a lot of people like himself; because technically, he wasn’t “people”.Now Pecht did not forget anything; ever. It might sometimes take him a moment to speak or act: because he was recalling so much and contemplating so many possibilities, but to outward appearances he could seem somewhat scatterbrained.Pecht was a Pixie. These days, it was exceedingly rare to encounter any swww.onedoor.ccort of being/creature from the non-human world.There were a variet...
Even the Trolleys are Transplants
Everyone had told her that San Francisco was one of the greatest cities in the world: The temperature was always perfect—not too hot, not too cold; it was a haven for the LGBTQ+ community; it was full of big tech and big dreams. So she moved across the country, sight unseen, to this land of moderate weather and equality and prosperity, because her boyfriend had gotten a job at Google with a six-figure salary, and you couldn’t refuse a job at Google when you were from nowhere.She should have Googled more about how everyone hated the Google (and Apple, and Facebook, and other tech company) buses...
Lying In His Grave
Lying In His Grave Michael Goodwin Phinneas Armstrong was a liar. Phinneas Armstrong was not even his name, truth be told. He had decided one day that his given name lacked the flair to which he was entitled. He therefore concocted a drawn out, contrived tale about winning the name in a card game in a faraway land. The townsfolk naturally believed him, for who would lie about their name? Phinneas Armstrong would, for Phinneas Armstrong was a liar. A liar not simply in demeanor nor action, Phinneas was a liar in all things. He lied for profit. He lied for fun. He lied when he stood to gain no...