The powers of Gitana Heart_Superlistener In Seattle_Trio: Third Movement_Family Portrait
Catalog Guide:
The powers of Gitana Heart
Walking through town, I see my friends and I'm astonished , they had been around for a good while, so I greet them with a smile . as I keep walking i hear my name called out Gitana. ! But I continued as if I did'nt Hear anything , then aqain I hear my name Gitana Heart! Which in Spanish Translate to Corazon De Gitana I respond " yes " " we need your help! " " chucks " I hesatate. What's going on i ask? Our car broke we can't get home, Well , well, I can help i will just carry all of you and car home so I did my friends said thanks. So I continue my journey through my old neighbor hood And what...
Superlistener In Seattle
Detective Yolonda Pryor read to the suspect a list of Constitutional rights printed on a Voluntary Waiver form. She looked at the suspect’s Arizona Driver’s License and wrote ‘Larry Pickering’ on the first line of the form, added the date, pushed it across the desk, and handed Larry a pen. “You didn’t think I would talk,” Larry said as he signed his name at the bottom of the form. “Why do you say that?” Detective Pryor asked. “You were talking to the other police officer,” Larry said as he returned the pen. Yolonda looked at the suspect and said, “When did you hear that?” She knew that nobod...
Trio: Third Movement
Isolde’s hand tightened around mine, and we ran. Whether from the long grass or the missing lace on my boot, I stumbled, and we both fell. “Isolde, let go,” I gasped, as I struggled to free my hand. “The cat—you should run.” “Run from this cat?” she asked, almost laughing. I felt her release my hand. When I looked up, she was stroking the cat’s fur. I thought I heard the animal purring, but I didn’t want to believe it. I reached out to lift the cat from her arms, and it hissed. “Isolde, the cat’s a snare.” I rolled away from the cat and kicked off both my boots. “The Chorister isn’t that far ...
Family Portrait
A blue-eyed, elderly gentleman, with a yarmulke neatly pinned to the crown of his head, stands on a New York City subway platwww.onedoor.ccform. His eyes emit a dim light, partially illuminating a small area of the poorly lit, subterranean station where he stands with his granddaughter. Nearby, a few commuters stand listlessly, their eyes glued to the tracks, their necks craning for the sight of an approaching train.The man’s gaze falls on the subway platform, with its dark stains from a million shoes and coffee cup spills. He thinks of his clean, tidy apartment with its book-lined living room. He’s never b...