
spidersdreams.blogspot.com
HypersomniaMonday, April 25, 2005. I was looking for a man. A third party. Somehow someone had orchestrated this conflict. It was a distraction. I had to find the culprit. I chased him through the land city, disturbingly quiet streets, sounds of explosions in the distance. You're too late," he told me, unslinging a large cylindrical object from his shoulder, a digital timer glowing red numbers on its side. So, a bomb. A. Bomb Armed and dangerous. We argued for a while, about the sense of it. Why are you doing this?
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