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A sexual increase in vasocongestion can differ substantially from a person's sexual identity without diminishing the significance of that sexual identity. Even if this is the first time I've asked for a game, it doesn't mean I'm stupid. He likes to be watched, so he goes through the motions: yesterday's underwear; Levis, left leg following the right; the belt threaded through the loops, tugged tight and fastened; yesterday's black socks; the crimson sneakers, the laces, the left foot before the right. Someone'd pick a suburb and we'd bus it out there, a gaggle of us watching the streets slip by, killing time. You wonder if that's because not many people know about it, or because it can come across as awkward and pretentious. If Dad could have a robot wife, why not a robot daughter? All of the times I'd seen my friends wearing their cloaks, and how jealous I'd been that they felt confident enough to cover their nice outfits in such selfish, shapeless darkness.The narrator is 29 years old, describes herself as situationally heterosexual and a bit queer. But herds of tanks moved through and groves of guns sprouted everywhere. Then we'd split up and go searching, trying to find the weirdest case in the weirdest location. They'd started calling it an epidemic on the news, and the government was paying a bounty to good Samaritans who called in new cases. The money was nice, sure, but we were out there chasing a good story. He knows this sort of self referential stream of consciousness is the sort of thing that they teach in writing schools, that it can be mistaken as clever writing by those who value style over content. Maybe the chart on the end of my bed should read Abby 9078982 instead of Abby Hayes. The Doctor will think that I'm crazy but the robots are so good, why couldn't someone have made a mistake and called me human? Robots have metal smiles that are covered in warm plump lips. They dance across ballrooms with everything from grace to klutziness. I had just found her, buried in a closet, and I took her outside into the yard to look at her in the sunlight. She took the form of a dark cloak, the kind I'd seen on other women. Her grandmother's borscht smelled of lemon and potato; it was the color of claret.Monks had labored a thousand years to build it, directed by prophets who foretold the end of their world. For what purpose could there be in building an airship, if nothing lay beyond the ocean?If only the prophets had said how long the journey would take.
It was a matter of convincing ourselves that there were no other options. Not with the nose of the plane doing six hundred miles per hour towards a cornfield in some godforsaken Midwestern plain. Albe then watched Tic push the article off the sharp end of his poker into the bag.
After enough failed attempts to change the course of events, she stopped trying. She gained and lost friends, failed exams, fell in love, and had her heart broken. Everything that was going to happen had already happened, and she was simply another node in the fabric of the universe--along for the ride but with an extra-dimensional view. "Patricia Sweetman saw a bowler hat on the ground, its rim resting against the surface. There was dirt in the crease on top, more dirt on the sides, but for all that it looked fresh and unharmed.
When she went to college and majored in physics, she felt the mathematical beauty of her foresight for the first time. And the Americans of the Revolution are fighting alongside the British of the Great War and Alan takes a box cutter to one of Helen's paintings and she knows that this, their marriage, their life together is over, the spilled pinot bleeding into the white carpet of their penthouse on the Upper East Side, which is also their first apartment together in the mid-early-late 70s in Georgetown, where they both go to college, which is also the hotel kitchen where Sirhan Sirhan kills Robert Kennedy as he celebrates his 10th birthday, and Alan spots Helen for the first time in the study area on the first floor of Lauinger reading a Vonnegut novel, and Helen sees Alan for the last time at his funeral, years after the divorce, all the bitterness muted by the time apart. The door appeared beside Mabel Powell's desk at nine o'clock. As if everything was running to routine, Mabel answered the phone. Hobson's."Enid sees him with the other woman in early spring, down near the magnolia trees, the flowers as pale pink as babies' tongues. She reached out and lightly brushed off the dirt, making it neat again.
Christina drew her first map at age five, nubby red crayon in her fist.
She thrust the sheet into her grandmother's lap, warring for attention against four squalling cousins. " asked her grandmother, her smooth, ripe lips pursing in a frown.
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The narrator is flawed, 78% omniscient, and skims over the sex scenes in fiction. "The thing about Heisenball," Paulie tells me with a grin on their face, "is that you can't win. The whole thing started because Alice found this guy sitting under a jacaranda, back before we knew what was happening. Hell yeah, check the word count, nine hundred more words of this and Tony can send it to some flash fiction web site. It tasted of summer twilight that lasted forever, and just a little bit of garlic. " she asks her husband in English and points at her plate.