Leonid Korogodski, “Pink Noise”, Silverberry Press. Nina sat nearby, clenching her hands, her lips. “Sub-sector fifteen. In the morning, he walked to the industrial park’s air field, rolled the Cessna 182 out from the protection of its hangar, and refueled its tanks.
Dear Mom,So far we still haven’t been able to cross the OHIO river. “It’s not personal,” she said, as they sat on a log in the dappled shade of a pair of miombo trees, drinking the cold beer she’d brought out to him. “When we had wars, when we were industrialising and getting people off the land, all of those difficult times. “So were we, once upon a time.
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