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  InterceptsDon't do it, brother, said Luc, popping the last chip into his mouth. Come on, Jean protested. As if in cue, the warning 'Insecure Area', which was traveling back and forth along the length of the cafeteria table, slid between them. Come on, Jean repeated, softer. What harm could it do? Luc cocked his head. You want a list? Look, she hasn't even done anything, said Jean. The only reason she's on the array is because of automatic traffic analysis, and she's only a Class I Intercepts in Short Story
  RenaissanceIt was said that a pair of pre-teen twins in Hungary were as good, if not better, than Mozart. In Slovenia, the nine year-old Polona Kopitar had already surpassed Picasso. Even Mali, the homeland of teenage percussion prodigy Ubunttu Traore, was experiencing a Renaissance. Looking enviously over their shoulders, neighboring countries shrugged off the new wave of art. It would happen to them, said the United States, said Canada, said England, said France. Good for the small nations. It was their time. But in their much bigger, glamorous and altogether impressive meetin Renaissance in Short Story
  Club 71It was time, he'd been watching the minutes on his watch tick by for what seemed an eternity, the noisy bar chaotic around him. Surfacing from his thoughts he abruptly stood up, walking over to the doors he noticed an argument, near to the doorway stood a beautiful woman, her long blonde hair and high cheekbones accenting her features, as he drew closer he noticed that she was arguing, quite heatedly, with one of the Club's bartenders. From previous trips to Club 71, by far his favourite place to drink, he thought the bartender's name was Dimitri, though he couldn't bring his second name to mind. He hesitated at the door, wondering if he shou Club 71 in Short Story
  An Old Friend's New FriendsA snowflake landed on his nose. When that one melted into a fine drop, another took it's place. Several snowflakes later a drop fell off his nose onto his old leather jacket. It rolled down, fused with the ones already on it to lengthen it's journey, until it finally reached the bottom. From there it hung, like a chameleon ready to shoot it's tongue at any passing fly, nearly invisible, unnoticeable. But, unlike the chameleon, the little drop of water wasn't waiting for flies. It was simply holding on. Not for or because of anything or anyone. In some sense it didn't really matter, considering that, as soon as Marc moved, the drop, unable to An Old Friend's New Friends in Short Story
  In the endHa! Look at them. Crazy...crazy... Crazier than me, they are! Well, try walking the earth as long as I have and see who you're calling crazy, anyway. But I'm not the problem...it's them. With their baby faces...slick skins, stretched too tight across corrupted souls that should have left this plane long ago. Horrid creatures. Their desperation shines out from behind their eyes: eyes too bright, too wide, not seeing the truth of this place. I see it, yes, I do. I see them every day, going past my home, tight skirts, opened shirts...fashion has gotten a lot more revealing now that everyone looks perfect, heh. Not me! Never! You wo In the end in Short Story
  A Narcissus for the Modern AgeA Narcissus for the Modern Age You just cant help yourself, can you? You sit up here and marvel at the glory which you see as your creation. Avalon, and through it this city, though great, are not so great as they seems to you. And why shouldnt I admire? This is an Eden of my own design. The past, the present, and the future; each is dissected for its highest qualities and combined to serve a near eternal populace. Learning, advancement, achievement, all the things we search for as humans are combined here, and nowhere else. So you see yourself as god now, creating as you see fit? Or A Narcissus for the Modern Age in Short Story
  We Be Burnin"We be burnin, not concernin what nobody wanna say..." On the corner of Boulevard Ney and Rue de la Chappelle, a warehouse stands, completely devoid of visible activity. It's silence is as abundant as the dirt on it's walls. The ever so many 99 eurocent paint jobs have created an extra layer around the structure's interior. So thick is it, that if one is lucky, one can witness the popping of a gecko's head out of the nest it inhabits withing the paint. One hour, two hours, 3 hours, 4 hours, 5 hours, 6 hours, 7 hours... The time is 02:40. The air is dense with pollen from the spring, and early dew from th We Be Burnin in Short Story
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