Plug And Play Wireless Hacker

A living speaks for the dead

When I got home and my eyes fell on a typewriter, my heart jumped. I said "No Anna, you will write tomorrow," but a voice, the stronger this one, told me "if you do not write right away, you will never find what you're feeling now." So I'm here, I'm typing aimlessly on the keyboard, my fingers waltzing from one end to another to form sentences that may be unwilling to say anything more. Already. The Magic fell. I caught her fingertips, but they have deserted the tip of my tongue to throw himself into the void. As usual. I

I left them I went to the bathroom. The door was covered with obscene drawings and dedications sordid, but I did not pay attention. Before opening the door, I removed my ring on my finger and put it in my pocket, I soaped and rinsed my hands dry, tired. I've joined, I talked about reality TV with Rebecca, literature with Anne and love with Agatha. I shed some tears, no doubt. Vodka, surely.

We talked about travel, Berlin, London, Madrid and Paris. Nancy seemed bland side, and yet ... P ourter I do not want to leave, I have roots stagnant. Agatha looked at me with her large black eyes, and scared. She knew it. It was not a question of roots.

When I returned, I went to see my mother. She read, surely a book from the same day at the library. The clock on the bedside table bamboo indicated 01:38. I started talking to her and she threw me in the face, bitter: "You smell alcohol." And that sentence, however innocuous, made me sick at heart, as if she rejected me or attack me. A new distance, a new criticism?

I am cleansed. On cotton, I saw a little black and a lot of brown. And the blue makeup, blue as blue eyes.

When I removed my pants, there was a weight in a pocket, a small bump. It was my ring. I burst into tears.

I always say, you said never

Forever and forever

Who's The Biggest Wwe Diva

My living dead

The problem with Jane is that she likes nothing except books. Worse, she sleeps with literally. As she has no bedside table, she asks her lover of the moment on the pillow, puts a bookmark in the spout and out the light. His bed still feels the printing and dust. No after shave, no cologne. With males, it's hard. A book is sexless, she knows? He opens his pages and she snuggled into his arms. His library is his harem. The books do not lie and do not fly, are not infidels, but they do not offer small gifts, do not kiss on the hairline to fall asleep, do not make you laugh for real. Wake up, Jane, wake up. But nothing to do, started a new romance, a romance novel. And then, after all, it's all the same. The novel tells a story, love is blind: in both cases you are no longer the same, you adapt, it's only a matter of gullible. We came across a good novel, you fall in love. A kiss, a page. That's right, Jane, what you feel?

Jane looked at me with a look placid and read on, without looking at me. Suffice to say that I had nothing to soliloquy.

His new excitement was green and white, rather broad. His fingers were clenched gnawed fingernails on cracked skin, as if trying helplessly to reject it. His big green eyes bloodshot jumping from word to word, more and faster, louder and louder.

She read the world according to Garp, Irving.

Miotosis Et Milena Velba

grain of sand in my hello

(text inspired by the last turnip with Jennifer Aniston, Thunderbolt Seattle )

was there for years now. And yet it seems like yesterday. The accident, I mean. It's strange, before him I had never had an accident, not even a broken finger, and after I became so cautious that a new tragedy was not merely the result of chance or bad luck, but nice property that an outright curse.

was Friday. I remember because I always bring Eleanor Friday night at a theater or restaurant, even the movies then restaurant. Designs were discussed, and details of the actors sipping red wine in a French or Italian restaurant. It was our ritual. I thought on Saturday morning and throughout the week until Friday.

Ellie was not very feminine. When I met her, she wore baggy trousers and a sweater inform, and it intrigued me at first glance. During our first night, I knew I fell love with her: she was a witch, a sorceress. The day she was hiding under the cloth of his garments the fabric of her skin, peach skin, and shiny, and silky. That evening, she removed one by one her petals, as if I blew on a dandelion to undress his egrets.

It was not very feminine, but Friday night it came a beautiful red dress, one of the few in his locker. She assumed that I preferred and, awkwardly ensconced in that dress peony, too big for her. The fact is, I did not care I was crazy about her. And each time, during the movie, I held not to waltz that damn dress over her head.

This Friday there it was cold and dark, it was January and the drifts of snow thickened on each side of the road. We heard owls hooting in the trees. In the car Ellie and I were talking eagerly, and her cheerful cheeks crimson with the cold; me grumpy, watching a sore throat that would not be necessary. Blossomed between our mouths wide and heavy plumes of white steam, evanescent. I think I remember we were arguing politely about the color of the kitchen, she saw me yellow and blue. She insisted, saying that the trend was yellow this year and it was a color mat, I retorted that time as an interior decorator I knew a little more on that matter.

And then, inexplicably, she screamed. For a split second, I frowned, what happens there? And Ellie yelled: " Davy! "and I turned my eyes on the road. There, at least twenty meters from the bumper - I've never been good at judging distances - a deer stood impassively, his head turned sideways, her eyes wide open, enlightened by the acuity bright headlights. The perfect caricature of the innocent little deer caught in the headlights, in the end. The next split second, I thought that Ellie would say in other circumstances, "oh he's cute this deer! "Would she said in a shrill little voice, with her large hazel eyes wide open. And then she would have done anything to bring him back to the apartment quietly, like last time with the squirrel she had found in the park.

think such a thing got me a smile, but it was not funny, it did not have time to be. Impulsively I turned the wheel, which took my breath away in less than a second. Everything happened very quickly. So, so fast.

Ellie screamed, and I could not, I felt the cry swell in my throat but I could not loosen his lips. Ellie screamed and it seemed to me screaming for hours, but it only lasted a short time, indeed the cry ceased when the car was wrapped around a pole and I felt the windshield burst and blood running down my face. I opened my eyes very quickly, too quickly. I should keep them closed longer, and perhaps never open them again.

My nose was bleeding and he was surely broken. By turning my head towards Ellie, have cracked bones in my neck but I did not pay attention. His eyes stared at me. Those of Ellie. Empty eyes, dead eyes. I was panting like a dog panting. I left the car, I called for help to the keys on my laptop smashed. I could not think, tell me she was gone, she was dead . She has to take a hit, the relief will come, they will help us, everything will be fine. I tried to remain hopeful. Then I heard a noise near the roadside, and I finally looked up. Was deer, the deer's asshole. He looked at me with her big eyes and I thought I detected something in his eyes, something I was unable to define its nature.

crew were rescued and brought us to the hospital. On my bed I thought about the deer. After the second day, I found: it was an accusing gaze, eyes filled with death, to the brim.

When the doctor came with the new paint on the face, I knew I was right.

The funeral was simple. No frills, like Ellie. Every night I dream of a deer tells me you're a murderer, Davy a murderer, and I tell myself that he may be right.

And I get up, unable to sleep. I get a cup of tea. I look at the framed photos in the lounge on the wooden chest. The house is empty. I'm all alone, and expect that deigns to boil water. But I wait patiently. After all, this is just yet another cup of tea in the middle of the night, all alone, standing in the kitchen. In the kitchen yellow.

Mpact Factor Medical Journals

Because no question of force size

Little Miss Sunshine

The body wood was split

Under the lash

insistent noise of a waterfall, to the blue

water eyes, the sparkle of fangs

We were alone

box

locked at daybreak

Mortal forever

And overnight

The heart and the vial

The wound is closed

But for how long?

What Happen To Fakky 2010

yesterday and today

I always loved going on holiday. My father and sailor, the head of the carriage procession in navy blue, my mother talking to the GPS as if it were an old girlfriend. And then me on the back seat, bare feet, laid casually on the stack of books Vacation, those that were borrowed from the library the day before departure. It stretches through green and yellow wheat fields, armies of sunflower at attention you towards the sun. Sometimes an old song on the radio, when not listening to the news, my parents singing, sighing, his voice full of nostalgia, sometimes my mother boasts, lyrical "I packed on this slow," and we laughs, shaking the tires and rain falls. The wipers make ola, the road spreads out under the metal ah mountain roads, and turns! More than turning, gut, intestines cement. At the bend of the valleys rise from time to other inns and ski slopes. The weak stomach, I steamed down the window, he made four degrees outside, I changed my mind. It What there, behind the mountains? I mixed up the clouds and haze.

I look at my father's hands tap the wheel: his wedding ring on his finger glows with short nails. In my heart a photo album, and a smile on his face tattooed as indelible.