the theme as we segue into the autumn should be Bradburyesque -- lamp-lit lawns
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Poast new message in this thread
Date: September 23rd, 2015 2:53 PM Author: pearl fanboi
on which the children play beneath a canopy of stars containing magic and mystery; the universe unfolding on the small town stage, wonderment infusing the American landscape, its earnest characters in bright-eyed confrontation with the unknown.
"This is a status conference."
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2999037&forum_id=2/en-en/#28821863) |
Date: September 24th, 2015 5:07 PM Author: self-centered locus sound barrier
"Grab your stick, Johnny. You're up."
Johnny grinned. He tugged the socks up, he laced his shoes, he stepped out onto the inviting strip, fibers curling about his steps. There was a thumbs up from the pretty girl with the cotton dress, and Johnny could just smile back and half-salute and mouth "Thanks."
He twirled his weapon in his fingers and exhaled, glancing about with each step, eyes peering at him, furtive prayers uttered to the gods. He felt a bead of sweat at his brow, but it was his moment to step up to the plate, man to man.
He exhaled as the ground gave way to something firmer, and he glanced at the two men in front of him. He nodded slightly to both. He fidgeted with his belt for a moment. He stepped in. He turned to face the tall frame of the man bending forward, fingers tapping.
"Take a seat, Mr. Wu. This'll only take a minute," as Johnny placed his pencil upon the yellow pad, and the man closed the conference room door.
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2999037&forum_id=2/en-en/#28829955) |
Date: September 24th, 2015 6:50 PM Author: self-centered locus sound barrier
It was 7:59 am and the computer turned itself on. It purred and it hummed and it illuminated the screen and it launched the inbox and the word processor and it opened three folders.
At 8:05 am, the Keurig machine clicked and whirred and hissed and the steam rose and the coffee brewed. The coffee spilled out of the overflowing mug emblazoned with a prominent ampersand, and the cooling oily liquid sloshed onto an already-soaking floor.
At 8:12 am, the computer screen brightened slightly as the rays of the sun caught the window. The computer spoke out, "Please enter last night's billing. It has been 117 days since you last billed a client."
At 8:16 am, a robot whirred into the room. "Your cleaning?" a voice asked, scanning the room, red lasers floating about, scanning every surface, and the back of the door twice, before whizzing out of the room to the next abandoned office.
By 8:30 am, the sunlight was so bright that shades began to dim slightly.
"Your leftovers are stale," the computer prodded into the air to no one, the refrigerator's fan whirring harder to conceal the smell of the four-month rotting Seamless leftovers of pork and noodles and fried rice.
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2999037&forum_id=2/en-en/#28830704) |
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