How to rank with some random text - Series 7
"Can I get you anything else?" David asked. It was a question he asked a hundred times a day and he always received the same answer. It had become such an ingrained part of his daily routine that he had to step back and actively think when he heard the little girl's reply. Nobody had before answered the question the way that she did, and David didn't know how he should respond.
"It was so great to hear from you today and it was such weird timing," he said. "This is going to sound funny and a little strange, but you were in a dream I had just a couple of days ago. I'd love to get together and tell you about it if you're up for a cup of coffee," he continued, laying the trap he'd been planning for years.
Twenty seconds were all that was left and Richard could hear each one tick by. Fifteen seconds now remained and the panic began to fully set in. Ten seconds and he wasn't sure he had enough time. Five seconds, four, three, two, one...
Time is all relative based on age and experience. When you are a child an hour is a long time to wait but a very short time when that’s all the time you are allowed on your iPad. As a teenager time goes faster the more deadlines you have and the more you procrastinate. As a young adult, you think you have forever to live and don’t appreciate the time you spend with others. As a middle-aged adult, time flies by as you watch your children grow up. And finally, as you get old and you have fewer responsibilities and fewer demands on you, time slows. You appreciate each day and are thankful you are alive. An hour is the same amount of time for everyone yet it can feel so different in how it goes by.
I don’t like cats and they don’t like me. I used to be allergic to them and I would get stuffed up and have hives. That doesn’t seem to happen anymore. But I still don’t like them. I lived with 3 cats that were not good at peeing in the litter box. They seemed to find something important to me and pee on it. Most of the time they peed on photographs or papers that would be ruined. Cats also bring fleas into the house. There is nothing worse than having to flea dip cats and also flea bomb a home. That is why I don’t like cats.
The headache wouldn't go away. She's taken medicine but even that didn't help. The monstrous throbbing in her head continued. She had this happen to her only once before in her life and she realized that only one thing could be happening.
April seriously wondered about her sleeping partner choices. She looked at her bed and what a mess it had become. How did she get to the point in her life where she had two dogs, three cats, and a raccoon sleeping with her every night?
He knew what he was supposed to do. That had been apparent from the beginning. That was what made the choice so difficult. What he was supposed to do and what he would do were not the same. This would have been fine if he were willing to face the inevitable consequences, but he wasn't.
Was it enough? That was the question he kept asking himself. Was being satisfied enough? He looked around him at everyone yearning to just be satisfied in their daily life and he had reached that goal. He knew that he was satisfied and he also knew it wasn't going to be enough.
They argue. While the argument seems to be different the truth is it's always the same. Yes, the topic may be different or the circumstances, but when all said and done, it all came back to the same thing. They both knew it, but neither has the courage or strength to address the underlying issue. So they continue to argue.
She wanted rainbow hair. That's what she told the hairdresser. It should be deep rainbow colors, too. She wasn't interested in pastel rainbow hair. She wanted it deep and vibrant so there was no doubt that she had done this on purpose.
Where do they get a random paragraph?" he wondered as he clicked the generate button. Do they just write a random paragraph or do they get it somewhere? At that moment he read the random paragraph and realized it was about random paragraphs and his world would never be the same.
The bridge spanning a 100-foot gully stood in front of him as the last obstacle blocking him from reaching his destination. While people may have called it a "bridge", the reality was it was nothing more than splintered wooden planks held together by rotting ropes. It was questionable whether it would hold the weight of a child, let alone the weight of a grown man. The problem was there was no other way across the gully, and this played into his calculations of whether or not it was worth the risk of trying to cross it.
The spot was perfect for camouflage. At least that's what she thought when she picked the spot. She couldn't imagine that anyone would ever be able to see her in these surroundings. So there she sat, confident that she was hidden from the world and safe from danger. Unfortunately, she had not anticipated that others may be looking upon her from other angles, and now they were stealthily descending toward her hiding spot.
What were they eating? It didn't taste like anything she had ever eaten before and although she was famished, she didn't dare ask. She knew the answer would be one she didn't want to hear.
Debbie put her hand into the hole, sliding her hand down as far as her arm could reach. She wiggled her fingers hoping to touch something, but all she felt was air. She shifted the weight of her body to try and reach an inch or two more down the hole. Her fingers still touched nothing but air.
What if dogs were racist? Would they care about fur color….. “son, only play with other tan dogs”? Or maybe it would depend on breed, “honey, only play with other German Shepards, never poodles”. Better yet it could depend on occupation. “I’m a sled dog while you’re only a running companion, leave me alone”. Maybe the neighborhood they live in could be the way they choose which dogs to associate with and which to shun? Size could be the determining factor, “see how tall that dog is, they are probably dumb”. Luckily dogs don’t discriminate. Just watch at a dog park. Big black and white dogs wag their tails and play with tiny tan dogs. A service dog chases after the same ball as the off-duty police dog. So if dogs don’t discriminate then why do we?
He slowly poured the drink over a large chunk of ice he has especially chiseled off a larger block. He didn't particularly like his drinks cold, but he knew that the drama of chiseling the ice and then pouring a drink over it looked far more impressive than how he actually liked it. It was all about image and he'd managed to perfect the image that he wanted to project.
Trees. It was something about the trees. The way they swayed with the wind in unison. The way they shaded the area around them. The sounds of their leaves in the wind and the creaks from the branches as they sway, The trees were making a statement that I just couldn't understand.
Indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.
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