Orlov
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My stories
Ideas Inc.
I had been lying on my bed for the last eleven hours, my head pounding. I needed an idea. A thought. Just one. All it had to be was a nugget of something new, something original...
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- 580 reads
The Tip
The elevator opened out onto the South Bend Marriot's fourth floor. The same familiar sight greeted Reg as he made his way down the pale green corridor: identical doors, distinguished from each other only by their accompanying numbers, guiding him toward Mr Carlton's room.
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- 457 reads
No more fuel
Winston Laker surveyed the crowd through the thin gap in the curtain that separated the main auditorium from backstage. He hadn't expected this many journalists in one room before, and was amazed to see them continuing to flow in - squeezing themselves in, tighter and tighter. Down at the front, countless camera crews were fiddling with their lenses - the bright video lights casting stark and unflattering shadows across the bare stage.
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- 485 reads
In iPod we trust
The train doors slid open and Jerry lumbered out, fighting against the flow of passengers trying to get on. The commuter cattle didn't bother him too much - he was too engrossed listening to 84's latest spell-beat remix of Thirteenth Hour. He'd downloaded it earlier that day and was beginning to enjoy the tune so much that he had adopted a slight wiggle in his walk.
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- 511 reads