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  • Format: ePub

Sure, you've heard about bad things happening in the country, and the world, but it doesn't happen right here. Right? And anyway, they always fix things so nothing really bad ever happens...right? There's that generic 'they', but has anyone ever figured out who exactly 'they' is?
So, every night you go to bed and don't worry cause everything is alright.
The next morning you rise, prepare breakfast, get ready for work and expect this day to be like every other day. But it's not. Something changed last night.
You are met at the door by men in non-American uniforms. You get pushed into a
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Produktbeschreibung
Sure, you've heard about bad things happening in the country, and the world, but it doesn't happen right here. Right? And anyway, they always fix things so nothing really bad ever happens...right? There's that generic 'they', but has anyone ever figured out who exactly 'they' is?
So, every night you go to bed and don't worry cause everything is alright.
The next morning you rise, prepare breakfast, get ready for work and expect this day to be like every other day. But it's not. Something changed last night.
You are met at the door by men in non-American uniforms. You get pushed into a windowless van with no explanation except to do what you are told.
What the hell is happening?
****
Martina Louise Evans, 34, was ready for work that Monday morning, and, as usual, was ready with fifteen minutes to spare. She had a couple bites of toast left and a good sip of cranberry/raspberry juice, but nothing she couldn't handle while computing. So, like every other day she opened her laptop in her bedroom and brought up 'YourLife', the social network for almost everybody. There, nearly every day, the very first thing, a fresh post waited from 'Christopher Robin'.
Who is that guy? So mysterious. Soevidentlyintelligent. And dreamy? She wondered about that too, every time she saw the profile picture of just a silhouette. So who are you, Christopher Robin? Are you a handsome and kind man, an uggo? Are you a monster? Are you even a man?please don't be a woman!
The doorbell.
Who on earth? Nobody ever came to her door this early in the day, and her few friends in Grand Vista knew she workeda salesperson? Somebody pushing a petition? She began to feel a bit irritated, that some stranger would feel free to bother her.
She ignored it, then giggled a little under her breath, talking to that guy as if he's realbut of course he's real! He's something, she just didn't know what.


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Autorenporträt
James W. Nelson was born in a farmhouse in eastern North Dakota in 1944. Some doctors made house calls back in those days. He was living in that same house on the land originally homesteaded by his great grandfather, when a savage tornado hit in 1955 and destroyed everything. But they rebuilt and his family remained on that land until the early nineteen-seventies when diversified farming began changing to industrial agribusiness. James spent four years in the US Navy, worked many jobs and has finally has settled on a few acres of land exactly two and one half miles straight west of the original farmstead, ironically likely the very spot where the 1955 tornado first struck, which sometimes gives him a spooky feeling.
He lives among goldfinches, chickadees, nuthatches, blue jays, crows, cottontails, squirrels, deer, mink, badgers, coyotes, wallflowers, spiderworts, sunflowers, goldenrod, big and little bluestem, switchgrass, needle & thread grass, June berries, chokecherries, oaks, willows, boxelders and cottonwoods, in the outback of eastern North Dakota.