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Wake up! Wake up!

Story excerpts from page 10-12


Upon arriving at their destination, Major Chaos unapologetically, had the unmitigated gall to extend his palm for a tip. In a huff, Pollyanna exited the vehicle, unaware that she had left her sunglasses and keys on the back seat. She smirked at his gesture and turned her nose up, hurriedly, going in the direction of the mall's pronounced, gaudy entranceway.


Feeling scorned, the tipsy Qber driver was incensed by the lack of a gratuity for his services, so he loudly cussed at Pollyanna for being cheap. He was apparently oblivious to the remote possibility that his outlandish antics, taking the long route, and the discomfort of not having an air conditioner could have vaguely contributed to his passenger's disposition and stinginess. Relieved to have arrived safely, before entering the building, Pollyanna gave one last, disapproving glance in the direction of distant screeching tires getting a whiff of the lingering, unpleasant odor of burnt rubber, an added insult. In perfect synchronicity, as Pollyanna went under the archway of the building, she checked #1 on her cellphone in reply to an online survey of her drastic Qber experience, a rating that could nix the driver's access to future business.


Making a swift U-turn in the crowded parking lot, Chao's car, hit an orange cone, whizzed through the wrought iron gate, losing a hub cap that ricocheted off an unoccupied security booth, put an ugly gouge in an immaculately cut lawn and landed in forest green shrubbery, encircled by a beautiful flower bed. Still fuming, Chaos erratically proceeded, heading the wrong way on the south ramp of the expressway, that was cluttered by debris, as pedestrians yelled and gestured for him to change direction. Alarmed, Chaos made a sharp left, then veered right, narrowly escaping catastrophe as his tires screeched to a halt, allowing him to dodge a possible fatal collision. It was nerve-racking to witness the commotion of the rogue Qber driver being chased by cops with sirens blaring.



Excerpt from page 15-


Bree escaped that demonic vanguard by being consumed in her own fire and reduced to ashes. before depletion, Bree's Spirit generated a vortex that converted the boutique into a psychedelic vending machine that emitted free hugs, bubbles, exotic flowers, innocuous sunrays, rainbows, fragrant perfumes and incense, dark chocolate, luminescent ankh and peach sign decals and stickers. The red jukebox played "OM" and other instrumental meditations, award winning gospel music, dispensed good wishes, prayer requet


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First publication: Soulhouettes The African-American Poetry of Shenita Johnson (1970 - 2000) LOVE Without an awareness of Love, Life is void, ugly and hopeless. Only love can rescue one From the drea

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