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These are the random thoughts of Robert's demented mind. Some might be creative, while others . . . are just downright weird.
**a sample of a future work
© Robert Krone. All Rights Reserved
Who am I? Of little importance will it matter. Some time ago — at what point I don’t recall — I was down on my luck, and worse yet, I was bored. So, I got the notion in my head to travel the stars and rediscover myself while exploring new frontiers.
The way in which I have reinvigorated myself is a wayward style I have always found to be of therapeutic use. Whenever these doldrums take over and become restless and incapable of lifting my spirits with either booze, women, or fight, I immediately give over to the primordial draw of mistress space.
Being a suitable substitute for war and mayhem, I don’t resist. Like Hercules of ancient times, I seek out the nearest quest and set thrusters to the maximum and never look back.
I know the male’s propensity for adventure. Even if they don’t perceive, it exists within every man’s soul.
Unlike most tepid men, I give in willingly to what it is in my nature to do.
Call me Markus.
Located in the segmented port city of New Manhattan, partially surrounded by the tranquil mounds of lunar dust, capitalism encases a never-ending flow of goods and services. Despite how hard you try, the endless parallel streets guide you toward the beast’s epicenter. South of this entity is the shield wall, where the perpetual night beyond sits motionless. Just a few hours prior, the intensity of solar rays had baked the indestructible glass to temperatures of inhuman levels. Now, as the moon travels past the dark of the Earth, the shield is cooled to a passible thirty-five Celsius.
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