Today I was venturing around the library when I came across a friend of mine. He said it had been the first time he'd been in the library in about two years. While stumbling through a pile of books he found a Hungarian cookbook. He is of Hungarian heritage, and said "My grandmother would love this." When he flipped through the book, he caught eye of the check-out card that rested in a pocket glued to the inside of the back-cover of the book. Sure enough, there was his grandmothers name, dated back to May of 1974. He checked the book out of the library.
Small, crazy world.
"Somebody told me when the bomb hits, everybody in a two mile radius will be instantly sublimated, but if you lay face down on the ground for some time, avoiding the residual ripples of heat, you might survive, permanently fucked up and twisted like you're always underwater refracted. But if you do go gas, there's nothing you can do if the air that was once you is mingled and mashed with the kicked up molecules of the enemy's former body. Big-kid-tested, motherf--ker approved."
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