By David Gerrold
David Gerrold takes you on a journey of exchange universes … universes the place Santa Claus isn’t great and the easiest guy is admittedly elected president; the place Ronald Reagan and Gregory Peck command the aircraft wearing the 1st atomic bomb and John F. Kennedy stars within the hit convey big name music, the place Franz Kafka doesn’t write fiction and the satan holds academic seminars. advent through Mike Resnick.
Read Online or Download Alternate Gerrolds: An Assortment of Fictitious Lives PDF
Similar fiction books
Na roerige belevenissen in big apple, Williamsport, Detroit en Chicago zien Jan Prins, Bob Evers en rolronde Arie Roos eindelijk een gat in de verwikkelingen rond reisbussen van usa excursions. Ze ontdekken dat de bron van de problemen gezocht moet worden in Salt Lake urban, op meer dan 2000 kilometer van Chicago.
My first collision with status used to be hardly ever memorable. i used to be a busboy at Marx's Deli. The 12 months was once 1934. where used to be 3rd and Hill, la. i used to be twenty-one years outdated, residing in a global bounded at the west via Bunker Hill, at the east by means of la road, at the south through Pershing sq., and at the north via Civic heart. i used to be a busboy nonpareil, with nice verve and magnificence for the occupation, and notwithstanding i used to be dreadfully underpaid (one greenback an afternoon plus food) I attracted huge cognizance as I whirled from desk to desk, balancing a tray on one hand, and eliciting smiles from my consumers. I had anything else beside a waiter's ability to provide my buyers, for i used to be additionally a author.
The manhattan occasions bestselling writer and "maven of trade history" (San Diego Union-Tribune) offers a close to- destiny mystery.
A supervolcanic eruption in Yellowstone Park sends lava and dirt flowing towards populated parts, and clouds of ash drifting around the state. The fallout destroys vegetation and farm animals, clogs equipment, and makes towns uninhabitable. those that live on locate themselves stuck in an apocalyptic disaster during which humanity has no selection yet to upward push from the ashes and recreate the area. ..
Fissures among Obi-Wan and Anakin develop within the subsequent exciting installment within the best-selling Jedi Quest series.
Obi-Wan, Anakin, and one other pair of Jedi needs to attempt to retrieve an evil scientist from a planet run through criminals as a safe haven for different criminals. with a view to do that, they must move undercover -- because the form of scum and they try and seize. Will the capacity be well worth the ends? Or will Anakin research an excessive amount of in regards to the seamier part of the galaxy?
Additional resources for Alternate Gerrolds: An Assortment of Fictitious Lives
He still drank with them, but only on special days. Mostly he was sober. He had this idea that the men were really looking for some type of Eden and that when they drank they returned to it, but, on getting there, they weren’t able to stay. He didn’t try to convince them to stop. That wasn’t his way. It might’ve been easy for me not to like Corrigan, my younger brother who sparked people alive, but there was something about him that made dislike difficult. His theme was happiness—what it is and what it might not have been, where he might find it and where it might have disappeared.
I’m broke,” I said without turning around. The hooker spat thickly at my feet and raised the pink parasol over her head. “Asshole,” she said as she walked past. She stood on the lit side of the street and waited underneath the parasol. Every time a car went past she lowered and raised it, making herself into a little planet of light and dark. I carried my rucksack towards the projects with as much nonchalance as I could. Heroin needles lay along the inside of the fence, among the weeds. Someone had spray-painted the sign near the entrance to the flats.
When the weather blew foul, we sat on the stairs, Corrigan and I. Our father, a physicist, had left us years before. A check, postmarked in London, arrived through the letter box once a week. Never a note, just a check, drawn on a bank in Oxford. It spun in the air as it fell. We ran to bring it to our mother. She slipped the envelope under a flowerpot on the kitchen windowsill and the next day it was gone. Nothing more was ever said. The only other sign of our father was a wardrobe full of his old suits and trousers in our mother’s bedroom.