Character: Robert Arctor

I have to pretend that they're not here. If at all they exist. Perhaps they're a figment of my imagination. Watching someone's eyes, but there is nothing human. They are not like brown eyes Donna. They don't blink... That sees the scanner? It goes into the head? But in the heart? He can see souls clearly or vaguely?.. Hope that is clear. Because I can't just search his soul. I only see twilight. I hope that the scanner is open the souls of men... If the scanner sees only darkly, the way I do... then we are all damned for all eternity... We will die knowing only a little bit. And even this particle of truth will be distorted...

To increase the probability of penetration through the front door and to exclude other options, I prudently left the front door unlocked.
And if they do not understand that the door is open?
I left a note on my door.
Are you kidding me?
- No. No, no, no. Yes! But no. But yeah.
- Are you kidding us? You don't understand... isn't It, Bob?
- Find out when we get back. If we find a note on the door and the door will be unlocked - so he's not lying.
And if robbing a house and broke things, thieves pluck a note and lock the door... we don't know. So we wrestle with.
- Of course, I'm kidding. Only a lunatic could leave the door unlocked and pin a note on my door.
- What's in the note, Jim?
- I wrote "Come on in, door's open".

The pain... unexpected and undeserved, I swept suddenly enveloped in the cobwebs I realized that hate is not the door. I hated my life: your home, your family, your front yard, the lawn mower... All remains the same and wait for change makes no sense. It should be over, and over... I Now live in a world of darkness, and I am constantly surrounded by filth. But sometimes I get lucky and I get a chance to meet face-to-face with an unexpected miracle. And no matter what you can't count...

"Substance D" is the dullness, despair, a painful breakup with friends, with loved ones, all against all. This forgetfulness, loneliness, hatred, suspicion... and finally - it is death! A slow death... brain and body...

Know why I have a block against this bullshit? So people addicted to drugs. This is all so disgusting that I want to go into the world of dreams.

Each citizen should contribute to the eradication of demand for a drug. It is important that citizens are informed about all suspicious activity and suspicious persons. In short, if in our society there is no demand for the drug, the parasites-the drug dealers will lose market.

- At Barris is a cool way of smuggling drugs across the border. You know, at customs they always ask what you carry. And to say "drugs" is impossible, because...
- Well, well!
- So. Take a huge piece of hash and cut him a figure of a man. Then hollow out the niche and put a clockwork motor, as in hours, and a small tape recorder. I myself stand in the queue behind and when the time comes, you have the key. This thing is coming to the customs officer, and he asks: "What are you taking?". And a piece of hashish says: "Nothing," and walks on. Until the end of the plant, on the other side of the border.
- Instead of springs, you can put the battery on the solar cells, and then he can walk for a whole year. Or forever.
- What's the point? In the end he will reach the Pacific ocean. Or to the Atlantic. And generally slips off the edge of the earth...
- Imagine the camp of the Eskimos and a six-foot block of hash worth... how much can cost?
- About a billion dollars. - More than two billion. These Eskimos eat the skins, and cut to the bone, and suddenly they are coming a block of hash worth two billion dollars, which walks on the snow and no end taldychit: "Nothing... nothing... nothing..." - That the Eskimos will blow your mind.
- What are you! The legend goes! - Can you imagine? The old bastard sits and talks grandchildren: "Their eyes saw from the Blizzard emerged a six foot block of hash worth two billion dollars, and walked in that direction, saying: "nothing, Nothing, nothing." Yes, grandchildren will put him in a psychiatric hospital!
- No, the rumors always grow. In a hundred years to tell will: "In the days of my fathers dienstfrey vysokoopasnye lump of Afghan hash worth eight trillion dollars suddenly jump out at us, spewing fire, and how zaoret: "Die, eskimo dogs!" We fought and fought with our spears, and finally she died.