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𝑁𝑒𝑤 𝑑𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑔𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 65 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠: 𝘼𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙖❜𝙨 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙀𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙮 𝙂𝙧𝙞𝙙 [Main logotype Expert Modern Advice](       [This]( is Biden’s only way out of the banking crisis… It involves instigating a radical economic plan that will enrage his far-left base. But he knows it’s the ONLY way to rescue the U.S. economy... [and save his presidency.]( [Presidend J Biden]( [Click Here Now For All The Details]( t doesn't show. I am very much in love! He tried to conjure up a face to fit the words, but t was no face. I am ! Oh don't look that way. It's that dandelion, he said. You've used it up on yourself. That's why it 't work for me. Of course, that must be it. Oh, I've upset you, I can see I have; I'm sorry, rey I am. She touched his elbow. No, no, he said, quickly, I'm right. I've got to be going, so say you forgive me. I don't want you angry with me. I'm not angry. Upset, yes. I've got to go to see my psychiatrist . They make me go. I made up things to say. I don't k what he thinks of me. He says I'm a regular onion! I keep him busy peeling away the layers. I'm inclined to believe you need the psychiatrist, said Montag. You don't mean that. He took a breath and let it out and at last said, No, I don't mean that. The psychiatrist wants to k why I go out and hike around in the forests and watch the birds and butterflies. I'll show you my ion some day. Good. They want to k what I do with my time. I tell them that sometimes I just sit and think. But I 't tell them what. I've got them running. And sometimes, I tell them, I like to put my head back, like this, and let the rain f into my mouth. It tastes just like wine. Have you ever tried it? No I-- You have forgiven me, haven't you? Yes. He thought about it. Yes, I have. God ks why. You're peculiar, you're aggravating, yet you're easy to forgive. You say you're seventeen? Well-next month. How odd. How strange. And my thirty and yet you seem so much older at times. I can't over it. You're peculiar yourself, Mr. Montag. Sometimes I even for you're a fireman. , may I make you angry again? Go ahead. How did it start? How did you into it? How did you pick your work and how did you happen to think to take the job you have? You're not like the others. I've seen a few; I k. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon, last night. The others would do that. The others would walk and me talking. Or threaten me. No one has time any more for anyone else. You're one of the few who put up with me. That's why I think it's so strange you're a fireman, it just doesn't seem right , somehow. He felt his body divide itself into a hotness and a coldness, a softness and a hardness, a trembling and a not trembling, the two halves grinding one upon the other. You'd better run on to your appointment, he said. And she ran and left him standing t in the rain. after a long time did he move. And then, very slowly, as he walked, he tilted his head back in the rain, for just a few moments, and ed his mouth.... The Mechanical Hound slept but did not sleep, lived but did not live in its gently humming, gently vibrating, softly illuminated kennel back in a dark corner of the firehouse. The dim light of one in the morning, the moonlight from the sky framed through the window, touched and t on the brass and the copper and the steel of the faintly trembling beast. Light flickered on bits of ruby glass and on sensitive capillary hairs in the nylon-brushed nostrils of the creature that quivered gently, gently, gently, its eight legs spidered under it on rubber-padded paws. Montag slid down the brass pole. He went out to look at the city and the clouds had cleared away completely, and he lit a cigarette and came back to bend down and look at the Hound. It was like a bee come from some field w the honey is full of poison wildness, of insanity and nightmare, its body crammed with that over-rich nectar and it was sleeping the evil out of itself. Hello, whispered Montag, fascinated as always with the dead beast, the living beast. Nights when things got dull, which was every night, the men slid down the brass poles, and set the ticking combinations of the olfactory system of the Hound and let loose rats in the firehouse area-way, and sometimes chickens, and sometimes cats that would have to be drowned anyway, and t would be betting to see which the Hound would seize first. The animals were turned loose. Three seconds later the game was done, the rat, cat, or chicken caught half across the areaway, gripped in gentling paws while a four-inch hollow steel needle plunged down from the proboscis of the Hound to inject massive jolts of morphine or procaine. The pawn was then tossed in the incinerator. A game began. Montag stayed upstairs most nights when this went on. T had been a time two years ago when he had bet with of them, and lost a week's salary and faced Mildred's in- sane anger, which showed itself in veins and blotches. But at night he lay in his bunk, face turned to the w, listening to whoops of laughter below and the piano-string scurry of rat feet, the violin squeaking of mice, and the shadowing, motioned silence of the Hound leaping out like a moth in the raw light, finding, holding its victim, inserting the needle and going back to its kennel to die as if a switch had been turned. Montag touched the muzzle. . The Hound growled. Montag jumped back. The Hound half rose in its kennel and looked at him with greenblue neon light flickering in its suddenly activated eyebulbs. It growled again, a strange rasping combination of electrical sizzle, a frying sound, a scraping of metal, a turning of cogs that seemed rusty and ancient with suspicion. No, no, boy, said Montag, his heart pounding. He saw the silver needle extended upon the air an inch, pull back, extend, pull back. The growl simmered in ast and it looked at him. Montag backed up. The Hound took a step from its kennel. Montag grabbed the brass pole with one hand. The pole, reacting, slid upward, and took him through the ceiling, quietly. He stepped in the half-lit deck of the upper level. He was trembling and his face was green-white. Below, the Hound had sunk back down upon its eight incredible insect legs and was humming to itself again, its multi-faceted eyes at peace. Montag stood, letting the fears pass, by the drop-hole. Behind him, four men at a card table under a green-lidded light in the corner glanced briefly but said nothing. the man with the Captain's hat and the sign of the Phoenix on his hat, at last, curious, his playing cards in his thin hand, talked across the long room.   In the late afternoon it rained and the entire world was dark grey. He stood in the h of his house, putting on his badge with the orange salamander burning across it. He stood looking up at the airconditioning vent in the h for a long time. His in the TV parlor paused long enough from reading her script to glance up. Hey, she said. The man's thinking! Yes, he said. I wanted to talk to you. He paused. You took the pills in your bottle last night. Oh, I wouldn't do that, she said, surprised. The bottle was empty. I wouldn't do a thing like that. Why would I do a thing like that? she asked. Maybe you took two pills and forgot and took two more, and forgot again and took two more, and were so dopy you kept right on until you had thirty or forty of them in you. Heck, she said, what would I want to go and do a silly thing like that for? I don't k, he said. She was quite obviously waiting for him to go. I didn't do that, she said. in a years. right if you say so, he said. That's what the lady said. She turned back to her script. What's on this afternoon? he asked tiredly. She didn't look up from her script again. Well, this is a play comes on the w-to-w circuit in ten minutes. They mailed me my part this morning. I sent in some box-tops. They write the script with one part missing. It's a idea. The -maker, that's me, is the missing part. When it comes time for the missing lines, they look at me out of the three ws and I say the lines: , for instance, the man says, `What do you think of this whole idea, Helen?' And he looks at me sitting centre stage, see? And I say, I say -- She paused and ran her finger under a line in the script. `I think that's fine!' And then they go on with the play until he says, `Do you agree to that, Helen!' and I say, `I sure do!' Isn't that fun, Guy? He stood in the h looking at her. It's two thousand , she replied. And I should think you'd consider me sometimes. If we had a fourth w, why it'd be just like this room wasn't ours at , but kinds of exotic people's rooms. We could do without a few things. We're already doing without a few things to pay for the third w. It was put in two months ago, remember? Is that it was? She sat looking at him for a long moment. Well, good-bye, dear. . Good-bye, he said. He ped and turned around. Does it have a happy ending? I haven't read that far. He walked over, read the last page, nodded, folded the script, and handed it back to her. He walked out of the house into the rain. The rain was thinning away and the girl was walking in the centre of the sidewalk with her head up and the few drops fing on her face. She smiled when she saw Montag. Hello! He said hello and then said, What are you up to ? I'm still crazy. The rain feels good. I love to walk in it. I don't think I'd like that, he said. You might if you tried. I have. She licked her lips. Rain even tastes good. What do you do, go around trying everything once? he asked. Sometimes twice. She looked at something in her hand. What've you got t? he said. I guess it's the last of the dandelions this year. I didn't think I'd find one on the lawn this late. Have you ever heard of rubbing it under your chin? Look. She touched her chin with the flower, laughing. Why? If it rubs , it means I'm in love. Has it? He could hardly do anything else but look. Well? she said. You're yellow under t. Fine! Let's try YOU . It 't work for me. . Before he could move she had put the dandelion under his chin. He drew back and she laughed. Hold still! She peered under his chin and frowned. Well? he said. What a shame, she said. You're not in love with anyone. Yes, I am!     ExpertModernAdvice.com is sending this newsletter on behalf Inception Media, LLC. Inception Media, LLC appreciates your comments and inquiries. Please keep in mind, that Inception Media, LLC are not permitted to provide individualized financial аdvіsе. This email is not financial advice and any investment decіsіоn you make is solely your responsibility. 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