Eddie (edminster) wrote,

  • Mood:

It pays to go through your spam folder.

Sorry for not posting in... three months. Just been living a fairly unexciting life. But anyway, I was just looking through my spam folder when I found this attached to a Viagra scam:

Where should he go? He was dazed by the unlimited possibilities before him. To Boston first, as the nearest seaport. He had taken the trip in his mind so many times that he knew the exact minute when the train would cross the state line and he would be really escaped from the net which had bound him all his life. From Boston to Jamaica as the nearest place that was quite, quite different from Vermont. He had no desire to see Europe or England. Life there was too much like what he had known. He wanted to be in a country where nothing should remind him of his past. From Jamaica where? His stiff old fingers painfully traced out a steamship line to the Isthmus and thence to Colombia. He knew nothing about that country. All the better. It would be the more foreign. Only this he knew, that nobody in that tropical country farmed it, and that was where he wanted to go. From Colombia around the Cape to Argentina. He was aghast at the cost, but instantly decided that he would go steerage. There would be more
without hyphens; it treats of fourteen or fifteen different subjects, eachenclosed in a parenthesis of its own, with here and there extra parentheses,
He hurried up the stairs to open the front doors, but Deacon Bradley was before him. Youre late, Jehiel, he said severely, and the church was cold.
To Buenos Ayres, then. He did not even attempt to pronounce this name, though its strange, inexplicable look on the page was a joy to him. From there by mule-back and afoot over the Andes to Chile. He knew something about that trip. A woman who had taught in the Methodist missionary school in Santiago de Chile had taken that journey, and he had heard her give a lecture on it. He was the sexton of the church and heard all the lectures free. At Santiago de Chile (he pronounced it with a strange distortion of the schoolteachers bad accent) he would stay for a while and just live and decide what to do next. His head swam with dreams and visions, and his heart thumped heavily against his old ribs. The clock striking ten brought him back to reality. He stood up with a gesture of exultation almost fierce. Thats just the time when the train crosses the state line! he said.

Kinda neat, huh?


Turns out it's an excerpt from this book. I guess there's a literate spammer out there, after all!

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