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Google's PrayerOur Google, which art in Wi-fi
Quick be thy search.
Thy results come, thy buffer be done,
On Bing as it is in Chrome.
Give us this day our daily updates
And forgive us our spelling
As we forgive those who butcher English grammar.
And lead us not into Apple,
But deliver us from Siri.
For thine is the Wi-fi, the processor, and the Android forever.
Those Were the DaysVera’s car was there, no others, and Bert gave thanks for that. He saw her pressed against the driver’s seat of her minivan, the one they used to share, and remembered the day at the dealership fondly. She was pregnant with their first child and the dealer had rambled about the safety of the babe, as if they didn’t already know this. Bert shook his head and stumbled towards the vehicle, immediately regretting dragging her from bed this late.
When he slid inside the red van, Vera said nothing. They sat there in the deserted parking lot and listened to the humming of the motor. Finally, she glanced at him sideways, frustratio
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