![]() All three were naked, found lying on open ground as if there’d been no attempt to hide them. By the end of the day, two more had been found within a quarter-mile radius. A group of campers had stumbled upon a man in his early thirties, completely nude and almost perfectly preserved by the cold weather. In the winter of 1988, bodies began appearing on the border between my town and the surrounding woods. There Was A Series Of Unexplained Deaths In My Town In 1988 Transporting her to a better hospital was out of question as she was in no state for the kind of a journey that you’ll see described below. While her condition was stable for the time being, the local doctor expected the worst could happen at any minute. Frankly, I never had any intention of visiting my Lana’s hometown, until she got that fateful call nine days ago. I’ve met my in-laws all of two times including our wedding, both times as they traveled to the States. A dark, gloomy, and a very cold place inside the Arctic Circle, with extremely harsh winters and even harsher people. No, my wife comes from a tiny town far up Russian north, on the tundra. Did you know that Moscow’s actually pretty warm? There are entire states in America where winters are far colder than anything Moscovites ever have to deal with. She does meet ONE stereotype, though: she never gets cold, seeing how she lived in Russia until she was eighteen. Reality couldn’t be farther from the stereotype: Lana is dark haired, speaks better English than I do, and is completely obsessed with sneakers. When people hear my wife’s Russian, they imagine a tall blonde girl with a funny accent who wears heels for every grocery run. On The Russian Ice Road, You Always Help Your Fellow Travelers At some point, if you’re lucky, you’ll slip into unconsciousness and wake up with your face mashed into the couch. There’s no feeling quite like slipping into a near-fugue state at two in the morning with the words buy now, and we’ll throw in a free pack of refills! ringing around in your head, like ping-pong balls ricocheting in an empty room. The kid’s fed and watered, but he’ll scream like it’s the end of the world. Yeah, yeah, before you revoke my “good parenting” card, I’ll have you know Tommy cries over nothing. Sitting in front of the ghostly blue glow of the screen is just about the only thing that helps distract from a one-year-old’s incessant wailing. When Tommy’s crying is ringing in my ears and I feel like I’m about to shatter into little pieces, there’s only one outlet: late-night TV. The circles under my eyes are starting to look like a permanent fixture. With a schedule that tight, you think I’d froth at the mouth for the chance to get some extra sleep, but lately my insomnia’s getting real bad. ![]() Shift at the hospital, hurry home and check on Tommy, four hours of shut-eye tops, then another eight hours working retail, rinse and repeat. Yeah, of course it’s worth it and all, but I’m not sure how anyone does this for eighteen years. Let me tell you the secret of the century: being a single parent is hard. Has Anyone Else Seen This Strange Infomercial?
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