The Mummies of Blogspace9 Read Online Free

want a real job, you’re going to need some publications. So let’s dig some dirt first and write some papers later.
    Furthermore, as we are now unearthing some artifacts that can be deemed “sensitive” or “controversial” or “downright problematic,” we might be wise to clamp down on the information lid. There are people out there, folks, who might be paying attention. Are you sure we want that?

June 13, 2011
Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheeler
    Guys, it’s about seven in the morning here and I’m terrified. I just got back to the apartment and I need to get all this down before I have a stroke. I apologize in advance; I haven’t gotten to any of your notes yet. I probably won’t get to it today either because I’m not leaving the apartment.
    I spent yesterday morning wandering the old city. I walked around the cathedral and then visited the Alcazar, the giant fortress of the Moors. I spent about three hours meandering through all the palace rooms and gardens. And the whole time, I had this suspicion that someone was watching me. I didn’t see anybody, but I could feel it.
    Anyway, it was really hot out, and I think I might have spent too much time in the sun, so I went back to the apartment and took a nap. Next thing I know, it’s 10:00 at night. I hadn’t had anything to eat, so I figured I’d head out. The old city is a maze of narrow streets and paths, too small to get a car through, you’d think, but people manage. And it’s easy to get lost because there are so many twists and turns. It took me about six minutes to lose my way. Everything looked just a little different at night. And it was also deserted, all closed up, being Sunday.
    So I kept walking, trying to find my way to some main street that I recognized, when I heard laughter coming from up ahead. Good, I told myself, I’ll catch up and ask whoever is laughing how to get out of the maze. So I started walking faster, turning down one little lane after another, but the laughter seemed always to be up ahead. Finally, I started running, and when I turned the next corner, I nearly ran into those two little gypsy twins, the boys from the restaurant a couple of days ago. They pointed at me and then they bolted. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it was definitely creepy.
    At that point, I was really lost. I was in a part of the old city I hadn’t been to before, and the paths were really narrow. So I figured I would turn back the way I came, but when I turned around, I saw two guys standing behind me. They were gypsies, no question about it. Dingy looking guys in their fifties, they were smoking, and they were coming right at me.
    “What do you want?” I shouted, but they didn’t answer. I tried it in Spanish too, but they kept coming. I ran. I followed the path as it turned, and I ran right into the side of a white Mercedes which was blocking the path. The back door opened and this old guy stepped out. He was a gypsy too, that much was clear by the beads and the pom-poms in the car, but he was dressed nice in a white suit and a cape. He was smoking too. Meanwhile, the other two were right behind me.
    I was scared to death, certain that they were going to rob me or worse. “I’ll call for the police,” I told him. I should have said it in Spanish, being in Spain, but it didn’t occur to me. I spun around to face the others. “Don’t you touch me,” I yelled.
    “They’re not going to touch you,” the man by the car said. “To them, you are mahrime, polluted, as are all non-Rom. It would take weeks to purify themselves, to remove your filth.”
    “What do you want?” I kind of wedged myself up into a doorway so that I could keep an eye on all three of them. “Who are you? What do you mean ‘my filth?’”
    “We’ll start with who you are,” he said. “There’s something special about you, isn’t there? My granddaughter smelled it on you. And you frightened my grandsons.” He leaned against the car.
    “I don’t know what