write a ghost story?
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Answer:
When I lived in Shimabara, I often went for drives to kill time. I had a little hatchback, and there wasn’t much else to do except read and sometimes go out for drinks. Driving was good for clearing my head, recovering from hangovers, listening to music, and sometimes, thinking.
When I lived in Shimabara, I often went for drives to kill time. I had a little hatchback, and there wasn’t much else to do except read and sometimes go out for drinks. Driving was good for clearing my head, recovering from hangovers, listening to music, and sometimes, thinking.The roads that bordered the Shimabara peninsula were old, as were the neighborhoods built along and around them. Though newer buildings dotted more popular areas and construction was occasionally present in the town center, by and large the buildings reflected what was left: the old, the aging, the abandoned, and the dilapidated.
When I lived in Shimabara, I often went for drives to kill time. I had a little hatchback, and there wasn’t much else to do except read and sometimes go out for drinks. Driving was good for clearing my head, recovering from hangovers, listening to music, and sometimes, thinking.The roads that bordered the Shimabara peninsula were old, as were the neighborhoods built along and around them. Though newer buildings dotted more popular areas and construction was occasionally present in the town center, by and large the buildings reflected what was left: the old, the aging, the abandoned, and the dilapidated.On my drives, I often passed a small ryokan hotel overlooking the sea, some 20 minutes from the town center. It was called Akari, and at some time in the past it must have been a place for hot spring baths and relaxation. Now, however, its walls were peeling, the roof was ragged, and through the broken, weathered glass I saw that most of what was inside was gone, save for a few tables and chairs.
When I lived in Shimabara, I often went for drives to kill time. I had a little hatchback, and there wasn’t much else to do except read and sometimes go out for drinks. Driving was good for clearing my head, recovering from hangovers, listening to music, and sometimes, thinking.The roads that bordered the Shimabara peninsula were old, as were the neighborhoods built along and around them. Though newer buildings dotted more popular areas and construction was occasionally present in the town center, by and large the buildings reflected what was left: the old, the aging, the abandoned, and the dilapidated.On my drives, I often passed a small ryokan hotel overlooking the sea, some 20 minutes from the town center. It was called Akari, and at some time in the past it must have been a place for hot spring baths and relaxation. Now, however, its walls were peeling, the roof was ragged, and through the broken, weathered glass I saw that most of what was inside was gone, save for a few tables and chairs.When I saw this ryokan, I found myself thinking of a writer sitting on a tatami floor in a hotel-readied yukata, looking over a handwritten manuscript with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a beer on the small table by his bed.
When I lived in Shimabara, I often went for drives to kill time. I had a little hatchback, and there wasn’t much else to do except read and sometimes go out for drinks. Driving was good for clearing my head, recovering from hangovers, listening to music, and sometimes, thinking.The roads that bordered the Shimabara peninsula were old, as were the neighborhoods built along and around them. Though newer buildings dotted more popular areas and construction was occasionally present in the town center, by and large the buildings reflected what was left: the old, the aging, the abandoned, and the dilapidated.On my drives, I often passed a small ryokan hotel overlooking the sea, some 20 minutes from the town center. It was called Akari, and at some time in the past it must have been a place for hot spring baths and relaxation. Now, however, its walls were peeling, the roof was ragged, and through the broken, weathered glass I saw that most of what was inside was gone, save for a few tables and chairs.When I saw this ryokan, I found myself thinking of a writer sitting on a tatami floor in a hotel-readied yukata, looking over a handwritten manuscript with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a beer on the small table by his bed.It was this imagined past I saw in Akari that charmed me.
Explanation:
I HOPE IT WILL HELP YOU ......
Here is a story of ghost :)
Title name:-
The moderators
INTRODUCTION:-
One night, a woman checked her DMs and found a message listing her home address and threatening to murder her.
The frightened woman reported the threat and went to sleep. When she woke up, she expected the platform to say the message was protected free speech, as usual. But miraculously... the user had been suspended.
The internet had changed. Tech companies began reporting threats to police. They shut down neo-Nazi forums. They banned genocide-fomenting propaganda bots, causing fascist political parties to dissolve. The web started to feel almost safe.
STORY:-
A few weeks later, the woman picked up her phone to talk to a friend. But the chat app had no on-screen keyboard — just a list of bland pre-canned auto-replies. She tapped a selection, only to see a link appear below it, recommending a product she’d recently bought.
“YOU CAN LOG BACK ON WHEN YOU’VE CALMED DOWN!”
The woman swore in frustration and tried again… but her phone had locked up. “It sounds like you’re angry,” blinked an error message. “You can log back on when you’ve calmed down!” It offered to let her online if she bought a health monitoring bracelet and signed up for SoulCycle.
Desperate, the woman grabbed a pen and paper, intending to write a letter. But as she signed her name, she realized…
The internet companies were moderating the postal service, too.