MPS LLC 2025-11-06T23:00:23Z

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COROSThe COROS app is your ultimate training partner to help you gain insights into your training, and improve your performance. After pairing the COROS app with any COROS watch(Vertix,Vertix 2,Vertix 2S,Apex 2,Apex 2 Pro,Apex,Apex Pro,Pace,Pace 2,Pace 3),you can upload your activities, download wor

Wave Gotik Treffen 2025The annual Wave Gotik Treffen (WGT) in Leipzig offers a wide variety of artists. For every day of the WGT 2025 , this app offers a clear, interactive schedule.Scroll through your favorite WGT venues and easily create your own personal WGT itinerary.Until the schedule is releas

Mobile Passport ControlMobile Passport Control (MPC) is an official application created by U.S. Customs and Border Protection that streamlines your CBP inspection process at select U.S. entry locations. Simply complete your travel information, answer CBP inspection questions, capture a photo of your

Cordoba WalksCordoba Walks presents an interactive guide to the main points of interest in the Andalucian town of Cordoba. Each point on the route provides a detailed history as an audio-guide, and take the listener into the past of this city which boasts some of the marvels of historic Europe. The

SL-Journey planner and ticketsA convenient way to buy tickets for public transport in Stockholm with SL and get live network service updates.* Buy tickets and pay by card or Swish.* Plan your journey with realtime information and buy a ticket for that journey.* Check for service disruptions and view

Runna: Running Plans & CoachTake your running to the next level with Runna.Runna is a personal running coach in your pocket. We provide world-class training, coaching and community for everyone, whether you're doing a couch to 5k plan or training for your first marathon. Find out why we're rated 4.9

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South Dakota MinesThe official app of South Dakota School of Mines & Technology. Quick and easy access to the faculty and staff people directory, campus info, campus maps, news, events, and more.Stay connected and receive important University announcements and messages.

The rain lashed against my Kyoto hotel window like a thousand impatient fingers, each drop whispering "stranger" in a language I still couldn't parse after three months in Japan. My throat tightened with that peculiar loneliness only expats understand - surrounded by people yet utterly isolated. That's when my trembling fingers found it: Radio Russia. Not some sterile streaming service, but a portal to humid Moscow nights and the crackle of Soviet-era microphones. The first notes of "Podmoskovny

Rain lashed against my Brooklyn apartment windows like gravel hitting a windshield. Another 3am coding marathon left my fingers cramped and mind frayed. That's when the desert called - not through memory, but through the glowing rectangle on my coffee table. I'd downloaded Saudi Car Drift Simulator weeks ago during some insomnia-fueled app store dive, never expecting it to become my stress antidote. Tonight, I craved asphalt under my wheels, even if only virtually.

Baby's DaysBaby's days is the most established and most advanced childcare software package in the industry, evolving it's secure system since April 2009 for a broad spectrum of childcare providers ranging from childminders, to nurseries and preschools.We pride ourselves in working together with cus

I remember the crisp autumn air biting at my cheeks, the crunch of fallen leaves under my boots echoing in the silent Montana wilderness. It was my third day hunting mule deer, and I was deep in territory I'd only scouted on paper maps back home. The sun was beginning to dip below the jagged peaks, casting long shadows that played tricks on my eyes. I'd been tracking a decent buck for hours, my focus so intense that I barely noticed how far I'd wandered from my known landmarks. Suddenly, I froze

I remember the sinking feeling as dusk crept over the ancient Roman amphitheater in Nîmes, casting long shadows that seemed to mock my disorientation. My phone battery was dwindling, and the paper map I clutched felt like a cruel joke from a bygone era—its folds obscured by sweat and the faint drizzle that had started to fall. I was supposed to meet friends for dinner in a quaint bistro across town, but the labyrinthine streets of this historic city had swallowed my sense of direction whole. Pan

That Tuesday started with the acidic tang of panic in my throat. Five drivers were circling the industrial park like confused wasps, their GPS signals frozen on my battered office monitor. Mrs. Henderson’s third call pierced through the chaos—*"Where’s my dialysis machine? You said 10 AM!"*—her voice cracking like thin ice. I pictured her frail hands twisting the phone cord, alone in that dim apartment. My team’s Slack channel had devolved into a graveyard of ?? emojis and voice notes snarling a

I remember the metallic tang of panic rising in my throat as charcoal-gray clouds devoured the blue sky over Lake Tahoe. My kayak bobbed like a cork in the sudden chop, water slapping against the hull with angry smacks that echoed the drumroll in my chest. Five miles from shore with my seven-year-old niece shivering beside me, the cheerful morning paddle had curdled into a survival scenario. My weather instinct screamed "lightning" before the first distant rumble confirmed it – mountain storms m

Wind screamed like a banshee across the Yorkshire Dales that October morning, driving icy needles of rain sideways into the barn. I’d just wrestled a ewe through a difficult lambing, her exhausted bleats drowned by the storm’s fury. My hands, numb and clumsy, fumbled for the battered notebook tucked in my wax jacket pocket – the one holding vaccination dates, breeding cycles, pasture rotations. A gust tore the door wide; rain lashed in, a cold slap. The notebook flew from my grasp, landing in a

The Sierra Nevadas swallowed my cell signal whole that twilight hour. One moment I’d been replaying a podcast about black bear encounters; the next, silence. True silence – the kind where your ears ring and your knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. My RV’s headlights carved tunnels through pine shadows as the dashboard clock screamed 7:48 PM. Sunset in twelve minutes. Every dirt pull-off I’d passed for miles screamed "private property" or "no overnight stays," and my tank sat at 1/8 full. Pani

Rain hammered my windshield like angry fists that Tuesday, each drop echoing the dread pooling in my gut. My knuckles whitened around the steering wheel of Betsy—my battered Tata Ace—as I stared at another empty industrial park in Portside. Three hours circling Steelburg's warehouse district. Zero loads. Just the sickening churn of diesel burning money I didn't have. Last month's repair bill sat unpaid in my glove compartment, crumpled like a surrender letter. I'd already drafted the "For Sale"

Rain lashed against my windshield like thrown gravel as I white-knuckled the steering wheel through Pennsylvania's backroads. That familiar acid-burn of panic started creeping up my throat when dispatch's ringtone blared – again. Third call in twenty minutes. Last time this happened, I'd dropped my logbook trying to answer, coffee spilling across vital manifests. This time though, my eyes stayed locked on hairpin curves while my thumb found the glowing notification on my dash-mounted tablet. "ET