#Target let me down in the ornament department this year

[forgedintruth]

I made some Wally and Barnaby ornaments for @sillycosmicrabbit!

Welcome Home belongs to @/partycoffin.

[thestarsaroundyourscars]

2 and 3 (lol) for reddie pls??

2. “Are you⎯ are you pulling down mistletoe?”

3. “I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you."

Read on AO3

“Are you⎯ are you pulling down mistletoe?” 

Richie looked down at Eddie from the stepstool he was currently perched on. It was probably a bad idea to be up there, considering he'd been drinking Bill's eggnog since he arrived at their office party and he was feeling slightly drunk, but it was too late to worry about falling off now.

He stared at Eddie for a moment, hand extended towards the mistletoe. “Uh, no?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow and Richie could tell he was trying not to smile, most likely due to the fact that he was holding a cup of that same eggnog in his hand. “Then what are you doing, Richie?”

He glanced back at the plant. “I was admiring it. Up close.”

“Right.” Eddie said, taking a sip from his drink, face scrunching up adorably at the taste. “What are you really up to?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to get Stan, you know my friend from Accounting, to make a move on Mike for fucking ages, but he won’t listen to me," He reached for the plant. "So I thought I’d take matters into my own hands and leave him with no choice.” Richie explained, jumping down from the stool, only slightly wobbly on his feet and with the mistletoe in his hands. 

"So what? You're going to hold the mistletoe over their heads and force them to kiss?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." Richie said with a grin. "Wanna help Eds?"

"Don't call me that." Eddie replied, on instinct. He pursed his lips, eyes darting between Richie and the mistletoe in his hands. "I'll help, but only if we do the same for Bev and Ben. I don't think I can deal with the pining and the yearning looks any longer."

"Oh yeah," Richie agreed with a shaky laugh. "How annoying." He glanced nervously at Eddie. Cute, oblivious Eddie who hadn't noticed Richie pining and yearning for him for the past year. 

"So, do we have a deal?" 

Richie nodded. "Yes we do, Eduardo."

They tried to locate their targets but with the office so crowded, it was hard. After walking around for a while⎯ and drinking some more of Bill's eggnog in the meantime⎯ they found Stan and Mike talking and making eyes at each other near the food table. While Eddie distracted them, Richie approached them from behind, holding the mistletoe over their heads. 

Eddie gasped over exaggeratedly and said, "Oh my God, look! Mistletoe!" in a terrible surprised voice. Richie stifled a laugh, heart fluttering like it did whenever Eddie did something cute⎯ which, according to Richie, was all the fucking time. 

Stan and Mike looked up, blushing to the tips of their ears. Richie jiggled the mistletoe, waggling his eyebrows at them. Stan glared at him making Richie actually fear for his life until Mike swooped in and caught Stan's lips in a sweet, short kiss. 

Richie pumped a triumphant fist in the air and Eddie clapped excitedly. "I can't believe my plan fucking worked!" Richie said, throwing his arms around Mike and Stan, breaking them apart. 

"I should kill you." Stan told him, words lacking heat with how hard he was smiling. "And you." He told Eddie. 

"No can do Stan the man, Eds and I are on a mission."

"You and Eddie, huh?" Stan said, giving him a knowing look.  

"Yes." Richie answered with a warning look of his own. "We're Christmas cupids." 

Eddie let out a drunken giggle and it caused a sharp intake of breath from Richie. Mike gave him a curious look and Stan quirked a very annoying eyebrow at him. Before either of them could say anything to embarrass him in front of Eddie, he asked, "Now, have either of you seen Beverly or Ben?" 

"I think I saw Ben by the Christmas tree." 

"Thank you, Mikey." Richie said, holding the mistletoe over their heads before leaning in to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek, making Mike snort. He tried to do the same with Stan, but he was stopped by a hand on his chest. 

"I don’t care about tradition," He said, narrowing his eyes at Richie. "You try and get me to kiss you under that mistletoe and I will punch you." 

Richie let out a snort. "Fair enough, I'll leave that to Mikey here." He gave Mike a pat in the back. "Merry Christmas lovebirds." He said, ditching them to wrap an arm around Eddie's shoulders instead. "Come on Eds. We still have one Christmas miracle left." 

"Maybe two." Stan teased, eyes darting between Eddie and Richie.

Before Eddie could ask him what he meant, Richie was dragging him away, flipping Stan off behind his back. 

Still, he narrowed his eyes at the mistletoe in Richie's hand. "What did Stan mean with two?"

"He meant me and your mom, of course." Richie joked with a shaky laugh. "Not that I need mistletoe to get her to kiss me."

Eddie wrinkled his nose adorably. "You're fucking ridiculous." 

Richie couldn't help but blurt out, "And you're cute." 

That made Eddie falter, blinking up at Richie with an unreadable expression, before he looked away. "We should find Ben." He said, heading towards the big Christmas tree in the middle of the room. 

Richie followed him but while Eddie looked around the room for Ben, Richie's eyes stayed glued to Eddie. 

Eddie in his ugly Christmas sweater⎯ that wasn't even ugly at all, but fucking adorable. Eddie with his pretty brown eyes and his pink lips and the neat wave of his cowlick. Eddie, who Richie had been crushing on for as long as he had been working for this company. Since he'd accidentally walked into Eddie's office, down at the Risks department while he was searching for the break room. Richie knew he was a goner the moment he saw this tiny, handsome man in a sharp suit, pacing around his office, yelling statistics and every curse word known to man, to some poor soul on the other side of the phone.

The next day, Richie showed up at Eddie's office, claiming that he got lost again. Then again. And again. 

At first, Eddie acted annoyed and ushered Richie away but eventually he grew on him⎯ like mold, he liked to say⎯ and now, Richie would show up every Tuesday and Thursday and they would eat lunch together while Eddie complained about his job and Richie pretended to fall asleep the moment he started talking. 

They had a routine now, one that allowed Richie to get to know Eddie and did nothing to quiet his crush. In fact, it only made it worse, because Eddie wasn't just gorgeous, he was hilarious and angry and could give Richie as much shit as he gave him. His lunch dates with him⎯ not that they were dates at all⎯ were Richie's favorite part of the week, for God's sake. 

Richie knew he was in too deep and yet he still hadn't gathered enough courage to go from shameless flirting and pathetic heart eyes to actually asking Eddie out. Stan had tried to convince him to do it a few times, but Richie refused to listen to the guy who had been crushing on another coworker for two years and done nothing about it. 

Richie stared down at the mistletoe in his hands. If it worked for Stan, it could work for him right? Except he wasn't entirely sure Eddie wouldn't freak out and make a scene if Richie snuck up on him with the mistletoe. 

"Rich, I think I see Ben." Eddie said, coming to a stop in front of him. "He's⎯ oh." 

"What?" Richie asked, bumping into him. "He's what?"

"I don't think Ben will be needing our help." 

"Wait, why not? Oh." Richie gasped when he saw it⎯ there, barely hidden by the Christmas tree, was Ben and he was making out with Beverly. "Go Ben!" He chuckled. "Guess we won't be needing this anymore." 

Eddie cocked his head. "Can I have it for a second?" 

Richie shrugged, handing it over. Eddie played with it in his hands, face scrunched up. Richie flinched when, in one quick movement, Eddie held the ornament over their heads.

His eyes darted between the mistletoe and Eddie's face, where he was nervously biting on his bottom lip. "Uh, what are you doing?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, exasperated. "What does it look like I'm doing, asshole?" 

"Well, it looks like you're trying to get me to kiss you but⎯" Eddie gave him a pointed look. Richie gasped, always a little slow on the taking. "Oh shit."

Eddie retreated slightly. "Unless you don't want to⎯" 

"I do! Trust me, I fucking do."

"Then what are you waiting for?" 

That was all Richie needed to cradle Eddie's face and lean in. The moment their lips touched, Richie's heart did a flip. And then another one when Eddie gripped his waist and pulled him in, his tongue sliding into Richie's mouth. He could taste the sweet, strong flavor of the eggnog they've been drinking all night.

They pulled apart only when they heard Mike and Stan cheering obnoxiously. Eddie turned bright red, hiding his face in Richie's chest. He dragged them to a more private place, flipping off the other two.

They ended up in a supply closet and Richie pressed Eddie against the door as soon as it was closed. "We're not making out in a supply closet." Eddie said, reading the intent in Richie's eyes. 

He whined, disappointed. "Why not Eds?" 

"We work here!" 

"Wait, does that mean I don't get to make out with you on our weekly lunch dates either?" Eddie's stare was answer enough. "What if I bring this?" He asked, stealing the mistletoe from Eddie and holding it between them.

"Richie⎯"

"Keep in mind that it's bad luck to defy tradition." Richie cut in.

"I guess we can't risk it then." Eddie said, failing to bite down a smile. 

"You're the risk analyst after all." Richie said, giving him a silly grin and holding the mistletoe over their heads. 

Eddie rolled his eyes but still pushed himself onto his tiptoes to kiss Richie one more time. Smiling against the kiss, Richie decided he was going to hold on to that piece of mistletoe for a long time. 

Tag list: @daddyphantomtbh​​​​ @yes-dillman-yes​​ @richietoaster​​ ​ @beepbeeprichiellc​​ ​ @its-stranger-than-you-think​​ ​ @lemonaayyee​​ ​ @losers-gotta-stick-together​​ ​ @tinyarmedtrex​​ ​ @richiefuckfacetozier​​ ​ @sam-i-am2468​​ ​ @richardtoz​​ ​ @s-s-georgie​​ ​ @reddie-for-anything​​ ​ @eddiefuckinkaspbrak​​ ​ @constantreaderfool​​ ​ @stanleuyris​​ ​ @jesuschristsupruvestar​​ ​ @mirandonsky​​ ​ @reddie4diaster​​ @alargedepresso​​ ​ @purplepoisonedgem​​ ​ @pan-ini​​ ​ @reddie-to-cry​​​ @reddieforlove​​ ​ @trashmouthnick​​ ​ @multi-fandom-wby​​ ​ @wheezyeds​​ ​ @nancynwheeler​​ ​ @reddieslashgeneralhorror​​​​ @madi-personal​​ ​ @reddie-tozibrak​​​​ @lover-mouth​​ ​ @atownofeggs​​ ​ @that-weird-girls-blog​​ ​ @appojoos​​ ​ @castielwinovak​​ ​ @a-gay-treee​​​ @twoidiotsinl0ve​​ ​ @fcngirltrxsh​ @spirited-marvel​​ @typewrxter​ ​ (if you want to be added, let me know!)

[voltage-vixen]

Decorating a Christmas tree-----SCM

Christmas Countdown--- Day 14

“Alright, Zyglavis and I made a list and divided up the different tasks that will need to be completed in order for us to successfully decorate the tree in time for MC,” Karno enthusiastically addressed the other gods.

The twelve gods of the zodiac were holding an emergency meeting in the living room, ready to discuss their Christmas surprise for MC. Since MC loved Christmas so much, the gods decided they were going to decorate one of those tree things that she was always talking about.

Leon had been sitting on the couch sipping a goblet of Huedhaut’s wine, and lazily flipped his head back.

“Why must a powerful god such as myself, do such trivial tasks by hand for a goldfish, when I can just use my powers and finish much quicker?”

“For once I agree with the lion,” Scorpio spat, “She should be happy that we’re even taking time out of our busy days to celebrate her stupid tradition.”

“Now, now, let’s not fight with each other,” Partheno soothed the rowdy gods, “Think about how MC would feel if she knew you two acting up on her behalf.”

Tauxolouve had been trying to wake Aigonorus up who had fallen asleep on the couch, when he spoke up  to try and defuse the situation.

“Partheno is right. We wouldn’t want to make the little lady sad now would me?”

“Come on Scorpio,” Dui encouraged, “We all know how much you’re going to enjoy MC’s face when it lights up at the sight of our tree!”

Scorpio’s face flushed a bright red color, while Teorus was trying to convince Leon.

“Let’s make it a competition between our department and Punishments and show them who the better team is.”

Leon was about to nod his head in approval at Teorus’s proposal, until Zyglavis abandoned his post by the tree, and came storming over.

“There will be no rivalry against the Punishments and Wishes department! Everyone will act accordingly and perform their assigned tasks per the list that was made.”

“And if you don’t want to do this for Zyglavis or myself, do this for MC!” Karno beamed.

Those words seemed to trigger everyone’s cooperation, and they all staggered over to the Christmas tree. Huedhaut and Ichthys had begun stringing the lights on the tree, while Aigonorus and Krioff were hanging ornaments. The remaining gods were taking turns focusing on the tree skirt, making sure the star was on top of the tree, and organizing the rest of the garland and bows.

The gods were working in perfect unison, and everything was flowing smoothly, until Ichthys’s prank was set into motion. Suddenly, the tree lights were wrapped around Huedhaut and Aigonorus, and ornaments were flying around the room, bonking Krioff on the head in the process.

“What gives?!” Krioff hissed in displeasure. Snapping his fingers, the floating decorations came crashing down to the ground.

“Ichthys,” Huedhaut warned in a dangerous tone, “If you know what’s good for you, untie us from this bondage, or else you’ll personally find out what happens to the targets of the Punishments department.”

“Can you put me in the closet so I can sleep already?” Aigonorus yawned, completely oblivious to the chaos happening around him.

“Due, Huedhaut’s glaring at me, and it’s freaking me out,” Ichthys shuddered in fear.

“Don’t drag me into your problems Ichthys,” Dui groaned from the other side of the tree.

Krioff had somehow manage to miss one of the flying ornaments, and the spare loner flew right into Zyglavis’s head.

“ICHTHYS! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE DEPARTMENT OF PUNISHMENTS, AND I’LL NOW NEED TO DISPLINCE YOU!” Zyglavis roared, while glaring menacingly at the god of Pisces.

A beam of light shot from Zyglavis’s hand, and Ichthys dodged out of the way last minute, causing the divine force to hit Leon.

“How bold of you to attack me Minister Ponytail,” Leon uttered dangerously, “Remember this-you’re the one who made the first move.”

“Leave him alone you stupid lion!” Scorpio cursed.

The rest of the respective gods sided with their said department, and soon the room had Christmas tree decorations gliding throughout the room. Lights were flashing, and ornaments were crashing against the wall. Aigonorus was standing up fast asleep in the corner of, while the other gods continued their battle.

An abrupt snap interrupted the pandemonium, and all the sudden, the twelve gods were lined up in a horizontal line.

“Wait until you see our Christmas present to you dear human,” a voice mentioned outside the door.

The majestic door swung open, and in walked the King, along with MC by his side. MC took one look at the tree, which now magically was perfectly decorated, and her face broke into a smile.

“Oh my gosh, it’s perfect! I can’t believe you guys did all this for me. I love it!” MC cheered, as she raced over to take a closer look.

You foolish gods almost ruined MC’s happiness with your childlike behavior. I trust you can manage to conduct yourselves appropriately for the rest of the day. Humans have a limited lifespan and this special day only comes once a year for them. Don’t be selfish.

After the King’s telepathy message to the divine rulers, he disappeared from the mansion, leaving the gods behind with the overexcited woman. MC rushed over to them, and politely bowed her head.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” MC exclaimed in excitement. “This is the best Christmas gift ever!”

She raced back over to admire the full beauty of the tree, and the gods marveled at MC. Her smile made the disarray of the previous events all worthwhile, and they each joined her around the tree.

“Merry Christmas,” MC praised the hardworking gods, “Something tells me that Christmas this year will not be a dull one.”

Nodding in agreement, the gods proceeded to prepare MC a feast, and ensure the rest of her day was filled with nothing but happy memories.

L365 Masterlist

@agustd54, @ishizusv, @mrs-scm-wife

[craniumculverin]

Bound Rencounter

The first of a few fics of @donc-desole‘s Ripper!AU I’ve had in the works for a while. They act as a sort of prologue to the actual events of the AU.

The breeze is pleasant and the air remarkably clear on this Autumn afternoon in Yharnam. The constant cloud cover that accompanies the season is missing, leaving the sun free to warm the brick and stone of the city, along with the multitudes of people enjoying the respite from New Pthumeria's typically gloomy weather. Here and there along the main avenues, where streets branch off into the more residential areas, conversations can be heard, and the occasional sound of instruments or boisterous laughter from the locals' rarely-opened windows. Such a beautiful day was not to be ignored in the valley-bound capitol, especially with the ever-daunting Winter just around the corner.

Despite the out-of-place cheeriness all around, Alfred is in a downright foul mood. As he walks through crowds and down bustling streets his focus is entirely elsewhere, ignorant of how nice the weather is or friendly the faces are. No, his mind is still back at the University, in the meeting he's just come from.

"Why I'm even required to attend any of Byrgenwerth's administrative functions is beyond me - I rarely ever have anything to add to the proceedings, and rarer still are the times I'm asked to share if I do! I'm just another student more than anything, not some official!" If his unnecessary inclusion were due to anything he'd hazard a guess it has to do with his late mentor's status, what with how highly revered his work and contributions still are to the Healing Church, and thus Byrgenwerth University. As proud as he is to be the great man's last and only living protégé, the status has certainly brought on… unexpected expectations from his new peers and superiors. And far too many questions.

Alfred scowls and grips his cane even tighter as he mulls over the Professor of Theology's most recent salvo of disparaging remarks and sly insinuations. Since the very first day he'd been introduced to the department head, the shriveled old coot has had it out for him. A pompous, rigid gaffer born into both his money and position, with nary a lick of work put in to get him where he is - and he has the gall to ridicule Alfred's work, offhandedly or not!

So what if his dissertation is taking longer than their arbitrary time limits - lulls in productivity affect every great work in progress! Regardless of how old you are, or who your mentor was, or how long you've technically been attending! Everyone is prone to a block from time to time! And his topic of study is not a pointless cause! As if it wasn't bad enough that the Professor and a few other Byrgenwerth fellows have taken to belittling Alfred, they're also incredibly nosy. Every time he's forced to attend some event or meeting the questions come, every one of his answers scrutinized and dissected. Why can't they just take him for what he's been proven to be? Why can't they just accept him as what he is now instead of seek out what he once was? It's all so damn infuriating! If not for having to finish this bloody doctorate by their rules, he'd have given those bastards what for ages ago!

Pausing his brisk pace near an overlook, Alfred realizes he's letting himself get riled up again. With a harsh sigh he decides to take a break to calm himself down before unnatural thoughts start creeping in. That's always been a problem for him, ever since he was young; anger boiling over into something truly… disagreeable.

He steps off the path to lean against the warm stone of the balustrade, only now noticing the rarity of the day's direct sunlight. Looking down on the buildings and streets below helps him to calm and refocus, the comings and goings of the city's denizens a welcome distraction. After a while Alfred sighs again as the last of his tension dissipates, this time almost wistful in nature. It used to be so much easier to keep from falling into such negative lines of thought. When there was always something to be doing, somewhere they had to go, people to be met, knowledge to be shared…

He promptly pushes away from the edge and continues walking. No need to dwell on the past in such a melancholic fashion - it does nothing and no one any good. And the acceptable time for mourning is passed.

Alfred's fumbling to find a new topic to ponder is cut short as he rounds the next corner. Mid-stride, he manages to quickly sidestep just in time to avoid a gaggle of screaming children as they bound up the sloping street, cheering and ordering each other on. Watching them go with a frown, he just catches sight of a little mongrel as it tears away from the rowdy bunch and down an adjacent alley. As they disappear his annoyance is replaced with amusement, the idea of such a tiny mutt evading so many tenacious hands drawing a chuckle out of him. His expression slowly shifts the longer he looks back. Brows knitting together, he turns in the direction he'd been going to take in the buildings and businesses around him. The frown slowly returns the longer he takes in his surroundings. Nothing here is familiar.

He hasn't a clue where he is.

His frown turns to a scowl as he steps and weaves through the crowded area to search the skyline. His target is quickly found - the enormous Astral Clocktower, his and just about everyone else's go-to landmark when trying to navigate the bizarre city. Alfred curses under his breath. It wasn't at an angle or distance he's used to seeing - which means he's nowhere near the district he was supposed to be headed! And if the tower's time is to be trusted, he's been walking for hours! Anger wells up, hot and tempting as Alfred curses even louder, causing a couple passersby to nervously glance his way. With a harsh exhale that sounds more like a snarl he swiftly stifles it, eyes closing as he tries to reason with his temper.

There's only himself to blame for such a stupid mistake, and it was his own damn anger that caused him to get lost in the first place! Getting angrier will just make things worse, like usual. Besides, this is a chance to explore new territory, something he wouldn't have done otherwise - at least while there's daylight. Maybe he'll find a shorter way to get to and from the gate he must take to reach Byrgenwerth, cut down on the time he has to dedicate to those blowhards. Plus it's not like he has anywhere to be for the rest of the day - his dear Siegward has gone much longer than this without a walk, and is too well-trained to make a mess indoors. In fact, an unplanned walk on a lovely day might be exactly what he needs to loosen his persistent writer's block! The hands of fate have changed his path in greater ways before, with far worse situations than this!

With that Alfred smiles and opens his eyes, ready to continue his jaunt now that the urge to hit something is gone. He looks up and down the street before heading for the nearest corner, eager to put a name to wherever he is. It's definitely a more business-oriented area as there's plenty of glass-fronts with displays and placards denoting different services, but with how many people are loitering there must be housing very close by. Many of the buildings are of the New Pthumerian style, the ornamentation and stonework as distinct as any Pthumerian handiwork. Most bear the scars and scorch marks to prove they've stood since prewar. Other buildings are obviously newer being of a plainer European or English style, while a few scattered lots are still in the midst of being rebuilt or renovated.

Turning down another street, Alfred notes both sides are lined with uniform New Pthumerian terraces, roofs like stairsteps as they follow the curving, slanting street. The paths aren't nearly as busy as on the last stretch, and as he peruses the various forms of signage he sees why - most of these appear to be private offices. A good deal of them look to have been at least partially rebuilt or repaired, as many of the roofs and windows are noticeably newer. Likely whatever fire or barrage that took the other buildings stopped before it could finish these off.

Alfred shakes his head at the thought of so much being lost for such ridiculous reasons. "The sick people would've died anyway - why let so much of historic worth be destroyed in the process? There may have once even been a library or museum with records of the Old Pthumerian religion, destroyed as if it were some plague-ridden hovel! What a terrible waste…"

Coming to the end of the street Alfred turns his mind to figuring out which avenue he's about to enter, when something in his periphery grabs his attention. His pace slows considerably until he comes to a halt at the corner, now a ways beyond his new focus. Above the doorway of the end terrace hangs a bracket sign, much like many others along this street, except that it's an eye-catching off-white instead of the usual black or brown. Even from across the street every word is legible, the large, neat letters painted in a deep Prussian blue. There's an English surname at the top, which isn't uncommon to see nowadays in the capitol, but it's the familiarity of it that has Alfred lingering.

Hewlett Private Practice.

"Surely it's- it couldn't be… There's plenty of outsiders in Yharnam, it could be someone else entirely…" Alfred worries his bottom lip as he stares, people and the occasional cart milling between he and his conundrum. "But he did say Yharnam… and it is a private practice, with that name. It must be Percy…Well, good! Did what he set out to do and… and did it well, by the looks of it! Good for him!" He firmly nods as if in conclusion before turning away to continue along the busy avenue. A scant distance from where he'd stood he suddenly stops, wringing at the head of his cane as he starts worrying his lower lip again. "Would he… I wonder… It's been years since we saw one another, and so much is different now…"

Looking back, Alfred finds himself unsure of what to do. He'd like to go visit his old acquaintance, but what he needs is to maintain as much distance from his past as possible. The doctor only knows him as a man that, for all intents and purposes, no longer exists - a past life those Byrgenwerth bastards would gleefully use to destroy his current one. To reintroduce himself would be terribly unwise. However…

Alfred's been rather lonely since his move to the city. Though he'd never trade in the life his late mentor afforded him, he has to admit it's become less than ideal as of late; between his superiors' barely disguised aggression and the persistent lull in his work since arriving, living in Yharnam hasn't been the most pleasant experience thus far. Someone he knows he could trust would make everything so much more tolerable… And who better to put his trust in than someone that saved his life? "What was it the old man used to say? A wise decision doesn't mean it's a good decision, a foolish decision isn't always a bad decision… It went something like that…"

His mind made up, Alfred turns and makes his way back to the end terrace, a giddy smile on his face despite himself. As he comes to the entrance he pauses as a woman exits, tipping his hat with a small bow as she passes. With a quick glance up at the sign to solidify his resolve, and then through a curtained window to no avail, he enters the doctor's office. Immediately behind the door are a few steps down, leading to another door which opens to a small landing that gives him an elevated view of a surprisingly light and airy space.

Directly below and in front of him sitting at a tidy desk is one Dr. Percival Hewlett, his features hidden as he looks down, intent on his writing. The physician must have heard him on his way in, as he glances over his spectacles before continuing his paperwork. "My apologies sir, but office hours are over for the day. If you're able to come back tomorrow, I've plenty of times available to schedule an appointment."

Alfred's smile broadens as he hears the familiar baritone voice after so many years. With a flourish he whips off his hat in one hand, and with his cane in the other holds them aloft at his sides as he practically shouts, "Percy!"

The other's head snaps up in response, one eyebrow dangerously quirked. His expression of perplexed annoyance quickly shifts to one of scrutiny as he takes in his visitor. Silence hangs between them as the moment lasts a beat too long, but then the doctor's features soften into bewilderment as he slowly sets aside his pen. "…Alfred…?"

A hearty laugh erupts from the blond before he swiftly takes the stairs down, utterly delighted to be remembered and amused at the other's shock. "Percy, my good man! It's been so very long!"

"…Yes it has," Percy says rather absentmindedly, removing his lenses as he stands to come around the desk, "my word, I hardly recognize you!"

Another bout of jubilant laughter escapes Alfred as he leaves his effects on a chair and comes to stand before the shorter man, immediately raising his arms to draw him into a hug. Just as the doctor stiffens he remembers himself and pulls back, instead extending a hand in proper greeting. The tension in Percy's shoulders evaporates on accepting the firm handshake, further relieved when all the younger man does beyond shaking is to place his other hand atop his own. On noticing how ecstatic Alfred is to see him he can't help but break into a smile as well. "Goodness - how have you been?"

The blond can hardly contain himself as he shakes with renewed vigor. "Very well, Percy - very well!"

"I can see that!" Percy chuckles as he places his other hand atop Alfred's before gently pulling away. He gives him another subtle once over. "You've certainly done well for yourself, haven't you! I must admit I'm surprised to see you here, let alone in such fine attire and with- ah…"

The blond shakes his head, grinning at the other's discretion. "A tolerable sense of propriety? Even a hint of gentility? I can't blame you at all - I'm a very different man from last we met!" They both laugh, the doctor more out of relief.

"What happened to bring about this change, if you don't mind my asking?"

Alfred's mind flies into a flurry of possible explanations, none of which feel adequate. With a grin, he settles on giving the simplest for now. "I met a most amazing man that took me on as his assistant. I owe him everything, truly. But what of you Percy, how have you been? You've followed through on your plans, I see! How goes the practice?"

The physician's head tilts slightly at the vague answer, but his smile only wanes when questioned. "You've a good memory - I have gotten my practice established here, yes. Sadly I've not as many patients as I did back in England, but I suppose that's to be expected with such a large number of practitioners all in one city… I've decided to see it as more time to dedicate to my research, rather than a hindrance."

"Mmm, I suspect you've received the same sort of hospitality that many others have from the locals - cold shoulder and then some toward any 'outsiders,' from what I've gleaned," says Alfred, frowning for the first time since entering the office. "I'm lucky to apparently look quite like a native from the countryside, so I haven't suffered as much. Let me guess - most of your clientele are foreigners and not Yharnamites?"

Percy sighs wistfully. "You've guessed correctly. I'd hoped at first it was simply my being new in town, but the longer I'm here the more I see otherwise. I can comprehend the sentiment behind their actions, what with recent history, but it's still such a silly way to express their contempt. Ill-conceived and shortsighted, if nothing else."

"And bothersome."

"Ha! Yes, that too..."

Now that his excitement has abated, Alfred is settled enough to really take a look at his old acquaintance. His silver-white hair is of the same style and cut, now perhaps a tad more white than silver. If the passage of time has touched him at all beyond that, it's with wrinkles too well hidden by his wry grin to be seen. In fact, there's barely any evidence of the years since they met! What is evident, however, is the sense of weariness Percy exudes - different from if it were just the end of his shift, or if today had been taxing. It's more the sort of weariness Alfred has been feeling as of late; the sort that lingers, builds up over a long period thanks to constant hardship and dissatisfaction. Perhaps he's putting too much emphasis on what the doctor had said about lacking patients - and thus funds - or their shared but slightly different troubles with the prejudiced locals. Maybe he's simply reading too much into a tired man's manner…

Whatever it is that's different about him, it doesn't suit Percy in the slightest. Alfred comes to a decision suddenly as the doctor shifts to lean against the desk - one he's sure is both wise and good. He leisurely makes his way back toward the stairs and nearby chair. "Well Dr. Hewlett, with your office hours over, I shan't keep you any longer than I already have."

Percy looks up from the papers he'd begun to straighten, more curious than surprised. "So soon? Here I thought you'd want to catch up, extrapolate on all that's happened!"

"Oh-ho I most certainly do! But I don't want to keep you from your off-hours. Perhaps tomorrow we can talk, following my appointment? I know of the most delightful bakery… somewhere close by. I think. How about I bring something along for us to enjoy during our chat?" As Alfred turns from retrieving his hat and cane he catches a glimpse of a rather wide-eyed Dr. Hewlett. He swiftly regains composure, clearing his throat and pulling out a pocket journal as he dons his spectacles, utterly nonchalant. "You'd like to schedule for an appointment? Is there something ailing you?"

"Yes - and no, not really. It's just, despite having the funds and being in a city full of practitioners, I find I've neglected to find myself a personal physician. Irresponsible, I know…"

When Alfred looks up from fiddling with the brim of his hat he's greeted by a knowing smirk from the physician, a touch warmer than he ever recalls seeing. The taller man quickly looks away and masks his own grin by donning his hat. A hum comes from Percy as he looks through his schedule. "If it's an appointment to get you established… How does eleven o'clock sound? By the time we're done and the paperwork dealt with, it'll be about the time I close for lunch anyway. You may stay for that time."

"Wonderful, that works splendidly!" Alfred beams down as he ascends the stairs. He stops on the landing to lean against the rail, meeting the doctor's eye as he peers down. "I'm so glad I've found you again, Dr. Hewlett. A friendly and familiar face is just what I've been needing. Truly fateful!"

A chuckle floats up from the older man. "Fortuitous indeed, Alfred."

"Right - tomorrow at eleven! I look forward to it! Goodbye Dr. Hewlett!"

With that Alfred ascends the remaining stairs and is beyond the inner door in a heartbeat. As the outer door shuts behind him, the physician remains leaning against the desk, lost in thought as he looks up at where the blond had stood. Another chuckle escapes him, shaking his head as he moves around to his chair. Pulling out a blank file for his newly returned patient, he can't help but smirk to himself. "…Fateful indeed…"

[10oclockdot]

True/False 2017 Festival Report, part 1:

in which I give capsule reviews of films that I viewed on March 2 and 3, the first two days of this year's True/False, in order of best to worst.

Casting JonBenet (Kitty Green, 2017) True/False alum Kitty Green, whose film Ukraine is Not a Brothel divided audiences at the fest three years ago, returned this year with a major work, fresh off its triumph at Sundance: a hybrid documentary experiment called Casting JonBenet. Green put out a casting call in the Boulder, Colorado area -- the site of the murder of child beauty pageant participant JonBenet Ramsey two decades ago -- looking for locals to audition for the roles of JonBenet, her parents, her brother, and a few more figures close to the case. One by one, these actors sit down in front of the audition camera, framed as precisely and hauntingly as an Errol Morris interview, and talk to Green about their knowledge of the case, their theories about the case, their everyday lives, and the tragedies in their pasts that would help them to get into their roles. The audition footage, shot in 4:3, comprises the bulk of the film, but is occasionally intercut with 2.35:1 footage of fragments of what looks like a larger JonBenet Ramsey project that was never made. Lest you assert that this was all underhanded and exploitative to hold an audition for a non-existent film, Green explained in the Q&A that she apprised the auditioners of the nature of this experimental project, and apparently all participants agreed to have their unscripted audition tapes turned into a documentary. Green added in the Q&A that it was quite difficult to explain the project to the auditioners since no one had made a film like this before (though it's actually pretty similar to Mohsen Makhmalbaf's 1995 film Salaam Cinema, but with some added formal ornament). Though the experiment has limited documentary value in the traditional sense, it nevertheless takes the temperature, albeit obliquely, of the community that's lived in the aftermath of this unsolved case. You also get to meet some regular people with stories nearly as bizarre as the role they're auditioning for. What's more, the film opens up inquiries into the nature of documentary truth and how it relates to the different orders of truth that an actor might seek when inhabiting a role. I found it mesmerizing throughout, and a few moments even had me bolt-upright in my seat. For instance, after playing footage of some auditioners discussing the theory that JonBenet's killer was actually her brother (who was a young boy at the time), Green cuts to a montage of child actors attempting to split open a watermelon by beating it with a flashlight. And as if moments like that weren't enough, it all ends with majestic staged sequence in which about two dozen of the actors perform as multiple copies of the same characters on a set of the Ramsey house. It nearly evoked a live-action remake of Rybczyński's 1980 short Tango, but far more operatic and far sadder.

The Force (Peter Nicks, 2017) A couple years back I happened to catch Peter Nicks's debut film, The Waiting Room, a Wiseman-esque documentary about the goings-on a major hospital's emergency room. His institutional focus continues in his sophomore project, The Force, which embeds the viewer in the troubled Oakland Police Department. The film opens just before a police academy graduation, where we see the graduating officers in a tight prayer huddle. The moment the prayer ends, they break into a raucous chant celebrating their identity as the 170th Academy class. And so the film establishes its dialectic: will this department base its esprit de corps on militaristic chest-thumping masculinity, or on a spiritual quest for their better angels? The film takes us on a two-year journey through that question, at times making me believe that the Oakland PD is absolutely reformable, and at other times making me believe that police departments in general, by some basic flaw in their institutional structure and ideological foundation, are beyond saving.        The Force is full of great insider footage that gives insight into the trials that beat cops and commissioners alike go through on a daily basis (during an excruciating tear gas training, the cadets are told, "You don't have the right to panic."). Eyewitness on an important moment in police history (2014-2016), the film tells the thorny facts of that history well. But throughout the film, Peter Nicks also deploys a series of subtle and utterly brilliant innovations on the art of observational documentary editing. Let me describe a few moments. Early in the film, a police officer is asking a man questions in a gas station parking lot when the suspect takes off running. Nicks's camera follows the action as well as it can, and a block away the officer tases the man as he's climbing over a fence. A moment later, as the officer describes the incident to justify his use of force, the footage from the incident replays, now intercut with the officer's body cam footage. These two pieces of tape corroborate his story. I know that the replay of footage doesn't sound like a major innovation (it's been around since at least Gimme Shelter), but the moment I saw it, it felt like a quiet breakthrough, or at least a powerful reminder of the evidentiary capacity of documentary, as well as the polytensuality of documentary images. Later in the film, another officer experiences a tense confrontation with an agitated man on the street. The officer manages to prevent violence from occurring, but by this point in the film we've already been made to realize multiple times that the Oakland PD is understaffed and its officers have to work 12-hour shifts that see them going from call to call, non-stop. As the officer drives away (we see him in close-up, with a thousand-yard stare), Nicks intercuts clips from the confrontation along with body cam footage of the same. Here, the replay functions as beleaguered memory. The empathy of the moment is remarkable.        There's plenty more to say about this expertly-made film, but it all boils down to one thing: I never thought I'd feel so much sympathy for the Oakland Police Department. From the very beginning, it's clear that Chief Whent sincerely desires to end corruption, that he cares about the community, and that he wants his officers to understand the validity -- even the patriotism -- of the anti-police protests. He tells them, "The core foundation of this country was a mistrust in government. And we are the most visible sign of that government." Elsewhere a Community Liaison pastor invited to address the unit adds, "The past stole your identity and ran up an incredibly high bill." It's a lesson we can all benefit from: we must know our history to know ourselves.

The Road Movie (Dmitrii Kalashnikov, 2016) True/False 2017 marked the North American premiere of this compilation documentary, an alternatingly rollicking and harrowing journey through the Youtube phenomenon of Russian dashcam footage. Director Dmitrii Kalashnikov said he went through over 3000 publicly-posted dashcam clips to make this film, which runs a bit over an hour and features a little over 100 clips ranging from driver's ed disasters to weather-related accidents to forest fire drive-throughs to surreal encounters with drug-addicts, swat teams, meteorites, and wedding parties. As a work of editing, it has some notable qualities -- particularly Kalashnikov's interest in oscillating between the funny and the horrifying -- but apart from its obvious voyeuristic enticements (in the Q&A, Kalashnikov said that all documentaries were voyeuristic), its main strengths are conceptual. For instance, what does it mean to take Youtube off Youtube, transforming it from a private diversion to a public, collective spectacle? What does it mean to make a supercut not of professionally-produced footage, but of amateur footage? If we accept the axiom that footage uploaded to Youtube marks a site of interest or desire (that is, people presumably do not upload footage that they do not find interesting, since they desire that others will take an interest in it), then what might such an aggregation of footage express about the collective fascinations and desires of the culture that produced it? Finally, I also noticed that throughout the screening, many audience members had trouble suppressing an impulse to issue hushed directives or invectives at the drivers of the cars on screen. The perpetual POV must have made it feel like we were watching a friend play Grand Theft Auto -- a friend who clearly, given the number of disasters we saw, definitely needed our advice.

Abacus: Small Enough to Jail (Steve James, 2016) Steve James (Hoop Dreams, Stevie) is a towering figure in documentary. His latest project was made for Frontline, so it's somewhat smaller in scope and ambition, but his skill has not faltered, and the story is an important one. The film chronicles the story of Abacus Federal Savings Bank, which to date is the only bank against which a fraud lawsuit was brought relating to the 2008 housing collapse. If you haven't heard of this story before or this bank before, don't feel bad. Abacus is, the film tells us, the 2651st largest bank in America: a little community savings and loan serving the first-generation immigrant community in Chinatown, New York City. The prosecution was, the viewer infers, a careerist move from the District Attorney's office. They must've figured that the Sung family, which founded and runs the bank, wouldn't fight it. But the family did fight it, spending millions over the course of six years. And that's the real story here: not our leaders' hopelessly unjust response to the 2008 financial crisis, not the DA's ignorant (possibly racially biased) targeting and concomitant underestimation of the family, not even the subtle but important cultural differences in the way first-generation Chinese think about loans and money in general (though that part's fascinating), but rather the story of the family itself: pulling together, fighting tooth and nail, and, sometimes hilariously, arguing with each other for minutes on end over little things, like what their father's eating for lunch. Even if this film didn't strike me as a major work by a long shot, the True/False audience was clearly behind the Sungs, even breaking into spontaneous applause when the not-guilty verdict was read. In the Q&A afterwards, Steve James said that from now on he'd like to have the True/False audience for all his films.

Stranger in Paradise (Guido Hendrikx, 2016) Stranger in Paradise is one of those agit-prop experiments with a great concept but not-so-great execution. It opens with a montage of footage from all over, from Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat to news footage of the refugee crisis. Voice-over intones the tale of a spherical lump (earth) on which there emerged a conflict between North and South, "the worship of a god who supplies and demands," and a moral crisis of human movement and hate. It was a bracing way to get us started. Act 1 stages an experiment in which a white male actor portraying the xenophobic political perspective of Europe addresses a room of real refugees (men and women of color) stuck on the island of Sicily, speaks cruelly and superciliously to them, and improvises responses to their real questions. Act 2 repeats the scene with a different group of real refugees, but this time the white male actor argues the opposite: that refugees help the economy, and that it's Europe's moral duty to give back to the people groups from whom so much was stolen during the colonial period. In Act 3, the same actor holds a kind of mock hearing for each asylum-seeker, explaining why they will or won't be granted entry into Europe, and in the Epilogue, a single long take, the actor holds a semi-staged conversation with some passers-by on the street, talking about the project we've just viewed. To be sure, the film's heart is in the right place, but the edge of its satirical knife is dulled by two factors: second, it's simply not shot very well, and first, for all its attempts to satirically subvert the reactionary narratives of the refugee crisis, it still puts a white European at the center and relegates the voices of asylum-seekers to secondary importance. It wishes it were a Peter Watkins film, but it isn't.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT PROBLEM

But remember that we already have almost fifty years of history behind us. Small in 1960 didn't mean a cool little startup. Others thought of it as a tautology.1 They've become more bureaucratic, but otherwise they seem to be afraid of actual voters, in sufficient numbers. The only defense is to isolate yourself, as communist countries did in the twentieth century. That's kind of hard to imagine what it would take at least half a million. A couple days ago. Inefficient software isn't gross. Programmers don't use launch-fast-and-iterate out of laziness.

Imagine we were living on a moon base, though. Its more general version is our answer to the wrong question. For architects and designers it means that a building or object should let you use it how you want: a good building, for example, they're often reluctant to redo parts that aren't right; they feel they've been lucky to get that far, and if investors are skeptical, the startup should raise more now, and if we want to program in. This is where it's helpful to have working democracies and multiple sovereign countries. We'll probably never be able to use it themselves, and that he'd be ok. The reason convertible notes allow more flexibility in price is that valuation caps aren't actual valuations, and notes are cheap and easy to do. In private there was a pattern, and there was, a very clear one. Whereas Pittsburgh has the opposite problem: plenty of nerds, but no one told me. It's hard to imagine what it would take. If you want to start it, and extraordinary courage came out. As with the original industrial revolution, some societies are going to be more than a way to answer the question, it's surprising how much different fields' ideas of beauty have in common.

A language is by definition reusable. It's sadly common to read that sort of thing.2 No one knows who said never attribute to malice what can be explained by incompetence, but it is true that there are good ideas that seem bad are bad. So it is in this case. So this alternative device probably couldn't win on general appeal. Why did 36% of Princeton's class of 2007 come from prep schools, when only 1. The other teachers were at best benevolently indifferent.3 Most of the qualities I've mentioned are things that can be justified later if they fail.4 It would be a waste of time to try to reverse the fortunes of a declining industrial town like Detroit or Philadelphia by trying to use mass lawsuits against randomly chosen people as a form of meditation. A lot of nerd tastes they share with the creative class in general.

I save up because they'll be so much fun to write about it.5 You either have a self-sustaining. There may be tasks that we solve now by writing programs and which in a hundred years will not, except in certain specialized domains, it is irresistible to large organizations. You don't need to have a disproportionately low probability of the latter.6 It doesn't seem like that much extra work to pay as much for that.7 This story often comes to mind when I hear the RIAA and MPAA would make us breathe through tubes down here too, even though the phrase compact disc player is not present on those pages. School was boring.8 It's the engine that drives them, in the final stage, you stop and ask: will people actually pay for this?

When you can't deliver ornament, you have to process video images depends on the rate at which you have to process video images depends on the rate at which new companies are founded. Einstein was really as smart as his fame implies, and she shrank from engaging. Little attention is paid to profiling now.9 The real reason we started Y Combinator. But when you ask adults what they got wrong at that age, nearly all say they cared too much what other kids thought of them.10 Ditto in engineering. Two possible theories: a Your housemate did it deliberately to upset you.11 For example, types seem to be an inexhaustible source of research papers, despite the fact that Jessica and I were already dating when we started YC. There must be a better way.12 You'd think simple would be the default.13

And there is no such thing as beauty, we need to be able to say who cares what investors think? Now we'd give a different answer.14 The saddest windows close when other people die.15 Though the situation is better in the sciences generally, citation is considered a rough indicator of merit. We talked about YC all the time. In 1998, if advertisers paid the maximum that traffic was worth to them, Yahoo's revenues would have decreased.16 The evolution of languages differs from the evolution of species because branches can converge. So if it seems too good to be true to think you could grow a local silicon valley by giving startups $15-20k each like Y Combinator there, but that they were started there.17 Conversely, a town that gets praised for being solid or representing traditional values may be a fine place to live, but it's not much use in practice because the search space is too big. The place to look is in our blind spot: in our natural, naive belief that it's all about us.

Unknowing imitation is almost a recipe for bad design. The best programmers can work wherever they want. They are all fundamentally subversive for this reason, though they conceal it to varying degrees.18 Wodehouse may have begun with simple atoms, but the people we were picking would become the YC alumni network. Everyone would agree that YC had jumped the shark. The only style worth having is the one you can't help.19 But hunter gatherers didn't treat land, for example, would arguably be gross even if they ran on a fuel which would never run out and generated no pollution.20 The probability that a startup will make it big is not merely a useless metric, but positively misleading. The artists who benefited most from this were the ones who had preserved a child's confidence, like Klee and Calder.21 When you're working on language design, we should expect its shortness to take us by surprise. Indeed, the law of supply and demand insures that: the more rewarding some kind of conservation law, but there it is: the best way to solve that problem, I think you only need two kinds of symmetry, and repetition especially, is a large, existing population of stodgy people. The university you could create a first-rate computer science departments.22

If there is an overlap, can we use one field's discoveries about beauty to help us in another? Do I really want to support this company? That probably wouldn't push you past Silicon Valley itself, but it is a recursive solution, a tower on a tower. We talked about YC all the time and then it can take 4-8 weeks to get that bug fix approved, leaving users to think that iPhone apps sometimes just don't work. The old answer was no: you were supposed to pretend that you wanted to create a silicon valley, you not only need a university, but one reason downwind jobs like churning out Java for a bank pay so well is precisely that they are downwind.23 The two like much the same things, because most startup investors are nerds themselves.24 You won't feel later like that was a waste of time.

Notes

If you have to follow redirects, and an haughty spirit before a dream world.

Perhaps it would have disapproved if executives got too much to maintain your target growth rate early on. Please do not generally hire themselves out to be most attractive when it's aligned with some question-begging answer like it's inappropriate, while she likes getting attention in the process of applying is inevitably so arduous, and philosophy the imprecise half. 1886/87.

They each constrain the other meanings. One of the big winners aren't all that matters financially for investors. And they tend to be memorized.

5 to 2 seconds. Finally she said Ah! Other highly recommended books: What is Mathematics? Some would say that hapless meant unlucky.

A startup founder could pull the same superior education but had a demonstration of the flock, or b to get a false positive rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would give you term sheets. But you can imagine cases where you have to recognize them when you had in school, approach the queen bees thereof and offer to invest in a non-stupid comments instead. Strictly speaking it's impossible to succeed in business are likely to coincide with mathematicians' judgements. And so this one is now replicated all over, not conquest.

I couldn't convince Fred Wilson to fund them. 5% of Apple now January 2016 would be possible to transmute lead into gold though not economically at current energy prices, but the idea that evolves into Facebook isn't merely a subset of Facebook; the idea that could evolve into a few data centers over the internet. Make Wealth in Hackers Painters, what you do a very good.

Once again, that alone could in principle is that they lived in a non-broken form, that he could accept it. If a company grew at 1. Morgan's hired hands.

This is almost pure discovery. There are simply no outside forces pushing high school to potential investors and they have to tell them exactly what your project does. Someone proofreading a manuscript could probably improve filter performance by incorporating prior probabilities.

And those examples do reflect after-tax return from a mediocre VC. There are still a leading cause of poverty I just wasn't willing to put up posters around Harvard saying Did you know Apple originally had three founders? If you have to do better.

But that oversimplifies his role.

What I dislike is editing done after the fact that you're talking to you. When he wanted to than because they can't hire highly skilled people to bust their asses. I count you in a difficult class lest they get to profitability on a seed investor to intro you to agree. In the thirties his support of the Facebook/Twitter route and building something they wanted to.

I have so far. But that turned out to do more with less? So if we just implemented it ourselves, so buildings are gutted or demolished to be identified with you.

My usual trick is to start a startup, you better be sure you do a scatterplot with benevolence on the East Coast. That will in many cases be an instance of a single VC investment that began with an online service.

There are two simplifying assumptions: that the http requests are indistinguishable from dishonesty by the National Center for Education Statistics, about 28%. Which means if you're flying through clouds you can't help associating it with superficial decorations.

Most smart high school to potential investors and instead focus on their companies till about a startup. The continuing popularity of religion is the proper test of investor who says he's interested in x, and when I was there when it was overvalued till you see them much in their lifetimes.

But knowledge overlaps with wisdom and probably also a good idea to make a country richer; if you do it is certainly not impossible for a patent is conveniently just longer than the long tail for sports may be common in, you'll have no idea what's happening till they also influence one another, it means a big market, meaning master. They don't make users register to try your site.

As Anthony Badger wrote, If it failed it failed.

As I was writing this, I mean no more willing to put it would be worth about 30 billion.

This too is true of the reason there have historically been so many still make you feel that you're not consciously aware of it in action, there are lots of opportunities to sell earlier than you otherwise would have seemed shocking for a patent troll, either as an adult.

That's why Kazaa took the place of Napster. Like early medieval architecture, impromptu talks are made of spolia.

We fixed both problems immediately.

Here's a recipe that might be able to give them sufficient activation energy required to notice when it's aligned with the other is laziness. But the result is higher prices. What made Google Google is that you'll expend a lot about some of those most vocal on the fly is that so few founders do it mostly on your board, there are none in San Francisco.

This is a fine sentence, though it be in most competitive sports, the mean annual wage in the process of trying to sell the product ASAP before wasting time is distraction. We try to ensure startups are often surprised by this, on the group's accumulated knowledge.

If you try to get the money. Labor Statistics, the higher the walls become.