#and on top of it all I’m leaving my synagogue behind for real

[nope-body]

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[spyvstailor]

GRAVEYARD DIRT & SALT

CHAPTER ONE

So, it was brought to my attention people might not like the links to my novel, so I will be posting chapters here on tumblr as well. But please, don’t forget to head over to my KO-FI, and support an author.

Chapter One

Sometime in Summer 2014

 The first sign that troubled times were upon them was the empty shelves in the toilet paper section of all the grocery stores.

  There was no rhyme or reason to this and society fell too fast for top psychologists or sociologists to chime in with their two cents as to the reason why people thought toilet paper would save them during the troubled times.

  The next thing to break down after the panic shopping were the roads and the highways.

 If you think about the population of the earth, six billion and change, and growing each day. If you think about the population of the US alone, all of them fleeing the chaos of the cities and towns. Then you'd understand why the roads were the first to go to shit.

  Humans run on instinct, their lizard brains demand fight or flight. But when they didn't know what exactly they were fighting, when they heard news reports of an epidemic. Stories of people dying and coming back running on pure animal hunger, their first instinct was to flee.

 They've seen the movies, played the video games, entertained the idea of the dead rising up and walking the earth with their insatiable hunger. As humans, they knew what this meant. It meant the end of civilization as they knew it. No more cell phones, no more magazines, and no more internet. It was chaos and it was confusion.

  Back when HQ was up and running. Back when the marines at the base were still receiving orders. When 'task forces' were being sent into hospitals and morgues, schools, churches even. All the places humans congregated in times of trouble to take care of the sweeping epidemic. Back when governments and commanders were still in control, the first thing to fall to the dead were the roads and the highways.

  The highways were veritable buffets for the hungry horde. Panicked people just stuck in traffic, idiots who thought the threat wasn't real and were still out trying to get to their local fucking bar. They became a meal for the horde, delicious, soft, warm, living flesh.

  After the roads and highways fell to the dead, the government sort of disappeared. There was no structure because the officials all sort of went the way of the one percent. Disappearing in the smoke of the burning society around them.

  The next thing to fall was the media. It was all over the place, reports of the dead walking, reports of the one percent disappearing. With their need to know and to be on the scene, many stations began to mysteriously replace their reporters. Reporters changed, their faces different from hour to hour. Until in the end, all that remained was a single, sweaty, panicked looking young intern.

  After the media went the churches, the mosques, the synagogues, even that real fancy cult place in Hollywood.

  When faith failed, then everything just sort of fell away.

 In the days just after the initial outbreak, he was still a marine stationed at HQ in Georgia. He still followed orders. Still went where they told him to go, did what they told him to do. But after a few weeks, the lines of communication went down. HQ went cold, dark. One by one his squad had left him, either picked off by a lucky uggie or just plain run off in the night.

  Sixteen marines had set out from HQ. Thirteen marines had gone off to protect and serve the civilians of the state, and all that remained of that squad was him.

  The men who had left in the night were just heading home, he assumed. And to be honest, the Lieutenant didn't blame them. The more they patrolled from small town to small town, the more he realized there was no one left alive to protect. The last orders he had received had been to keep clear of the major cities, that HQ had fallen, and then silence.

  Hell, until a few months ago, he had assumed he was the only couyon left alive on earth.

 Didn't matter. Everything he had he left back home in Eunice, Louisiana. And that was all inanimate and cold and long-buried in the ground, nothing that could warm him on dark nights anyhow.

  For months, he walked the highways and the roads, just off in the woods in the shadows of the leaves and trees. He did his duty, killing as many of the damned as he could.

  Didn't bother him much, he was recon, trained to do whatever needed doing. Improvise, adapt, and overcome.

 He saw a lot from his place in the woods. He saw men and women trying and failing to survive, the dead roaming, ambling about by the handfuls. Great herds of them shuffling across the blacktop like cattle going down the Chisholm Trail.

  There seemed to be no end to the uggies. Everywhere he went there they were. Old folks, young folks, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. Hell, he had seen a bride one time in her pretty white gown just wandering around.

  The longer he survived in the land of the dead, the more he forgot what other humans, real humans, sounded like. He was beginning to go a little nutty if he was honest. It had been months since he last saw someone who seemed alive, and even they looked like they were on their way out. Tired, sickly, starving maybe. A shadow that had appeared and disappeared so fast he wasn't entirely certain they were real.

  So he drove further back from the roads, deeper into the Georgian woods.

 He did well there, flourished even. Hunting, fishing in the river, killing uggies at an easy pace. Every day, he lay his head in a different spot, never staying still too long, never growing attached to anything.

  It was there, in the middle of the sylvan woods of Georgia, that he came upon a high, grey stone wall, beyond which towered an old looking church. There were some equally dated-looking buildings surrounding it.

  At first, he thought it was a compound of sorts. Maybe some of those good ol' Georgian boys who had it in their mind to form their own militia. A ragged group of NRA enthusiasts with too much ordnance and not enough brains or balls.

  When he had scaled the wall out of morbid curiosity, to perch high and get his bearings, he was startled to find a handful of nuns working in a vegetable garden below. At the time they didn't notice him as he perched on their wall. They seemed too intent on gathering the bounties of their good-sized garden, safe, and almost cocky behind their wall.

 With his rifle shouldered, he had watched them at work, amazed to find life so deep in the woods. Feeling like a man who had just witnessed a miracle, an angel, a vision.

  Sitting at ease on the high, eight-foot wall, the Lieutenant watched the ladies in their garden for the longest time, entranced by the simple beauty of their work and their pretty flowing habits that swished when they walked, before he settled his pack beside him to open it up for a snack of dried nuts he had found in the Piggly Wiggly in Blackshear.

  It had been so, so long since he had observed actual human beings moving and chatting, laughing and living, that he seemed to forget where he was and he was only just a little hungry so he thought he'd have himself a snack while he watched them work.

  It wasn't until one of them, the only one who wore all white, glanced up and spied him on the wall.

 Her face was one of serene, simple beauty. Clear blue eyes, a classic beauty that would give Vivian Leigh a run for her money and a hard, almost stern look which changed from placid to startled at the sight of him on their wall. She dropped the basket of potatoes she was carrying to wash at the water pump just past his position and took a quick step back.

  Shouldering his rifle slowly, he held up his hands to show her he was defenseless and offered her a smile he hoped was as charming as he wanted it to be.

  She stared, gawped at him for the longest time, delicate brows knitting, lips trembling like she wanted to say something.

  “Now hold on, I'm not here to stir the nest.” He cautioned as the woman took small, dainty steps back from him.

 The other Sisters now noticed him and wavered between moving to protect the one close to him and fleeing into the shelter of their convent buildings.

  He studied them quietly for a moment, almost as though he thought they were a figment of his imagination, a lie, a mirage on the horizon.

  “My name is Lieutenant Layfayette Vancoughnett of the United States Marine Corps,” he greeted in a voice rusty from disuse. Had it been what? A month? Two months since he last said anything to anyone. “I'm charged with protecting the citizens of this country from the epidemic of the dead.”

  The woman nearest him looked at him with hard, steely eyes, unwavering and unimpressed, but still, she said nothing.

  “I'm not here to hurt any of you,” he went on. “I'm here to offer aid and assistance to any survivors.”

 “We have a front gate for a reason,” the woman suddenly scolded him in the prettiest Southern Belle accent he had ever heard. Straight out of an old movie about Southern Belles and their airy, sweet fiddle-dee-dees.

  Now, when the Lieutenant was a boy he used to stay up late and watch the old late-night showings of movies on Channel 15. He loved those old pictures, the actresses and actors were always far much more elegant than anyone he had ever met. Even dirty, even rugged and sun-scorched in Westerns and historical war films, they always looked so much more.

  This woman, as soon as she opened her mouth, had him yearning for those old films. She had him thinking of Atlanta burning and cotillions and balls of the American South and the Civil War. She had him thinking of Scarlett and Rhett.

  Recovering from the nostalgia of his youth, and feeling as though she had slapped him, the Lieutenant blinked at her for a moment. It had been a few months since he heard words coming from the mouth of someone rational, so he had to think whether he said something rude.

  “Do y'all know what's going on beyond these walls?” He asked.

 The woman wiped a smudge of dirt across her cheek with her wrist and sighed. “Are you here for trouble or to be a spider on my wall? Because I have no time for leering men peering down at me and my nuns like we're chocolate pie at the Easter picnic.”

  Hopping down into the inner convent grounds, the Lieutenant grinned crookedly and took a step towards the woman in white. “Was I leering? Aw, Missy, that was not my intention. It's only that it's been a long, long, very long while since I've seen a living, breathing person.”

  Wincing as she backed away from him, the woman frowned delicately, her mouth drawing in a thin line. Behind her the other nuns were gathering, they seemed less intimidating than the one in pure white. But she still remained resolute before him, the top of her head only coming up to his shoulder.

  “I think you should leave,” the woman suggested.

 “Is there really no one left alive?” One of the young nuns in a blue dress asked. She didn't wear a full veil like the older nuns, her skirts reached to mid-calf, black stockings and shoes hiding her feet and legs from sight.

  “Not that I've seen. Then again I've been keeping myself clear of the major cities, could be some, could be less than some, could be none.”

  “Please,” the woman in white said. “Just leave. We don't want trouble.”

 “Maybe we could offer him some food and at least a place to rest for the night?” An older nun suggested. “We all were strangers in Egypt, Mother Mena.”

  “Sister Mary Agnes, go inside, take the others.” The woman in white said firmly.

 “Now, don't be so hard on them,” the Lieutenant amended. “I'm leaving. I didn't mean to shake things up. Just wanted to perch on your wall a little and take a rest.”

  Hopping back up onto the eight-foot wall with a little trouble, he managed to collect his things with some dignity, before giving the women below him one last look.

  The leader, at least he assumed she was in charge, raised her chin a little and gave him a real hard look, her pretty, clear blue eyes narrowing a little in a silent challenge. Her pretty little starlet looks, that soft edge of the dying breed of the American South, the Southern Belle, the debutante, hard as steel under velvet was all enough to make him reconsider stirring trouble. She looked like she'd take his eyes out without a second thought, like a she-wolf protecting her young.

  Nodding, he leaped back down off their wall, heading for the little camp he had made for the day.

 He had returned to what he did best for the next few days, killing uggies and scrounging for supplies. Surviving like a shell of a man, staggering around, putting down the dead, eating whatever he could find, it was a hollow life he had now and it had only just come alive again at the sight of those nuns.

  Every now and then he thought of those nuns in their walled-in convent and it sparked life back into him. He worried about them, which was something he missed about people. Caring about them, whether they lived or died. He had become like a man trying to preserve the last of the endangered little critters, only with nuns and it renewed in him a purpose.

  For at least two weeks he resisted the urge to return, not wanting to harass them. But he was a weak man and that drum that pounded in his chest told him 'go back, go back, go back'. And those grey stone walls of the convent seemed to draw him like a magnet to metal.

  They weren't in their garden when he finally managed to pull himself onto the wall, using a tree and a lot of long reaches, but he remained on the wall for a bit, hoping to spy one of them. He just needed to know they were okay, that he hadn't imagined them.

  He sat on that wall so long that before he knew it, it was beginning to get dark, and he realized he had to go find some sort of place to hunker down for the night, a tree or an old foxhole, something tucked away enough for him to rest up.

  Pulling out a bottle of Aspirin and a box of feminine pads he kept in his pack, the former for pain, the later for emergency bandages, he left them on his spot on the wall just opposite the back door to a long, rectangular building, as a sort of offering, before he slipped down and back into his woods.

  Slumping against the side of a house, he sunk down beside the latest uggie he had killed and sighed. Everywhere you went they were there. The dead, the uggies, the creatures he did his best to avoid calling zombies.

  Zombies weren't real. They were movie monsters brought to life with CGI and latex.

 These things, these uggies, they were something else entirely. They were infected, they were rotting. Some kind of nerve damage? Maybe they weren't dead. He didn't know. He just killed them before they tore him apart. Because they sure did have rage and hunger to them that wasn't normal. An entire group of them could tear a man apart in less than a minute.

  Sighing, he looked over at the young man he had put down.

 It hadn't occurred to him that before the nuns, he was lonesome. The Lieutenant was a social creature by habit, he enjoyed a good story and a better joke, but he had grown used to nothing and no one but the dead.

 Now, knowing there were living people out there somewhere, people who didn't fire first, who didn't want what he had, or hate that he was untouched by the dead, knowing that somewhere in the Georgian woods were potential companions, had him distracted from the rut he had fallen into.

  It was the same old thing, day in and day out. Wake up, crawl out from wherever he had bunkered for the night, kill some uggies, scrounge for some food and supplies, hunt if the food wasn't available, dig down like a tick for the night and do it all over again.

  His pack was getting heavy with things he needed to survive, his boots were worn thin, nearly to the sole of his foot itself. He had slogged his way north, south, east, and west, but always somehow came back to the area surrounding the convent.

  He needed some company, just a little chat with someone who didn't drool or moan, or at least didn't drool and moan until he bought them some dinner.

  The farmhouse he had stumbled onto was a rundown shack, very little in uggie activity, but replete with goodies.

 Digging through the pantry, he stuffed jar after jar of pickles, jams, and preserves into his pack, until his pack was too full for any more.

 So he ducked outside to bury most of his found treasure, in case anyone else came upon his goldmine, he wanted some things left for himself. It was a dog eat dog sort of world now and while burying his treasure seemed juvenile, it would prove handy come crunch time when everything had been picked over and gone through. When nothing remained of the old world but trash and canned peas.

  Finding an old water pump, he helped himself to some well water and settled down to clean up some, shaving the itchy goddamned stubble away and rubbing stains out of his uniform where uggies had spewed their nasty fluids all over him like some goddamned reject from a devil possession movie.

  Ducking back into the house before he left, he stuffed the last of the jars of food into his pack and zipped it shut.

 He had enough jam and jelly and pickled veggies to get him through some rough times and in a few more months winter would be upon him and those preserves would really matter.

  Just as he was about to head out from the location, he spied some seed packs sitting on a windowsill in the mudroom and slowed down enough to read them.

  As it did lately, his mind wandered to the nuns and their garden. So he snatched up the seed packs, stuffing them into his trouser pockets, before leaving the farmhouse.

  Climbing onto the convent wall later that afternoon where he had found it easiest to climb, just opposite the back door of the rectangular building, he began his search for life, before pulling out a few jars of preserves to give up to the nuns as an offering. He stacked the jars in such a way as to create a sort of cairn, inside which he tucked the seeds, safe from birds.

  He sat for a few more hours on the wall, before climbing down and slinking off into the forest with no nun in sight.

  It would be another day of same ol', same ol'.

  There was a small farm just on the outskirts of the woods, near the river where he had decided to make camp for the night.

  It had been left pretty much alone, way out in the backroads as it was.

 There were only four uggies, huddled around the carcass of some unfortunate kitty cat, eating their meal with all the greed of a biblical King, fattening themselves on kitty cat meat.

  It was awful of him to think it, but humans he could abide, but a kitty cat being killed? It just sort of stabbed at him in his soft spot.

  Standing over the five bodies, four humans, and one small feline, the Lieutenant realized how messed up it was that he had more sympathy for the cat than the humans. But the poor thing was small and easy prey, humans had the luxury of size and warfare tactics.

  With a string of fish he had caught in the river waiting to be fried over an open flame and a hungry belly, he ignored the corpses in favour of setting up on the far side of the farmyard, building himself a nice fire to fry his fish dinner.

  They sort of haunted him though, the corpses always did. It seemed unnatural, even to a marine, to just leave the dead out in the open as he did. There was never any time to really dispose of them though and to burn them meant the risk of the smoke being seen by other less friendly humans or smelled by the dead.

  Huddled over the old frying pan he kept hanging from his pack, he tended to his dinner with care.

 At first, he didn't hear it or it didn't register to him as a threat. He was so used to hearing only three things, the dead shuffling, the dead groaning, or absolute and terrifying silence.

  But as he cooked, he began to tune back into the world around him.

  Over the crackle of the fire and the sizzle of the fish, he heard a soft mewling, muffled it seemed, by distance or objects.

 At first, worried about the dead not staying dead, he glanced over at the heap of corpses in the growing twilight, making out just dark shadows. Removing his pan from the flame, he set it aside in favour of wandering towards the heap, nervous. Scared the kitty cat was going to pop back up and get him with one well-placed chomp.

  He had never seen the virus or whatever it was infect animals, but he knew somehow his dumb Cajun ass would be the first.

  Hell, if zombies were real, maybe he'd turn into a werecat or something.

  As he headed towards the heap, the mewling grew softer, quieter. He was putting more distance between himself and the sound.

 He continued on, though, kneeling by the corpse of the poor unfortunate cat, reaching down to sort through the gore the dead left, feeling the swollen teat of a mother cat.

  “Shit,” he swore.

  There were kittens somewhere.

  Standing up, he looked around.

  Beyond his fire, was a barn, he figured that would be ideal for a nest, so he headed towards it.

  Passing by the fire, he heard the mewling grow louder, but not much, so he stopped at his pack and pulled out a flashlight.

 Entering the dark barn, he shone the light around cautiously. He was weaponless, but there was no real threat of the dead, the door had been latched securely.

  Inside the barn, the stench of death was strong, but he figured it was coming from the heap that lay in one of the stalls.

  “Poor baby,” he murmured.

  Whatever it was, horse or cow, it had rotted where it dropped.

 God. As cold as it seemed, he could handle human death, it was familiar and sometimes necessary, but the death of an animal always got him.

  The sound was louder in the barn, but he couldn't exactly place it.

  He walked the aisle up and down, looking in stall after stall.

 His growling stomach called him back to the fire and his fish, but every time he considered selfishly going back for dinner, the kittens would call him and they sounded hungrier than him.

  It broke his heart.

  “Where are you, babies?” He called out, knowing no answer would come.

 It seemed like an hour he spent, tearing apart square straw bales and looking in the cracks between wooden slats in the stalls and in the manager part of the stalls before he remembered most barns had a hayloft.

  Shining his light upwards, he saw only wooden floorboards overhead decorated with cobwebs.

 The Lieutenant was trailer park trash or at least one step up from that (which in Louisiana meant his granny had a trailer in the middle of the woods near Eunice), he had never been on a farm beyond a few times in passing, so he didn't know how the hell to get up there. He couldn't see a ladder or a staircase, but as he shone his light across the ceiling above him, he spied a part that had rotted away, near the door he had come in and moved towards it.

  As he moved, in near-total darkness save for the beam of light from his flashlight, he spied a pair of glowing eyes peering down at him, before they ducked out of sight.

  “Found you,” he cooed gently up at the hole.

  Looking around for something to climb on so he could poke his head up into the hole to find the kitten, he came up with an old five-gallon pail and hoped to God it would be tall enough.

  Wobbling a little as he climbed onto it, he realized it was still too short, so he jumped down and looked around again.

  The mewling continued.

  “I'll be right back, yeah?” He called up to the kittens.

 Ducking outside, he began to look around the farmyard, knowing how dangerous it was to be outside at night, shining a flashlight like a beacon beckoning the dead to come home to eat. If he could find something, a ladder, or something tall enough to climb onto, he could pull himself up into the hayloft.

  Throwing a bundle of dry branches onto his fire as he passed, he headed for a nearby shed. It looked like a tool shed.

  The door was locked, but it didn't take much for him to kick the weathered door off its hinges.

 Entering like a criminal into a bank vault, he looked around. There wasn't a ladder, but there was a riding lawn mower that looked tall enough to park under the hole. Grabbing up what looked like an old birdcage, he set it on the seat and putting the lawnmower in neutral, he clamped his teeth down on his flashlight and began to roll the machine out.

  It took him a good twenty damned minutes to get it through the door of the barn and for him to crawl over the top of it before he finally managed to get his head up and into the hayloft.

  That pair of shining eyes blinked at him from way, way back in the dusty, moldy hay-filled barn attic, and then another pair blinked at him and another.

  “Hey,” he soothed to the babies. “Come on over here. Come on.”

 After five minutes of gentle cooing, one of the kittens came close, curious about the man who had wedged himself up and into their hole.

 He hoped like hell there were no dead coming at him at that moment. His bottom half was exposed and he didn't want them eating his tender bits first.

  A grey and white kitten, nothing but fluff and eyes and ears touched a wet nose to his outstretched hand, before jerking back nervously.

  “Hi there,” he whispered. “You're a lovely little thing, aren't you? Come on. I've never hurt an animal and I won't start today, baby.” That was a bit of a white lie, he did have to hunt and fish to survive, but he never kicked a dog and never once tossed a kitty cat out of his way.

  Carefully he scooped the fluff ball up and tucked it into the birdcage. Taking that time to glance around at his surroundings for threats, he pushed the cage up into the hole and climbed up in after it.

  Sniffling and sneezing due to the old straw and hay and whatever else was up there, he felt like he was going to catch at least something from it all. Cholera or something else.

 Underneath his six-foot-something weight, the old floorboards groaned, so he moved cautiously, stepping only where he thought the joists underneath were.

  Stopping a few feet from the other two pair of eyes, he cooed and called to them, before finally he was still enough that they cautiously came over to him, one was easy to catch, but the other retreated as he did so.

  The one he had caught was a beautiful short-haired calico and she looked at him in the light of his flashlight with such big eyes that he fell in love a little.

  “Hey, baby,” he greeted. “I'm not going hurt you. But mama's not coming back, so y'all gotta come with me now.”

 With two kittens in the birdcage, mewling hungrily, he tried coaxing the last one over. When the short-haired grey tabby refused to come any closer, the Lieutenant realized he was going to have to go after it.

 “Come on now,” he said gently. “I'm not going hurt you, baby. Catching the kitten, he carefully moved back to the cage and added him.

  Taking one last look around to ensure he got all of the kittens, he headed back for the hole.

  Carefully he poked his head down first before blindly emerging from the hayloft.

  Seeing the coast was clear, he crawled down, bringing the kittens down with him.

  Most of his fish had been consumed by the kittens, the poor things were hungry.

 With a small bowl of water from the well in the cage with them, he moved everyone into the house finally, the land had grown dark a long, long time before.

  Settling upstairs, he secured the door to the room he was going to bed down in, before opening the cage door and letting the kittens out.

  They moved carefully around the room, inspecting everything, before launching themselves at the blanket on the bed where the Lieutenant had settled.

  Dragging themselves up one by one using their claws and the blanket, they sniffed around him for a bit.

 “Bedtime,” he commanded softly, picking up the little calico and smiling as she instantly began to purr. “Aren't you just the sweetest thing,” he said. “What are we going to do with y'all?”

  He couldn't leave them to be eaten as their poor mama had been, but he couldn't travel around with kitties in his pack.

  As with everything as of late, his mind drifted to the nuns and their high walls.

  He hoped they were charitable to kittens.

  Scaling the wall was never easy, but he had a system at this point.

 There was an old gnarled oak tree just behind the convent, close enough to the wall that if he leaped from a thick lower branch and kept his balance he could make the wall.

  It was a little more dangerous with a cage full of kittens, but he managed to make the jump safely.

 Once upon the wall, he realized, however, that he had no escape plan with a heavy pack and a cage of precious cargo. He couldn't just jump down, the kittens would get jostled too badly, but he didn't see any other option.

  Just as he was considering the physics of jumping, he spied a flash of white appear from the back door of the large rectangular building beside the church.

  A nun had emerged, a laundry basket in her hands.

  Not wanting to startle her, the Lieutenant let loose a low, soft whistle to get her attention.

  It failed, the nun still jumped a little, dropping her basket of clothes.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, pointing to the kittens in the cage hurriedly as an explanation.

  Exhaling a relieved breath, the nun hurried over to stand below him on the wall.

 Kneeling, he handed her the cage, explaining himself, “sorry,” he apologized again. “I found these little fellas and didn't know where else to bring them.”

  The nun looked up at him with large, beautiful brown eyes and a sort of amused grin. “You're that marine, aren't you?”

  He nodded. “I don't want to make trouble.”

  “I know,” she returned. “Sister Gertrude has cats, so...you brought them to the right place.”

  He smiled. “Good. I'll bring y'all some kitty food if I find it then.”

  “You've been leaving us things,” the nun went on.

  “Have they been useful?”

  She nodded.

  Looking up and out at the convent, he asked, “what is this place, exactly?”

  “Veil of Tears of the Sacred Virgin Convent,” she said.

  “Which one are you?”

  The nun smiled. “Sister Dymphna.”

  “Dymphna. I'm Lieutenant Vancoughnett, USMC.”

  “Lieutenant.” She repeated.

  They both looked up as another nun emerged from the back of the building, a laundry basket in her arms.

  “You'd better go,” Dymphna said. “Mother Mena will be out soon. She doesn't want strangers in the convent.”

 He nodded, watching the other nun who was approaching them cautiously. “Thank you for taking these little guys. Their mama got nabbed by a couple of the dead and I didn't want them to starve.”

  Dymphna smiled. “Thank you for bringing them to us.” She hesitated, before adding. “Stay safe out there, please?”

 Thinking of the nuns the next morning, he remembered his promise to Dymphna; cat food. And he recalled the town nearby had an agro-center with all manners of animal feed.

  So he headed there, with no better plans for the day but wandering around and surviving.

 The town had been cleared of anything living, or at least anything with a thinking, rational brain, but he still walked into it with all the caution of a man going to battle.

  The dead lingered in places where people once inhabited, either because they could smell the living scent lingering or because somewhere in the backs of their rotting brains, they recalled that this was a place where they were supposed to be, like salmon returning to spawn or birds migrating.

 If he was quiet enough, moved silently enough, the lingering scent of the living would mask his own and he could slip in and out without any problems.

  And even though he swore he'd avoid areas that had once been heavily populated, he went into the town on a mission.

 Kittens would need soft food at best, maybe a smallish bag of special kitten chow, he wasn't sure, he emptied his pack to make space for both.

  The agro-center was dark and quiet, the shops always were now.

 Someone had already broken the glass door wide open but had pulled a heavy, empty snack stand over the hole behind them as they left, possibly with the intention of returning for more scrounging.

  The Lieutenant tread carefully once past the stand and inside, worried that maybe the stand had been pulled in behind someone entering, but determined to get his kitten food and leave. It would be an easy in and out, once he found the cat aisle.

  Passing by garden aisles and chemical aisles, both raided for tools to be used as weapons and chemicals he could only imagine were to be used for bombs or other methods of self-defense from the dead, he turned down an aisle containing small appliances and barbecue equipment, following the signs overhead that pointed him towards the cat aisle, moving slowly and cautiously around each corner.

  It was so far quiet and empty, but that didn't mean the next corner didn't have someone or something waiting in surprise for him.

  The cat aisle was at the very back of the store, last aisle and as he glanced around the corner, he spied a small form sitting on the floor in the very corner, playing with some cat toys, her back to him.

  It was a child, he realized. And she looked very much alive.

 Approaching her slowly, eyes moving constantly, looking for someone who may be with her, the Lieutenant moved down the aisle, a new mission at the forefront of his mind.

  If this child was alone, he had to get her out of here and to the safety of the convent, whether the nuns wanted strangers there or not.

  About five steps away from the little girl, she happened to look up and over her shoulder, a cautious, searching glance, watching for the dead he assumed.

  She saw him, gasped, and stood up.

 Someone stepped around the corner, handgun aimed at the Lieutenant. They must have been right beside her, scrounging the endcap of the aisle.

  Raising his own rifle, the Lieutenant kept it trained on the man with the child.

 The two could not be any different. The small black girl wore the uniform of a Fox Scout, dirty, worn sneakers and had the sweetest, most open face he had ever seen on a child. She looked at him with big, dark eyes, before reaching up and rubbing in irritation at her button nose, tucking in behind the man.

  The white man with her wore an expensive suit, brightly patterned silk shirt underneath, boots that had at one point been polished and expensive, looked dangerous and prepared to kill. His predatory look was ruined a little by how big and green his eyes were, fringed by dark lashes. Altogether with the freckles on his face adding to his boyish appeal and softening the threat if only a little made him deceptively dangerous.

  They were not father and child, and yet the girl hid behind the man, trusting him to keep her safe.

 For a minute the two men just stood there, guns trained on the other's face, before the Lieutenant spoke carefully, “I'll put my weapon down if you do the same.”

  The man narrowed his eyes a little but kept his weapon trained on the Lieutenant.

  “I'm just here for kitten food,” the Lieutenant said. “I don't want a fight.”

  “Kitten food?” The man asked, almost a breathy laugh.

  “If you put the gun away I'll tell you the story,” the Lieutenant lied.

 Grinning, the man tilted his head and gave the Lieutenant a sort of admonishing, playful look, his mouth lifting in the right corner crookedly, before palming his pistol and raising his hands defensively. “Well now I've gotta hear this one,” he said in a tone that sounded like the man had once been born in the American South, like the distant memory of a twang was hidden just behind his calm, smooth voice.

 Lowering his rifle, the Lieutenant paused for a second, watching as the man watched him, before both men put their weapons away, the man sliding his pistol back into a holster inside his suit jacket, resting it at his breast, the Lieutenant sliding his rifle onto his back.

 “Was scrounging some farm,” the Lieutenant said, carefully turning from the man, keeping one eye on the two at the end of the aisle and one on the selection of canned cat food, “found some orphaned kittens.”

 “And you're taking care of them?” The man almost teased. “You know the world's fucking decimated, right? Doesn't really matter.”

  Giving the man and the girl with him a simple look. “Guess we both have soft hearts.”

 Placing a hand on the girl's head, the man in the expensive suit tucked her behind him further, shielding her from the Lieutenant's gaze. “Don't look at her. Just get your fucking cat food.”

  Both adult men, prickly and on their guard, remained in their respective spots, before the Lieutenant deferred slowly, moving down the aisle, keeping one eye on the man and the girl as he browsed for canned kitten food.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl tug the man down to whisper something to him, and at first, the man ignored her before he stooped a little.

  Cupping her hand, the child whispered to him.

  “I'm not...this isn't the time, kid.”

  After a bit, the man with the child sighed deeply and asked, “how many kittens?”

  “Three,” the Lieutenant said, speaking directly to the child, knowing the question came from her.

  Once more the man in the fancy suit gently pushed the kid behind him fully, eyes warily on the Lieutenant.

 “You her daddy?” The Lieutenant asked, finding the kitten food and dropping his pack to stuff as many cans inside as he could.

  “Do I look like her fucking daddy?” The man demanded.

  The Lieutenant tilted his head. “The world is a diverse place.”

  The three of them were silent for the longest time, before the man said,  “it's just the two of us now.”

  “What are you two doing here?” The Lieutenant asked. “Is this where you hole up?”

  The man scowled a little. “What the fuck do you care?”

  Again the Lieutenant backed down into silence, hefting his pack back up onto his back.

 “Ran into some good ol' boys a bit back,” the man in the suit supplied. “Seems the NRA survived the end of days and they're just as nasty as they were before it all went to shit. Thought it'd be best to hole up until early morning, then duck out of town.”

  The Lieutenant nodded.

  “You? Still serving the government?”

 “I don't think so,” the Lieutenant said. “If HQ is still up and running ain't nobody told me.” Eyeing the two of them, the girl and the fancy man, the Lieutenant asked, “you got a place to be or you just moving?”

  “El Dorado,” the man said simply, still on his guard. “Hey, where's your cats?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You got them stashed somewhere safe or you just fucking with us?”

  “They're safe.”

  The man nodded.

 “I could think of eight better lies I could have told than kittens,” the Lieutenant said. He took one last, studious look at the two of them, before that small part in him, the one that wanted to protect people kicked in. “Why don't you two come with me? There's safety in numbers.”

  Folding his arms, the man tilted his head back a little and stared hard at him, before saying, “get the fuck out of here.”

[dfroza]

A resurrection of life

is seen of a 12-year-old girl in Today’s reading of the Scriptures in the New Testament book of Mark that includes this line:

“Little girl, wake up from the sleep of death.”

[Mark 5]

They arrived at the other side of the lake, at the region of the Gerasenes. As Jesus stepped ashore, a demon-possessed madman came out of the graveyard and confronted him. The man had been living there among the tombs, and no one was able to restrain him, not even with chains. For every time they attempted to chain his hands and feet with shackles, he would snap the chains and break the shackles in pieces. He was so strong that no one had the power to subdue him. Day and night he could be found lurking in the cemetery or in the vicinity, shrieking and cutting himself with stones!

When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran to him and threw himself down before him, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Leave me alone, Jesus, Son of the Most High God! Swear in God’s name that you won’t torture me!” (For Jesus had already said to him, “Come out of that man, you demon spirit!”)

Jesus said to him, “What is your name?”

“Mob,” he answered. “They call me Mob because there are thousands of us in his body!” He begged Jesus repeatedly not to expel them out of the region.

Nearby there was a large herd of pigs feeding on the hillside. The demons begged him, “Send us into the pigs. Let us enter them!”

So Jesus gave them permission, and the demon horde immediately came out of the man and went into the pigs! This caused the herd to rush madly down the steep slope and fall into the lake, drowning about two thousand pigs!Depending on weight, the cost of two thousand live pigs today could be as much as $250,000. The economic cost to the community over the loss of this herd was significant.

At this, the herdsmen ran to the nearby villages, telling everyone along the way what had happened, and the people came out to see for themselves. When they found Jesus, they saw the demonized man sitting there, properly clothed and in his right mind. Seeing what had happened to the man possessed by many demons, the people became afraid. Those who had witnessed this miracle reported the news to the people and included what had happened to the pigs. Then they asked Jesus to leave their region.

And as Jesus began to get into the boat to depart, the man who had been set free from demons asked him, “Could I go with you?” Jesus answered, “No,” but said to him, “Go back to your home and to your family and tell them what the Lord has done for you. Tell them how he had mercy on you.”

So the man left and went into the region of Jordan and parts of Syria to tell everyone he met about what Jesus had done for him, and all the people marveled!

After Jesus returned from across the lake, a huge crowd of people quickly gathered around him on the shoreline. Just then, a man saw that it was Jesus, so he pushed through the crowd and threw himself down at his feet. His name was Jairus, a Jewish official who was in charge of the synagogue. He pleaded with Jesus, saying over and over, “Please come with me! My little daughter is at the point of death, and she’s only twelve years old! Come and lay your hands on her and heal her and she will live!”

Immediately Jesus went with him, and the huge crowd followed, pressing in on him from all sides.

Now, in the crowd that day was a woman who had suffered horribly from continual bleeding for twelve years. She had endured a great deal under the care of various doctors, yet in spite of spending all she had on their treatments, she was getting worse instead of better. When she heard about Jesus’ healing power, she pushed through the crowd and came up from behind him and touched his prayer shawl. For she kept saying to herself, “If I could touch even his clothes, I know I will be healed.” As soon as her hand touched him, her bleeding immediately stopped! She knew it, for she could feel her body instantly being healed of her disease!

Jesus knew at once that someone had touched him, for he felt the power that always surged around him had passed through him for someone to be healed. He turned and spoke to the crowd, saying, “Who touched my clothes?”

His disciples answered, “What do you mean, who touched you? Look at this huge crowd—they’re all pressing up against you.” But Jesus’ eyes swept across the crowd, looking for the one who had touched him for healing.

When the woman who experienced this miracle realized what had happened to her, she came before him, trembling with fear, and threw herself down at his feet, saying, “I was the one who touched you.” And she told him her story of what had just happened.

Then Jesus said to her, “Daughter, because you dared to believe, your faith has healed you. Go with peace in your heart, and be free from your suffering!”

And before he had finished speaking, people arrived from Jairus’ house and pushed through the crowd to give Jairus the news: “There’s no need to trouble the master any longer—your daughter has died.” But Jesus refused to listen to what they were told and said to the Jewish official, “Don’t yield to fear. All you need to do is to keep on believing.” So they left for his home, but Jesus didn’t allow anyone to go with them except Peter and the two brothers, Jacob and John.

When they arrived at the home of the synagogue ruler, they encountered a noisy uproar among the people, for they were all weeping and wailing. Upon entering the home, Jesus said to them, “Why all this grief and weeping? Don’t you know the girl is not dead but merely asleep?” Then everyone began to ridicule and make fun of him. But he threw them all outside.

Then he took the child’s father and mother and his three disciples and went into the room where the girl was lying. He tenderly clasped the child’s hand in his and said to her in Aramaic, “Talitha koum,” which means, “Little girl, wake up from the sleep of death.” Instantly the twelve-year-old girl sat up, stood to her feet, and started walking around the room! Everyone was overcome with astonishment in seeing this miracle! Jesus had them bring her something to eat. And he cautioned them repeatedly that they were to tell no one about what had happened.

The Book of Mark, Chapter 5 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 7th chapter of the book of Esther that documents judgment against Haman’s evil plan towards Mordecai and the Jews:

King Ahasuerus and Haman came to dine with Queen Esther; and while they were drinking wine, the king posed his question once again.

King Ahasuerus: What is your request, Queen Esther? I’m willing to give you anything you want. Just make your request. Even if it’s half the kingdom you desire, I will make it happen!

Queen Esther: If you favor me, my king, and if it pleases you, spare my life. That’s all I’m asking for—that my people and I be spared. That is my wish. There are some, my king, who wish to rid your kingdom of us. For my people and I have been sold, marked for destruction and massacre. Now if the plan were simply to sell our men and women into slavery, I would have kept my mouth closed because that would not have been important enough to disturb you, my king.

King Ahasuerus: Who has targeted your people? Where is this man who dares to do this?

Queen Esther (pointing to Haman): The man responsible for these actions is wicked Haman. He is vile, and an enemy to my people.

In that moment, Haman’s joy turned to terror before the king and queen. Angered, the king shoved away from the table, left his wine, and walked into the palace garden. But Haman, aware that King Ahasuerus had already sealed his fate, didn’t follow behind. Instead, he pleaded with Queen Esther to spare his life. In desperation, he threw himself onto the couch where Queen Esther was sitting, just as King Ahasuerus walked back from the garden to the place where the wine and the banquet had been set.

King Ahasuerus: Haman, will you even violate my queen right here in the palace, where I can see you?

As soon as the king gave the order, the royal eunuchs covered Haman’s face. His fate had been sealed. One of those eunuchs was Harbonah.

Harbonah: Look! Haman has prepared a 75-foot pole for execution in his own courtyard. He was hoping to use it to hang Mordecai, the man who spoke up and saved the king.

King Ahasuerus: Well, hang him on it!

So they took Haman and killed him and displayed him on the pole he had made ready for Mordecai. And King Ahasuerus’ anger subsided.

The Book of Esther, Chapter 7 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, April 4 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about connection:

We all have a great need to be seen, heard, and understood, and therefore one of the greatest gifts we can give to another person is simply to take the time to listen to them. The great commandment is Shema (שׁמע) - to listen - but this implies that we make "space" within ourselves for the voice of others, thereby helping them bear their burdens (Gal. 6:2). And just as God listens to our heart cries and knows where we hurt, so we can offer our empathy so that others will not feel alone in this dark world. Words are meant to be shared in communion, but if we don't make the effort to listen to others, in the end we will only be prattling to ourselves, alone and devoid of real connection... It is important to remember that we need one another to help fight against the darkness. [Hebrew for Christians]

4.3.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 4, 2021

Risen with Christ

“If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.” (Colossians 3:1)

The wise believer revels in the fact of Christ’s resurrection. Some things in Scripture may be easier to identify with and apply, including Christ’s substitutionary death, but it is the resurrection that gives us power to live victoriously. “Like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4).

We have been “crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed” (Romans 6:6). Nevertheless, we are risen with Him, as our text and elsewhere clearly teaches (Romans 6; Ephesians 2:1-10; etc.). This resurrection is an inward one, of course, but our bodily resurrection is also guaranteed by Christ’s bodily resurrection, should we physically die. “Knowing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus” (2 Corinthians 4:14).

Power to serve Him effectively comes through His resurrection, for we have access to the “exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe, according to the working of his mighty power, Which he wrought in Christ, when he raised him from the dead” (Ephesians 1:19-20). We have authority over all human and demonic institutions through Him who even now operates as head of the living church of His followers.

Perhaps the most precious of all benefits of the resurrection is that “we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens” who is sympathetic to “the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:14-16). JDM

[thegreatwhiteferret]

Say My Name

Summary: Richie gets way too bratty and mouthy for it to be tolerated; Stan puts him in his place.

A/N: For my wonderful Anon who requested Dom!Stan and Sub!Richie with a side of edging and orgasm denial. I hope you enjoy this, I threw a whole bunch of other kinks in there too, so hopefully it meets your wild expectations for Smutty Stozier. ❤️❤️❤️  Definitely my first time with this type of writing, and I’m not sure how I feel about it, so please be nice. 😬  😬  😬

NSFW under the cut...

Richie talked a big game. He loved to act like he was dominant in bed, that he was a damn love guru. Stan Uris knew better. He knew that what Richie really craved, what he really needed, was to be dominated. He needed to be put in his place, a no one did that better than Stan Uris himself.

It was a Tuesday in December, just a few weeks before Christmas. The Losers Club were all home from college for their winter break and were hanging out in Ben’s basement. On this particular day, Richie was being extremely bratty. Mouthing off, making inappropriate comments every chance he got. Not even the good old “Beep, Beep, Richie!” fail safe would stop him. The other Losers were just trying to shrug him off, but Stan was forming a plan.

He starts by asking Richie if he can walk him home. Claims that he left something over there the other night when they hung out. Richie agrees, skeptical of Stan’s reasoning, but finds himself unable to tell the other boy no. There’s always been something about Stan that draws Richie in deep, makes him relinquish all control. Richie asks if Stan will stay over too, his parents aren’t home, and the house is too large and lonely. Stan figures that his parents’ absence is probably what has sent Richie into a tizzy, but the behavior still can’t be allowed. Stan agrees and tells Richie that they’ll just stop at his house to grab some things, it will allow Stan to pack what he needs to handle Richie later anyway.

Stan leaves Richie waiting for him outside as he runs in to tell his parents that he will be staying over at Richie’s and packs his bags. He pulls out a locked box from under his bed, and looks through his collection. He ends up packing a tube of lube, a black rubber cock ring, handcuffs, and his favorite butt plug. He knows exactly what he’s going to do to Richie, and has all of his tools at the ready. He packs some pajamas, a change of clothes for tomorrow, and his toiletries as well. He heads down the stairs and says goodbye to his parents once more, before he meets up with Richie outside.

It’s freezing outside. December in Derry, Maine is no joke. Stan walks as quickly as he can to Richie’s house, and Richie easily keeps up with him, his long legs making huge strides that would take Stan two or three steps of his own. It infuriates Stan. When they get to his house, Richie unlocks the door quickly and ushers Stan inside.

“So what did you say that you left, because I don’t remember seeing anything…” He looks up and is met by Stan’s dark eyes boring into him. Richie gulps, he knows the look, and he can’t help the jolt of arousal he feels, his cock already beginning to stiffen in his pants.

“You were a real brat today, Tozier.” Stan says, dominance already making itself known in his voice. “Seems like someone needs to shut that bratty mouth of yours and put you in your place.” Richie keens and moans, and Stan smirks. “Such a little slut for being punished. Better get upstairs, Slut.”

Richie races up the stairs and kneels in front of his bed, waiting for Stan to join him. Stan feels a sense of pride when he sees his boy waiting in the proper position for him. He sets his duffel bag on Richie’s desk and removes the plastic bag containing his toys. He lines them up one by one, and Richie fights to stay looking forward and not at what the other boy is doing.

“Such a good little sub, waiting for Daddy to give orders. Kneeling all pretty. Are you ready for your punishment, Baby?” Richie nods and Stan moves towards him. “You may speak and answer my question.”

“Yes, Daddy. I am ready to be punished for being a brat.” Richie supplies and swallows hard.

“Good boy. Stand up and strip, I want you on all fours on the bed. Daddy is going to teach you a lesson.” Richie complies, he knows that he is going to get punished for being a brat earlier, but he also knows that his Daddy isn’t going to be happy when Richie takes off his pants and he sees what he has done. He moves into position anyway and waits.

Stan has been distracted momentarily shrugging out of his jacket, but moves behind Richie to get ready and sees it. A blue gem sticking out of Richie’s hole. He had plugged himself before meeting up with his friends at Ben’s.

“What the fuck is that?” Stan snarls, and Richie knows that he has no other choice but to answer him.

“It’s a plug.” Richie answers, whimpering slightly under the glare of his Daddy.

“I know what it is, Slut. What I don’t know is why that’s stretching your boy pussy open when I certainly didn’t put it there or give you permission to do so yourself.” Irritation is laced in his voice and it makes Richie tremble. “You played with yourself, didn’t you? Stretched yourself open, probably fucked yourself with the plug a bit before leaving it in your ass for your hole to stretch and clench around. Did you jerk off too? Cum without my permission.” Richie nods, he’s been a bad bad sub. “Well then You will definitely need to be punished for this on top of your bratiness.”

Stan braces himself on the edge on the bed with one knee, his other foot firmly planted on the ground. Richie’s ass is waiting right in front of him. He smoothes a hand down Richie’s spine, cupping his right ass cheek in his palm when he reaches it. Plump and perky globes ready to be destroyed. “Five slaps for being bratty, and another five for this stunt with the plug. You’ll count them out for me, if you miss one, we start over.” Richie nods, but Stan isn’t satisfied with that. “I need to hear you consent outloud, Baby. And I need to hear you say your safe word.” Stan breaks character and softens with these instructions, these are the roles they play, but he still genuinely loves Richie, and it’s hs responsibility to make sure that he’s okay.

“Yes. I want it, Stan. Punish me please.” Stan smirks and motions for Richie to continue, “And my safeword is synagogue.” Richie half smirks, and Stan rolls his eyes so hard that he is half surprised that they didn’t stick.

“Alright, Baby. Get ready, don’t forget that you better count them out or we start over.” Stan strokes Richie’s ass gently, before pulling his hand back and slapping it down hard against Richie’s ass cheek, the resulting crack echoes through the room.

“One!” Richie cries out, eyes squinting through the pain. Stan smooths his hand over the heated skin before delivering another spank in the exact same spot. Richie’s legs tremble, the pain passing between stinging and pleasure. “Two!” Stan’s left hand iss stroking Richie’s left cheek now, and Richie can feel the tingles before his hand even made the harsh contact. “Three!” Richie can feel his cock leaking between his legs, he spreads his thighs further apart, leaving his plugged hole on display between his reddening cheeks. Stan speeds up for the next few, Richie choking on the words. “Four! Gahhhhhh, Five! Eeek. Six! Ahhhhh, seven!” He has tears running down his face as Stan slaps the tender skin where Richie’s ass meets his thighs for “Eight!” and “Nine!” Richie’s ass is beat red, clear imprints of where Stan’s hands have been litter his swollen flesh. Stan has one more, and Richie knows that he’s going to make it count. Stan doesn’t disappoint, he squares up and hits Richie’s plug straight on, Causing the metal to surge further into the boy. Richie screams when he feels the plug graze his prostate. He holds back, he doesn’t dare cum, Stan would be beyond mad if he did.

Richie doesn’t have time to think because he feels a tugging at his hole. Stan has his hand on the end of Richie’s plug and is pulling it out before pushing it back in, letting the skin of Richie’s tight ring stretch more and more each time. Richie pushes his forehead into his matress, his walls involuntary clenching around the plug. Stan pulls it out with a lewd pop and Richie’s hole is left to gape around nothing at all.

“Now, Baby, you know better than to stretch your hole out without permission. I guess I’m going to have to close it back up for you,” Richie cries out, he knows what Stan has in mind and he absolutely hates it. Stan is going to make him beg over and over again. Richie doesn’t think anything could be worse. “But first, let’s make sure that you stay hard.” Richie moans, he feels Stan tugging on his cock and balls and then the cock ring is being slid into place. Everything feels so tight, his dick is rock hard and at full mast, and his balls are swollen and being squeezed by a ring of hard rubber.

Richie keeps his ass in the air, waiting for Stan to make a move. His hole is still loose and gaping a little, Stan will take care of it. Stan leans forward and licks a strip right over Richie’s hole, and then blows. Richie’s muscle contracts at the cold and tries its hardest to close all of the way. Richie cries at the forced sensation. Stan repeats the action and is pleased to see Richie’s hole completely closed. “That’s more like it. Now I get to open you up all on my own.” Richie knows that Stan is smirking without even seeing his face. Stan lubes up his finger and presses the tip of one in, Richie is already incredibly tight again, and Stan eases his finger in slowly. “Take it, Baby Boy, take it all.” Richie relaxes, and Stan slides his finger in the rest of the way. He begins pumping slowly, drawing whines out of Richie’s throat. It’s beautiful. He purposely ignores Richie’s spot, hitting everywhere else. Richie’s whole body is flushed, cock painfully hard, aching for release. Stan adds another finger and spreads them apart as he thrusts, Richie enjoys the slow burn that comes from the sensation, but he really wants Stan to hurry up. He wants to cum, but he knows that he needs to give in to Stan’s actions and feel the pleasure, cumming wouldn’t be the main event tonight.

When Stan has worked Richie open with three fingers, and knows that the boy could accomodate his cock, his pulls his fingers out gently. Richie’s hole is back to its gaping self, waiting to be made full, but Stan’s still not done with his teasing. Once again he licks a stripe across the abused flesh and blows. He’s patient, watching the hole flutter closed again.

“Please, Daddy. Please don’t do it again.” Richie cries, tears leaking down his cheeks from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“Tsk tsk. Who is in charge, Little Slut?” Stan asks, lubing up his fingers again. Richie lets a sob out.

“Y-you are, S-sir.” He lets his mind drift, as he feels Stan prod into him with one finger again. This time he is pounding harder and harder, Richie can feel his body’s tight coil, but is powerless to do anything while he has his cock ring on. Stan is four fingers deep when he finally touches Richie’s button. Richie arches his back, ass sticking out so pretty for his boy. Stan massages the spot, drawing moans from Richie, and then he stops stroking. He reaches around Richie and pulls his cock out from the ring. He turns Richie over, helping him settle on his back, and then his fingers are back at it. “Whaaaa….Ahhhh ughhhhh.” Stan is applying pressure directly to Richie’s prostate, it’s so much to take. Richie feels his dick twitching and knows exactly what Stan is doing.

Stan smirks as the first drops of cum begin to leak out of Richie’s swollen cock. He continues the assault of pressure on Richie’s prostate and watches in amusement as every last drop of cum is milked out of Richie, the other boy groaning at the weird sensation of leaking with no orgasm. When Stan is sure that every last drop has been milked out of Richie he snaps the cock ring back in place. Richie wants to cry out in frustration, his body is so keyed up, he just wants to cum. He needs a hand on his dick, but Stan swats his away.

“Lock your fingers behind your head. You try to touch your cock one more time and you won’t get to orgasm at all tonight. Richie groans again, he whines too. “This is what happens when you’re a little brat, Richard. You brought this on yourself. You were begging for me to make you fall apart.” Richie knows it’s the truth. Stan had been ignoring him, spending time with everyone else, and Richie just wanted him for himself. Stan sheds his boxers and situates himself between Richie’s legs.

He pushes just the head of his cock into Richie’s hole, and Richie wraps his legs around his waist, desperately seeking more leverage, but he keeps his hands locked behind his head like he was told to. Stan slides in at an excruciatingly slow rate. He stays still, with his pelvis pressed to Richie’s ass and watches Richie’s eyes flutter closed at the feeling of being so full. He begins fucking in and out, setting a fast pace. Richie can feel the heat coiling in his groin, he’s so close he just needs a little more...Stan stills. Richie whines.

“Better back off of that edge, Baby. I didn’t say you could let go, I’m not done with you yet.” Richie screws his eyes shut and wills himself to calm down, when his heart rate has slowed, Stan starts moving again, with more determination this time. He fucks in so hard, hitting Richie’s throbbing spent and abused prostate every time, Richie is close again, and he prays to whatever deity is listening to have mercy on him, but just like before, Stan stops right before he tumbles over.

“Say my name. No, scream my name as you beg for me to let you release. Do it.” Stan grits out, mind blissed out from Richie’s tight heat.

“FUCK! DADDY! STAN! FUCK! I’m sorry for being a brat, Daddy. But please let me cum. Please let me get off.” Stan kisses the tears off of Richie’s cheeks and nods. He starts thrusting again, this time slow and thorough, the way Richie likes it. He gets his hand on Richie’s cock and strokes in time with his thrusts. Richie can feel his climax coming toward him harder than it ever had before and with one final thrust from Stan he’s orgasming so hard that he sees white. His cock twitches but no cum comes out, still dry from having his prostate milked.

Stan fucks into the tight heat once, twice, and then he’s cumming. Thick ropes of semen flooding Richie’s hole. He stills his hips and stays tightly pressed to Richie’s hips while he reaches for something. Richie whines as the feeling when Stan pulls out, but then he feels a hard tip against his hole again, and Stan is pushing the plug back inside, effectively locking his seed inside of the other boy.

Richie lays boneless on the bed as Stan quickly retrieves a washcloth and lotion. The aftercare is the most important part of their sessions, Richie comes out of his sub roll and begins to feel human again. Stan cleans him up, warm circles being rubbed into his skin by the washcloth, then he’s being flipped over and Stan gently massages the lotion into Richie’s ass, hoping to help with the pain and bruising. Richie feels the comfort and love pouring from Stan. He lays on his side and sighs happily when Stan slides in behind him becoming the big spoon.

“Thanks for this, Stan. You always know how to make me let go and release. I’m sorry for being a brat earlier.”

“It’s okay, Richie. I know things are hard for you here.” Stan presses a kiss to the tender skin behind Richie’s ear. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Maybe a little sore.” Richie thinks for a second, “But I would be so much better if my boyfriend actually kissed me, since he didn’t during that entire scene.” Stan thinks back, and shit, Richie is right. He pours his apology for the oversight into a passionate kiss. Richie thrusts up into his stomach and then pulls away, a look of pain on his face. “Dick is sore. Dick is really really sore from being milked. Jesus F. Christ.” Stan presses a kiss to his temple to let him know that he’s sorry and looks into his big eyes.

“I love you, Richie.” He whispers like it’s a secret, even though they are the only two there. Richie smiles brightly at him.

“I love you too, Stanley.” He presses the sweetest of kisses to Stan’s lips, but of course has to break the moment. “Okay, are you going to take this out anytime soon? I can feel your come sticking inside of me…” Stan rolls his eyes.

[madewithonerib]

Our guest is a senior pastor & messianic rabbi at the Jerusalem Center/Beth Israel.

This is a prominent worship center in New Jersey for people from all walks of life. My guest is also the president of Hope of the World Ministries. Now it's time that I told you who I'm talking about.

He's my friend, Rabbi Jonathan Cahn.

He has been here 7 times before, this is the 8th, & it is always a delight to have you with us.

I think no one writes the kind of stuff you do, & because of the prophetic element of it, it's just fascinating to me.

     Rabbi Cahn: Thank you. It is my honor always to      be here. I grew up in my faith as a believer, even      before I believed, I heard you, I knew of you.      It's just an honor to be here. Dr. Dobson: Well, you grew up in a Jewish home, you are a Jew.      Rabbi Cahn: I did. I am. Dr. Dobson: How is it that you were listening early on to a Christian?      Rabbi Cahn: Well, when I was a teenager, I started      seeking the LORD. One day I went into a Church &      they said, "Oh, & don't miss the series, the film series      of Dr. Dobson."

     That was even before I was a believer, you know?

     Then of course as a believer I would listen to you.      So it's an honor, Dr. Dobson. Dr. Dobson: Well, one of the previous times when you      were here, we told a little bit about your childhood &      your story growing up. You decided that you were an      atheist at eight years of age, being in a Jewish home.      Was it an Orthodox Jewish home?      Rabbi Cahn: No, reform. That's kind of the least of those      who go to temple. So, I did go to temple, I went to      Hebrew school my whole childhood. Dr. Dobson: So, how come you bailed ship at       eight years of age?      Rabbi Cahn: Well, because they showed us film strips      on the GOD of the BIBLE, & I saw that GOD who was      real and moving. Then I went to the synagogue &      I didn't see any sign of HIM.

     I just saw the liturgies.

     It was kind of like an echo of what once was.

     But the rabbi never got up & said, "Hey, the LORD really      spoke to my heart today, & HE really led... "

     It was like something that was ancient & it was religious,      but I didn't see the signs, so I said, well,      how do I know there's even a GOD?

     And that's how it happened.      That's how I became an atheist at eight. Dr. Dobson: Is that still true in that aspect of Judaism?      Rabbi Cahn: In many. It's often a tradition for many      Jewish people. They're Jewish by birth, & they're proud      of that, or they know there's something.

     But not so much a living faith.      The Orthodox are a bit different.      They're taking it more seriously.

     But for many Jewish people, it's, we know we have to      keep this going. We know we're Jewish,      we know it's important.

     But they go to synagogue, & like many people who      are Catholic, they say the ritual, they say the liturgy.

     I didn't see people when I was growing up, a Jewish      person say, "Hey, the LORD, & HE changed my life."

     It just didn't happen. Dr. Dobson: So at eight years of age, you decided GOD does not exist, & you didn't want any part of HIM.

     Rabbi Cahn: Yes.

Dr. Dobson: But at 20 years of age, you changed your mind again.

     Rabbi Cahn: GOD had HIS way.

     Well, when I was about 12 I started saying,      "This doesn't work.

     There's got to be a reason behind everything.      There's got to be some reason."

     So that opened me up to start seeking what's the truth.

     I started getting every book on everything I could.      Science, religion, UFOs, Chariot of the Gods,      remember back then?

Dr. Dobson: Yeah.

     Rabbi Cahn: One day I picked up a book, I thought it      was like a UFO book like Chariot of the Gods,      because it looked like it.

     It was The Late, Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsey.

     I was like, "Whoa, the BIBLE said this, & Israel," &      I didn't know that. Nobody told me that.

     The BIBLE prophesied was coming true.

     I started telling all my friends about it.

     I wasn't a believer yet, but I'm telling my friends, &      I'm winning them to the LORD.

     But I wasn't following GOD, but I'm winning them      to the LORD, because I'm telling them,      "You've got to see this."

     Then I realized it wasn't just,      JESUS is real & HE’s coming... I looked in the OT,      it says HE's going to be born in Bethlehem, our      Messiah is going to be, dying for our sins.

          I thought, how did all this           Catholic stuff get into the Jewish-

Dr. Dobson: You actually found JESUS in the OT?      Rabbi Cahn: Yes, I did. Yeah. We had an OT in      our house. Nobody read it. But I opened it up,      I said, it's all there, you know?

     So, I couldn't argue with it.

          I knew then, listen, you           can't just have it in your head.           You've got to live it.           You're in trouble if you don't.

     So I said, "Okay, LORD," I made a deal with GOD      when I was about 18 now. I said, "If you give me      a long life, I will accept YOU when I'm on my      death bed about to die." Dr. Dobson: You were bargaining with the LORD.      Rabbi Cahn: It's a Jewish thing. So I did.

     And because I thought if you follow GOD,      you give up everything good, I have to      join a monastery & that's the end of my life,      you know? So I made that deal.      Right after I made that deal, I was almost killed twice.

     The second time was when I was heading to a train      track at night & I saw a light, & it was a dangerous thing.      No protection. People had been killed there.

     I see a light, & it's a train, and it's coming.      I didn't realize I'm on the track.

     So I said, you know what? Let me just be safe.      Let me try to back up. And now there's headlights at the      back of me, so I could only back up about a foot.

     But I thought I was just being extra safe.      I'm waiting for the train. I'm in the path of the train.

     The train comes. I'm in a Ford Pinto that used to- Dr. Dobson: You were 18 years old?      Rabbi Cahn: No, now I'm 19, & it's the second time      I'm almost killed. The car becomes like aluminum foil,      & the train plows into the car, &      all I could do was call out to GOD.

     So I called out to GOD, & the car was destroyed,      & I didn't get a scratch.

Dr. Dobson: You're kidding!

     Rabbi Cahn: So I said, I said, "GOD, can we renegotiate?"

     I said, "Here's a new deal. I'll accept you when I'm 20,      just don't kill me until then." On my 20th birthday, like a      man whose contract had run out, I said,      "Okay. I gave my word."

     I didn't know how to get saved.

     But I remember from synagogue, from Hebrew school,      I saw film strips of Moses on the mountain, Elijah on      the mountain. I said, "I've got to find a mountain."

     So I found a mountain at night, went to the top of it,      kneeled down on a rock & gave my life to the LORD.

     And that's how I came, you know, the BIBLE says      Jews require signs. I required a train.

     If it wasn't for that train, I probably wouldn't be      saved today. So I thank GOD for the train. Dr. Dobson: Okay. At 20, you're really getting into the SCRIPTURE.      Rabbi Cahn: I was born again, yes. Dr. Dobson: You're starting to see what is there. You saw JESUS there.

     Rabbi Cahn: Yes.      Well, I already knew for years JESUS was the Messiah.

     I never had a struggle with being Jewish, because to      me it's like, I was more Jewish now than ever.

     What's more Jewish than following your Messiah?      But I just didn't want to follow HIM.

           But then HE made it very hard            for me not to follow HIM.

     Because I thought if I don't do this, I'm going to get      hit by, it'll be a meteorite, something's going to happen.

     That was two strikes, you know?

     So, I gave my life to the LORD, &      then my life started changing.

     Doctor, I grew up with the book Green Eggs & Ham,      you know, it says, "Would you eat this thing?"

           And the guy says, "I'll never eat," &            finally in the end,            he eats it & he loves it.

     Well, that's how it was.

     I said, why was I fighting this for all...      this was the best thing I ever did in my life.

     Then I started studying the BIBLE, & people started      asking me to teach early on, & then it just started.

     The LORD interrupted my life.      I was still in college, I was studying history.

     HE interrupted my life to say,

           "I've called you to full-time ministry."            And then later on HE would fulfill that.

Dr. Dobson: Oh. When did the call to ministry occur?

     Rabbi Cahn: I was in college.

     It was right after I came to the LORD & I had to      decide what to do with my life.

     Do I go on to graduate school?      What do I do?

     It was just then that HE made it very clear that      I was to serve HIM full time.

     When I graduated college, there was nothing, it was      a recession, it was the early eighties.

     There was nothing there for ministry.

     So I said, "LORD, what do YOU want me to do?"      I said, "LORD, give me something YOU would do."

     So I ended up working with disabled children for a      few years & it was a humbling thing.

     It was patience & all that.

     While people asked me to teach a BIBLE study, so I      was teaching a BIBLE study.

     We were doing a ministry to the homeless in      New York City, because we live outside New York City.

     I was ministering, but the ministry didn't come, & then      one day suddenly I was asked to help start a      congregation called Beth Israel in New Jersey, so I did.

     But I said, "I'm here for a little while, but one day I'm      going to have to leave for the ministry."

     He said, "Okay, do it. Help us out."      So I did.

     Then one day the leader left & they asked me      to lead the ministry.

     Suddenly overnight after the LORD brought me into      ministry as the leader of Beth Israel.

     That's how that started.

Dr. Dobson: When is the first time anybody called you rabbi?

     Rabbi Cahn: 1988, because that's the position they      put me in. Rabbi just means really teacher, pastor &      teacher. Yeah.

     Then it started growing, & then we moved into      another building, then another building.

     I was always teaching.

     I was never thinking, I knew I had to write books, but I      just never had the time for it.

     Then I was at Ground Zero & I saw this thing, & the      LORD said, "You have to write now," & that      became The Harbinger.

Dr. Dobson: Isn't it interesting that HE wanted you...      HE sought you out.

     You thought you found HIM, but HE was looking for you.

     Rabbi Cahn: It's humbling to think about & it's amazing      with all this to think that...

     HE was trying to get through to me for years, & what      patience, & amazing, & I'm the least likely person.

Dr. Dobson: Well, Jonathan, you have become a very good      friend to me, & vice versa.

     I just really love you & appreciate what you've done.      GOD is using you in a dramatic way.

     The first of  your books that I read was The Harbinger.      That book, I think, somebody told me that it sold more      than 3 million copies.

     Rabbi Cahn: Around there, a few million.

Dr. Dobson: That's a lot of books.

     Rabbi Cahn: It was crazy.      That book pretty much wrote itself.

     And I had never wrote a book in my life.

     But I knew it was the LORD, & it just happened.      I knew it was just HIM.

Dr. Dobson: Well, you have these other books that      you've written, I want to reserve time for it.

     But it's called The Oracle:      The Jubilean Mysteries Unveiled.

     You are, if not a prophet, You are heavily into      prophecy, aren't you?

     Rabbi Cahn: You know, I came to the LORD      because of prophecy.

     So I think the LORD sometimes, the way HE touches      you, you touch others.

     Religious people are a prophetic people.

     We're reserved for the beginning & the end.      We're a time piece.

     So I think that's part of it.

     Many Jewish people came to the LORD      because of prophecy.

     I didn't specifically say, "Hey, I'm going to do this," but      it's kind of natural for me, that it's prophetic.

Dr. Dobson: Speak to our listeners who are Jewish, there      are a lot of them out there.

     I've made a lot of friends in the Jewish community.

     Speak to them about JESUS in the OT or the Torah.

     What did you see there that stood out for you?

     Rabbi Cahn: Yeah. Well, there's nothing more Jewish      than you can ever do than find the Messiah of the      Jewish people.

     I mean, I'm more Jewish now than I've ever been in my life.      I'm not trying to be.

     In fact, even people who are not Jewish by birth, the      BIBLE says they become Jewish in spirit when      they become born again.

     The BIBLE gave us prophecies.

     The Hebrew SCRIPTUREs say very clearly, this is      what Messiah has to be & has to do.

     One is HE has to be born in Bethlehem.

     I don't know of anybody famous for being born in      Bethlehem, only one person, JESUS, or Yeshua,      HIS real name, Joshua.

     Then it says HE will ride on a donkey into Jerusalem.

     There's only one famous for doing that.

     The Messiah of Israel has to come at an exact time      before the destruction of the temple, before 7 AD,      there's nobody except JESUS.

Dr. Dobson: Daniel spelled out the actual year.

     Rabbi Cahn: Yeah, the actual years to HIS coming,      & it goes right to HIS coming.

     HE has to become a light to the Gentiles.

     That was a stumbling block because you say, well,      if all the Gentiles there can't be Jewish,      it's the opposite. HE has to be.

     In fact, one of the reasons why we were told we      can't believe in JESUS is well, the Jewish people,      we rejected HIM.

     The prophecy says HE'll be rejected.

     So if HE was accepted, HE couldn't be.      HE'll be rejected by our people, but then in the end,      we will come back to HIM.

     That's now.

     The other thing is, in Isaiah 53 it says      HE will die for our sins.      HE will be wounded, HE'll be crushed.

     It talks about the death of the Messiah,      one who dies for HIS...

     I don't know anybody in my life who I ever heard      dies for our sins except this one, JESUS.

     There's no number two, Dr. Dobson.      We don't have another candidate.

     There's been about 40 pretty famous people in      some ways who came as the Messiah of Israel      in the last 2000 years.

     Many rabbis said, "Okay, he's the one."      None of them came to anything.      There's no number two.

     Is it an accident?

           The one person in the world,            HE's the most famous person,            the whole world centers on HIM.

     We write every moment of our life according to HIS birth.

     I don't care if you're Jewish, atheist, communist,      you're writing by the birth of this rabbi.

     And there's only one person, & yet HE happens to      be the same one who happened to fulfill all the      prophecies of the Hebrew SCRIPTUREs.

     I mean, GOD makes it pretty obvious to me.

     And HE wasn't called JESUS,      HE was called Yeshua.

     Which means what? GOD is the savior.

     I mean, it makes it very easy to identify HIM.

     They call HIM, well, CHRIST isn't, well,      CHRIST just means Messiah.

     There's only one.

     I mean, it's the greatest story on earth.

     It's even prophesied, the Jewish people will be the      first to believe in HIM, the apostles.

     This is all Jewish, the disciples, they're all Jewish.      All the first Christians were Jewish.

     So much so that they didn't think the big controversy      was, can somebody become a Christian if they're      not circumcised?

     I mean, that's how Jewish HE was.

     And thank GOD, the door opened by GOD.

     But the first shall be last, they'll come in at the end.

     JESUS said, "I'm not coming again until      MY family, MY people say      [Hebrew 00:00:14:16], blessed is HE."

Dr. Dobson: Zechariah says they'll recognize HIM      whom they pierced.

     Rabbi Cahn: Yeah. Yeah.

     They will look upon ME.

     That's the great mystery, that GOD is ironic      & mysterious. It's a wonderful story.

     But the short answer is there's nobody else.      There's only one.      There has only been one.

Dr. Dobson: You know, Psalm 22 gives the actual      words JESUS spoke on the cross.

     It's all there.

     What is that, 800 years before?

     Rabbi Cahn: Yeah.      The Psalms are from David, even before that. Yeah.

     I mean, I mean who fulfills prophecy 700 years      after they came?"

     We don't have anybody like that.

     It doesn't matter what happens in the culture.

     JESUS is still there.

     If I try to think about where I was 30 years ago & what      I was thinking about, I don't know what was important to me.

     I probably had an issue, thinking about something.

     It's gone.

     But JESUS is just as important now as HE was then.

     HE's the only one.      HE's the only thing.

     It doesn't matter. 50 years from now HE's going to      be just as important, because HEs the one.

Dr. Dobson: Yeah. Well, let's talk about your book,      The Oracle. I know what an oracle is, but you      tell us & explain why you have titled your      book The Oracle.

     Rabbi Cahn: Yeah. An Oracle really means      someone who speaks for the divine.

     You had the fake oracles & the pagan, but the      BIBLE uses the word oracle actually quite a      lot in the King James.

     The oracle can be a revelation of GOD.

     It can be the one who reveals it, like a prophet.

     The Oracle, Dr. Dobson, is really the biggest mystery      I've ever dealt with.

     It is really so big that it includes everything from Moses      to Mark Twain, from Jeremiah to Donald Trump.

     Really, it's the mystery-

Dr. Dobson: You're serious about that?

     Rabbi Cahn: Yes, totally.      Mark Twain is linked to biblical prophecy.

     The secret behind the past, the present, current events      right now, the future.

     It's really to me that master secret of the end times.

     Where are we going?      Where are we heading?

     It is also the blueprint of our lives.

     Our lives are linked to this Jubilean thing as well.

     It is so big, but also very small in the sense that it's exact.

     It gives exact dates, when things have to take place      according to the BIBLE, according to biblical mysteries,      & it's been happening again & again.

     I'll put it this way, & this goes with one of the first questions      you asked me, because when I became an atheist,      it was because I didn't see the GOD of the BIBLE today.

     The Oracle is saying, we say it's true, but it's showing      you in black & white, the GOD of the BIBLE, who moved      in history & intricately in prophesy, is just as real today      behind everything.

     It's affected all of our lives.

     It has affected even the election.      The rise of America is part of this mystery.

     But also down to individual people, when they're born.

     It's like clockwork.      One of the streams, just like the overview, is the Jubilee.

Dr. Dobson: Yeah.      Tell us about that, because that's kind of a      centerpiece of your book.

     Rabbi Cahn: Yeah, the Jubilee, the LORD gave it that,      HE said on the 50th year they'll be set free, & if      you lost your home, you lost  your possession,      you return home, you come home, you get it back.

     Say you lost  your land, you went into debt,      you get it all back.

     The Jubilee is the year of restoration.

     It's the year of coming home.      It's the year of returning.      It's the year of coming back home.

     Well, there's one nation on earth that lost its      possession more than any other, & that's the      Jewish people.

     We lost our land, lost our home.      We lost our city, Jerusalem.

     In 70 AD, according to the prophecy that      JESUS gave, HE says, you're going to be      taken captive to all nations.

     Well, it happened.

     The Jewish people were scattered to the ends of the earth.

     We had nothing.      We lost everything.

     But GOD says that in the end times, I will bring them      back from the ends of the earth.

     I will gather them, & I'll bring them back to Israel.

     Well, HE did it.

     That's again what led me back to the LORD.

     HE did it.

     But the amazing thing is the restoration of Israel      which is part of prophecy, has to happen for JESUS      to come again, is all following this mystery of the      Jubilee the Jubilean mystery.

     There's a mystery that happens that every so many      years a gigantic prophetic event is going to take place      from over 150 years ago, to right where we are      right now under Donald Trump. .      And it's also the future

     Another mystery that kind of runs through it, the whole      book, is called the mystery of the parashahs.

     A parashah is, every week the Jewish people open      the scrolls, & they have to read an appointed word      that's been appointed from ages past for that day      or that week.

     The amazing thing I found as I'm looking at this, is that      at key times they open up the scrolls & they chant the      words all around the world.

     As they do, the words are being fulfilled on that day      or at that time around the world.

     We're going to see it again & again & again.

Dr. Dobson: With reference to what?

     Rabbi Cahn: To world events.

Dr. Dobson: What was the world event that you're talking-

     Rabbi Cahn: We'll see it through many events.

Dr. Dobson: You're going to walk me through those      seven doors, aren't you?

     Rabbi Cahn: We're going through those doors, yes.

     Through those who read The Harbinger, one      other dimension to it is that I was led to bring      these revelations through a story, like The Harbinger.

     Basically in a nutshell, a man is looking for a man      called the Oracle, & he finds him on a mountain, &

     the Oracle is going to reveal these mysteries of GOD,      one after the other, through these 7 doors of revelations-

Dr. Dobson: Who's the stranger?

     Rabbi Cahn: The stranger is not fiction.      The stranger's real, & that's in the first door.

Dr. Dobson: You want to go there now?

     Rabbi Cahn: Sure.

     Moses, before he dies, he gives a sermon,      he gives his last words to Israel.

Dr. Dobson: Deuteronomy.

     Rabbi Cahn: Deuteronomy.

     He's the first one to speak about the end times,      it's Moses. He says, "You'll be scattered to the      ends of the earth, but in the end times,      GOD will bring you back."

     Moses is the one who said it.

     But before he gives that first prophecy of bringing      you back, he says something.

     He says, "What's going to happen is, when you're      gone, the land is going to become desolate.

     The land that was milk & honey is going to      become a wasteland.

     Cursed, cursed." He says, "But a stranger will come      from far away, a faraway land.

     He will come to the land.      He will bear witness of its desolation.

     It's going to be hopeless.

     After that, then GOD is going to start restoring you."

     Okay. A stranger will come to the land.

     Did that ever happen?

     Amazing thing is, a stranger did come to the land      from a faraway land when it was at its most desolate.

     He came from America.      He came from across the world.      He arrived in the land in the year 1867.

     That's a key year for this.

     He goes there & he sees how desolate it is, &      he writes a book of how desolate it is.

     The stranger was Mark Twain, was Mark Twain.

Dr. Dobson: Really?      He was not even a Christian.

     Rabbi Cahn: He was a skeptic.

     To me, that's even more powerful.

     He is fulfilling biblical prophecy without even      knowing that he's doing it, & he's fulfilling the      words of Moses.

     In fact, Mark Twain became famous for the book      that fulfilled Moses' prophecy.

     So American literature is based on this prophecy.

     So, he goes to the land, & not only that, Dr. Dobson,      Mark Twain, he actually says the same words that      Moses says he will say.

     Moses says, "He will say, nothing grows here.      It's desolate." Mark Twain says it.      "it's a scorching waste," Mark Twain says it.

     Moses says he will say, "No grass grows here,"      Mark Twain says, "Not a blade of grass."

     He's actually saying the words of Moses, or      Moses is saying the words of Mark Twain.

     And he actually goes through the whole land.

     But on top of that, when he gets to the final      destination, when he gets to Jerusalem, he's      finishing the journey.

     It's his final day & night in Jerusalem.

     He's walking through Jerusalem.

     On that day, it's the Sabbath.

     That means there's an appointed word      that we talked about.

     The Jewish people are opening the scrolls      all over the world, & they're proclaiming this prophecy.

     What do they proclaim?

     Appointed for that day, they are proclaiming around      the world the prophecy, the stranger shall come to      the land & he shall bear witness.

     So Mark Twain is actually walking through      Jerusalem, he's walking through the streets of Jerusalem.

     They're chanting it, he's hearing Hebrew, they're      chanting it about him & he's walking, he's walking,      fulfilling it, & he has no idea, & they have no idea.

     Mark Twain goes home & he writes the book.

     Right after that, all sorts of things start happening.

     This is 1867.      This is going to be the first year-

Dr. Dobson: Two years after the civil war ended.

     Rabbi Cahn: Right, yeah, to place it, yeah.

     So at that moment, that year is going to be crucial,      because everything's going to begin.

     The restoration of Israel is going to begin.

     All these strange things start happening in the land,      starting with Mark Twain.

     These strange signs that GOD is moving...

     For instance, the land for 2000 years has been in      the hands of enemies.

     Now it's the Ottoman Empire, the Muslims.

     That year the Ottoman Empire releases the land to      be purchased, & the Jewish people are going to      begin purchasing the land back, Jubilee.

     They get their land back.

     Everything begins in the year 1867, first jubilee.

     There's a strange sign, a biblical sign called the      man with a measuring line.

     He appears.

     I won't go into it because there's so much stuff      I can only scratch the surface.

     But all these signs start appearing, & then the      Jewish people start coming back to the land      in drips & drabs.

     They start learning how to farm the land, right      after Mark Twain writes his book.

     It all begins there.

     But there's more to the mystery.

     For 2000 years the Jewish people are praying this prayer:

           "LORD, hear our prayer.            Be merciful & bring us back to the land.            Hear our prayer, be merciful, &            bring us back to the land." They're praying.

     Mark Twain's real name of course wasn't Mark Twain.      It was Samuel Clemens.

     Samuel is Hebrew.      It means the LORD has heard.      And Clemens means & has been merciful.

Dr. Dobson: Rabbi Jonathan Cahn, I can't wait to hear the      rest of this story, but we're going to be off the air in a      few minutes because our time has gone.

     We're going to pick up right here next time.

     You've made this long journey.

     I'm not going to let you go.

     You may never get out of here, because      I want to hear what you've got to say.

     Rabbi Cahn: Oh, it'll be a joyful captivity.

Dr. Dobson: All right.      Remember where we are now, because       we're going to pick up right at this point.

Rabbi Cahn: This is just the first-

Dr. Dobson: First door.

     Rabbi Cahn: We did the door knob of first door      of The Oracle, that's the first door.

     Or it's in the first door.

Dr. Dobson: My fellow believer, I love you.

     Rabbi Cahn:I love you too.

Roger Marsh:      Well, this is Roger Marsh, & you've been listening      to Dr. James Dobson's recent conversation with      Rabbi Jonathan Cahn here on Family Talk.

     Their conversation today, tomorrow & Wednesday      is centered around Rabbi Cahn's newest book      called The Oracle.

     This new title has already risen to the top 10 on      Amazon with over 300,000 copies printed.

     Visit our broadcast page at DrJamesDobson.org      for more information about this popular book, or      Rabbi Cahn's other works.

     Again, that's DrJamesDobson.org, & then go to the broadcast page.

     Well, unfortunately we have run out of time for this program.      Be sure to listen in again tomorrow as Dr. Dobson      continues his engaging conversation with      Rabbi Jonathan Cahn.

     Rabbi Cahn will explain how ancient prophecies      predicted the Jews' long awaited return to the      Promised Land.

     He also shows how historical figures like      Mark Twain & President Harry Truman were      intricately involved as well, so be sure to tune in      next time for this fascinating interview right      here on Family Talk.

September 2019, drjamesdobson.org/broadcasts/transcript/2019/september/the-oracle-the-jubilean-mysteries-unveiled-part-1/

[randombitsofthisnthat]

London and Spain 2019

Yes, for the 2nd time on this blog, i’m writing something about travelling lol

This summer, i visited London (after leaving for 10 months... i know...), Barcelona and Pamplona with one of my besties. This journey, man, i tell you, was one of the most unforgettable and interesting ones i’ve had so far. You’ll see why as you keep reading.

The trip was, in fact, fairly short and rush to be honest. We left Hong Kong on the 1st July, arrived London on the 2nd and we were back to HK on the 11th July.

It was my friend’s first time travelling to Europe (and with such a crazy and tiring itinerary lol) so we did a bit of sightseeing together. As always, you can never get bored with London. There are so many things and places you can do and visit. So, as tourists, my friend and i went to the famous Duck and Waffle for brekkie (it was my 1st time too!). With the beautiful view overlooking London city and their iconic duck and waffle on your marble top dining table, that was literally one of the most delicious and enjoyable breakfasts i’ve ever had.

Within the real short 3-day stay in London, i’m glad that i was able to squeeze in some time to meet with some of my London friends and former colleagues. It was always lovely to see and chat with them!

Leaving London, we off to Barcelona and Pamplona, the main destinations of this trip. We stayed there for 5 days (including 1 night in Pamplona) where all the silly things happened.

Our first day in Barcelona was actually nice. We visited the Mount Tibidabo after settling ourselves at the airbnb. Mount Tibiado is the tallest mountain in Barcelona, and it’s not just a mountain, but one with an amusement park and a cathedral (we went there for the view and the latter one tho). We took metro L7 line to Av. Tibidabo, got on the bus which took us to the plaza where we took the tram to the top of the mountain. Apart from a bit of detour in finding our way to the bus station near the metro, the view from the mountain was not bad at all.

The tram to Mount Tibidabo

Overview of Barcelona city

Tibidabo Cathedral del Sagrat Cor

Speaking of the detour, as we asked for directions to the bus station, we accidentally came across an elegant old lady whom aunt was a saint of that cathedral as we chatted. My friend and i were quite amazed by that :O We finished the visit by having a GIANT glass of Sangria at one of the peak restaurants.

On the second day, we visited Mercat de la Boqueria and Mercat de Sant Antoni, two of the famous markets in the city centre in the morning. Mercat de la Boqueria is famous for its great varieties of food. Tapas, seafood, ham, cheese, fruits, you name it, were all there.

We tried some of the oysters and unis. fresh and yum.

While Mercat de Sant Antoni, first opened in 1882, is known for its vintage goods/ books stalls set outside the market on Urgell street on Sundays. The market reopened in May 2018 after undergoing a major renovation. Again, the food there was amazing. Compare with Mercat de la Boqueria, we found this one more local and less touristy.

After the markets, we walked around the Sinagoga Major de Barcelona, The Ancient Synagogue of Barcelona. We didn’t join any walking tour but just wandering around by ourselves. If you would like to know more about its history and have someone explains to you properly, there are loads you can join as we could see. 

Sinagoga Major de Barcelona, The Ancient Synagogue of Barcelona

We then spent the rest of the day visiting Gaudí’s architecture. First off was the Park Güell. Under the crazily hot and almost-too-sunny weather, we strolled around from 3-ish pm until 7-ish in the evening. After that, we had a tasty seafood paella as dinner in a restaurant in the L'Eixample district.

Park Güell

Seafood paella at Bodega Joan, an authentic Spanish pub and restaurant.

After having such a big portion of paella (we tried very hard to finish the whole thing but couldn’t...), we decided to walk back to the bnb by stopping by another two iconic Gaudí buildings, Casa Batlló and Casa Milà aka La Pedrera.

On our way to these two spots, we saw a big recycle bins (you can see these bins everywhere in Barcelona) on fire, was literally burning from the inside. We immediately asked a lady who walked by and phoned the police. Seeing the smoke and the strong smell, another man walked past and asked us what happened, “The trash bin is on fire”, said my friend. ‘Oh, that’s better.”, the man replied with a relieved expression. My friend and I couldn’t quite believe what we heard. We guess he meant it was good that the fire wasn’t come from a building nearby LOL

Casa Batlló 

Casa Milà, also known as La Pedrera

The 3rd day in Spain, instead of staying in Barcelona, we travelled to Pamplona for the Fiesta de San Fermín (Running of the Bulls as you may heard of), one of the oldest and traditional festivals in Spain. This annual 9-day event takes place on 6 - 14 July.

But who knew we would almost missed the train to Pamplona (yes, what a ‘great’ start to the trip). We literally were late for ONE minute and were told by the station staff that our train was GONE. We then headed to the ticket counter to see if there were any chance that we can take the next train. “It’s very difficult to get tickets to Pamplona today”, said the lady, shaking her head. BUT, after a bit of searching on her computer, we were so grateful that we were able to get another indirect train there (knowing that we weren’t suppose to exchange the tickets for FREE and my friend saw on the computer screen that those two tix originally costed something like €142......). 

Because of the festival, nearly 99% of the hostels and hotels were booked up way ahead the festival began, even our airbnb costed us HKD two thousands something for just one night. So my advice is to book at least 10 months or a year ahead if you are planning to go. Yet, the host and the apartment were outstanding. We had a very nice chat with the retired psychology teacher/ artist and she even gave us a lift to the train station when we left.

And little did we know that the dress code for the festival was all white (from top to bottom i meant, and people were all so ready and dressed for the festival as they got on the train from different stations), we only had a white tee shirt. Luckily, we got a souvenir pack which includes a small red scarf, a foldable red fan and a festival guide by finishing a survey right outside the train station. Although we missed the opening ceremony (which started at 12noon at the City Hall), we were very excited that we got to see a spectacular fireworks display at night! 

How lucky we were!

Our outfits were SO TOTALLY not matching with the people behind us...

The fireworks was SURREAL.

Apart from drinks and parties, family with kids can also joined the fun by buying some sort of lucky-draw tickets to redeem gifts ranging from stationery to groceries. My friend and I bought 4 tickets at €3.2, got nothing but were told that we might be able to win €2500 at the finale draw when the festival ends.

Of course, the major event of the festival was the running of the bulls (i’d like to clarify that we DO NOT support they treated the cows that way). The very first bulls run kicked off at 8am on the second day of the festival. We got there at around 7:30am but was already very crowded that we had to stand on a table to watch.

Strongly suggest early arrival at like 7am if you want to get a good spot. 

Another major event took place after the bulls running was the Giants and Big-heads Parade. There were four pairs of four meters high giants, each pair came out as a king and queen, representing Europe, Africa, Asia, and America, with some smaller giants accompanied behind. 

After the Giants and big-heads, the statue of San Fermin came out, accompanied by the clergy. They prayed and sang in the middle of street, the crowd was in absolute silent when this took place. 

The statue of San Fermin

People stood at their balconies to watch the parade

Bands and music all around

People went crazy with the cows statues

Despite an awful lot of drunk people and smokers, both my friend and I were glad that we eventually made it to Pamplona and enjoyed the festival a lot. Not only because it was something new and interested us, but also we were able to get to know more about their culture and history, celebrate together with the locals. (Click here if you would like to learn more about the festival)

After two long day in Pamplona, we returned to Barcelona for one last day in Spain. Yet again, who would have guessed that another ‘amazing’ incident happened when we visited the infamous Sagrada Família. 

Right, here’s what happened. 

We bought the ticket via its official website when we first arrived Barcelona, my friend and I actually read through the details together and confirmed all are fine. So we set off from the bnb and arrived at the Cathedral at 9am on the 8th of July. When we were about to go through the first ticket check, the staff suddenly said to us, “Wait, wait, your ticket is for the 9th, TOMORROW.” My friend and I were like, WHATTTTTT?! Are you joking?! We booked the right tickets. Then we looked at the tickets again, OH MAN, it writes 9 JULY 2019. We couldn’t believe our eyes and wanted to cry out loud... We told the Cathedral and the customer service hotline staff that we were leaving in the evening and asked if there are tickets that we can buy on the spot, but the answers were no no no. All the tickets were sold out for the day, all they could do is give us the refund. 

So my friend and I sat outside the Cathedral, feeling and looking helpless, thinking how the heck we booked the wrong date... Suddenly, my friend said, “hey we got the tickets from the official website, does it mean that there are non-official sites that we can get the tickets?”. I was like, “YES YES YES!”. We then started searching on our phones like rushing to finish an exam paper before the teacher says ‘pens down’. 

After 5 minutes of searching, we MANAGED to get 2 tickets at 3pm in the afternoon. My friend and I triple checked the date and time, we even ran to ask the Cathedral staff that is that we can get in with those tickets. And when we heard the staff answered, “Yes, I think so. You even have an English speaking guide to explain you everything about the Cathedral.”, we almost wanted to cry. We were SO happy that we could get in to see this masterpiece after this silly incident.

Sagrada Família. The rest to be finished by 2026. 

Aren’t those stunning? We were amazed. 

After calming ourselves down, we went back to the Mercat de la Boqueria for lunch. We queued at the El Quim and that was one of the best decisions we’ve made in the trip. We ordered their house special: fried eggs with baby squids, razor calms and slow-cooked beef plus two glasses of wine. All of them were really delicious and fresh. If you were there, this is the tapas bar that you could not miss!

And that’s it, with all those silly incidents, we back to Hong Kong with a joyful soul (and a tiring body lol). Thank you our heavenly Father for all the amazing provisions and arrangements during the trip. We couldn’t be more thankful for that! 

[omgericzimmermann]

Little Sour Hearts

this would be the Holster/Esther Shapiro 6k Valentine’s Fic literally no one asked for. enjoy <3

Valentine’s Day 2013 – Freshman Year

Holster doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. It’s some Hallmark Holiday based on a Christian saint of some sort, and it’s an excuse to be sickeningly sweet with someone you love, and a good day to have just dumped your significant other the night before so you can go to the single’s bars and get wasted. For Holster, it’s always been a day to gorge on chocolate. It always was in Juniors and he doesn’t see any reason to change now that he’s in college.

“What are you doing for Valentine’s Day, bro?” Ransom asks, buttoning one of his nice shirts and holding up a couple different ties to judge their relative colour.

“Being bitter,” Holster says. “What are you doing?”

“Girl from my bio class,” Ransom replies.

Holster doesn’t roll his eyes because Ransom is his best bro, and Holster loves him to death, but he feels the eyeroll. He feels it on the inside.

“Yeah, have fun,” Holster says, rolling off Ransom’s roommate’s bed and grabbing his wallet. “I’m gonna go buy a lot of chocolate.”

“You have fun too,” Ransom says, although he seems a little concerned that this is Holster’s choice of activity.

Holster wanders into the centre of Samwell, kicking aside snowdrifts that try to touch him, and eventually alights upon an old-school style candy counter.

There’s only one other person in the shop, and it’s the shop girl. She has her curly brown hair up in a ponytail, she has heavy glasses, she does not look like a supermodel. Meanly, Holster thinks he understands why she’s the one to be working on Valentine’s Day, and then remembers he doesn’t even have the excuse of working.

The girl is wearing a candy stripe apron, and right as Holster walks into the shop, she makes a face like she’s just taken a bite out of a lemon.

“I can go,” Holster offers.

“Oh, no, I just ate one of the--” she points vaguely at one of the jars of candy. Holster sees they’re the small pink, red, and white candies in the shape of fake hearts. Little Sour Hearts, the sign on them reads.

“They’re really that sour?” Holster asks, inspecting the tiny hearts. They’re each a fraction of his fingernail width.

“Try one,” the girl says, opening the jar and offering him a pink one.

Holster has nothing better to do with his day, and he takes it.

It burns his tongue like it’s constructed out of concentrated Sour Patch Kid sour powder and he coughs and splutters and then eventually manages to swallow the offending heart. The girl behind the counter is cackling with laughter, and the resulting smile has lit up her round face and popped out an almost adorable set of dimples.

“Do you want a coffee?” she asks, nodding at the espresso machine. “We’ve got a couple Valentine’s specials. Pink Chocolate Mochas, Strawberry Hot Chocolate that tastes like it’s supposed to taste like a chocolate dipped strawberry, Red Velvet Lattes. The best one is the rose crème though.”

Holster notices the espresso machine, and the coffee order board, and the old fashioned bar with a long counter top and delicate barstools.

“I’ll take a rose crème,” Holster says, because the only other thing he was planning on doing with his night was hate-watching the back half of the fourth season of Battlestar Galactica.

The girl behind the counter smiles again, with the dimples, and starts the espresso machine. The drink she eventually hands him is frothy and pink, and on the saucer are two chocolate dusted pink roses made out of some form of sugar Holster doesn’t understand.

“So do you go to Samwell?” the girl asks, cleaning the espresso machine and straightening the jars of chocolates on the back wall.

“Yeah,” Holster says. “I’m a freshman.”

She freezes on her stepping stool – he thinks she’s maybe 5’3” – and then slowly turns to face him. Her eyes are wide behind her glasses, and she scans him in disbelief.

“You’re a freshman,” she says.

“I got a late start,” Holster admits, and then realises people typically do not interpret that statement as a “I got a late start because I was playing professional hockey and had been since the age of sixteen and I technically belong to the Seattle Schooners and will be moving there as soon as I graduate because I just deferred my draft contract” and instead interpret it as “something went horribly wrong and this boy is stupid.”

The girl is still staring at him in shock, though, so he thinks he might have time to explain himself.

“I was playing in Juniors for hockey,” he says. And no, he realises, that doesn’t make him sound smarter. “I got drafted into the NHL and deferred so that I could go to school.”

“Oh,” the girl says. “Hockey.”

“Not a fan?” Holster asks.

The girl shrugs. “I’ve never been to a game or anything.”

Before Holster knows what he’s saying, he’s suggesting she come to one of their games. She’s a freshman too, he learns, but a real one, not like him.

Their conversation is interrupted a few moments later by a panicked looking man running into the shop, shouting at the girl until she gives him a lot of dark chocolate, shouting at her when she tells him the price, and then just. Shouting.

Holster sees the girl’s face set, but he can’t tell if she’s upset like she’s gonna cry or upset like she’s going to jump the counter and punch the customer in the face.

“Hey man,” Holster says, standing up and leaning against the front counter with his arms crossed.

The angry customer – red in the face from his shouting – attempts to level Holster with a look, but his eye level is the same as Holster’s crossed arms, and while he lets his eyes move upwards to Holster’s face, the blood drains very visibly from his skin.

“Hey there,” Holster says. The man gulps. Holster turns to the girl. “What’s his total?”

“Twenty dollars and fifty-eight cents,” she says.

Holster plucks the man’s wallet out of his hands, takes out $25, then hands him his wallet and chocolate and steers him out the door. The girl is blinking at him in shock.

“I’m not allowed to tell people to calm the fuck down while I’m on the clock,” she says finally. “So thanks. But you took too much of his money.”

Holster shrugs and stuffs the change into the tip jar.

“I’m Adam, by the way,” Holster says, extending his hand across the counter.

She smiles and shakes his hand. “I’m Esther.”

Holster doesn’t think about Esther again for a while. Not until he sees her again, in fact, which happens to be two months later when his parents show up unannounced and make him go to worship with them at the synagogue he hasn’t even breathed towards since coming to Samwell. Something about spending his teenage years in Iowa choked all the religion out of him.

He sits as patiently as he can while they’re there, and is relieved when his parents say they’ll go out to brunch afterwards. Holster recommends Jerry’s because where else does one brunch in Samwell, and as they’re leaving the building, he collides with a small woman. The top of her head comes up to his sternum, and he’s fairly certain she’s a hobbit.

“Oh my god, Mom, are you okay?” a girl asks from the other side of the hobbit woman. Holster looks up in disbelief. It’s Esther.

From their nice clothes, it’s clear Esther and her family have also just been in the synagogue.

“Adam?” Esther asks in disbelief as her mother steps back from Holster’s chest and stares up at him.

“You are a very well built young man,” she informs him, her eyes wide. “Very well.”

“Mom,” Esther complains, her face turning a little pink.

She’s wearing makeup. Not a lot, but just enough eyeliner to make the green hues in her hazel eyes pop. Holster catches himself staring and then looks away.

Esther is the same height as her mother, he realises. She is a hobbit person.

“Can’t take him anywhere,” Holster’s dad booms, clapping him on the shoulder and holding out his hand for Esther’s mom to shake. “Son, I’ve told you! No checking people off the ice.”

“That’s a hockey thing, right?” Esther asks.

“Yeah,” Adam says.

“Wait do you two know each other?” Esther’s mom asks, her eyes going wide while she stares between her daughter and the imposing wall that is Holster’s chest. Holster wonders if she’s not looking higher because she’s afraid of hurting her neck looking up.

“Sort of,” Holster says. Esther nods in agreement.

“I was just saying to Esther she has to get out and make more friends,” Esther’s mother says, gripping Holster’s dad by the elbow. “Are you folks local?”

“Nah, we’re up in Buffalo,” Holster’s dad says. “You?”

“Rochester,” Esther’s mom replies.

Holster meets Esther’s eyes and finds the same slightly baffled and excessively steamrolled expression that he’s wearing on her face. He can’t say it’s a true surprise when both the Birkholtzes and the Shapiros end up in Jerry’s together, sharing a booth. Leah Shapiro and David Birkholtz own the conversation while Holster and Esther make dismayed faces at each other across the table and Holster’s mom and Esther’s dad look equally resigned to their fates as though this is a common occurrence for them.

As a means of escape, Holster offers to walk back to the dorms with Esther so that he doesn’t have to hear his parents encouraging him to date her, as he knows they will. The more gregarious halves of their parenting crews are deeply enthusiastic about this suggestion, and practically force them out the door.

“Your dad is…a lot,” Esther says while they walk across the river. Samwell in April is a beautiful time and Holster’s happy to be there rather than Iowa. He’s happy to be there over upstate New York as well, frankly. He hopes Seattle is going to be better.

“Yeah,” Holster agrees, taking off his tie and stuffing it, wrinkled into his pocket.

“So is the hockey season still going?” Esther asks.

“Just finals,” Holster says with a shrug. “We got knocked out first round of playoffs. I thought our captain was going to drown himself in the pond.”

Esther snorts. She doesn’t play any sports, he discovers. She doesn’t associate with anyone who could remotely be considered a jock, after a high school career of being teased for her bookishness and an overt fondness for sweets that had led to a rounder figure than most would consider socially acceptable.

“I’m going to make truffles,” she tells him as they walk into the dormitory building where they apparently both live.

“Chocolate, not mushroom, right?” Holster asks.

“Yes, Adam, I’m going to manufacture mushrooms in my basement, and then sell the truffles to restaurants and the truffle oils to suppliers, and everyone will be after my secret and I’ll never get a moment’s peace in my entire life,” she says, raising her eyebrows at him. “Of course chocolate.”

Holster feels himself blush this time, and is glad when she starts laughing.

“I steal the student kitchen on the third floor on Sunday mornings to test recipes if you don’t have anything better to do,” she says, and then she disappears up the stairs to whichever floor it is she lives on, and Holster wanders back to his own room, still feeling a little baffled and steamrolled.

He goes down on Sunday morning, and finds Esther in the kitchens making truffles. She’s covered in chocolate from her elbows to her wrists, and her worn out old apron is completely slathered. She’s wearing a Firefly t-shirt and in the space of time between him walking into the kitchen and Esther noticing him, he comes to the inescapable conclusion he has a little bit of a crush on her.

School will be out in a few weeks, and he just got dibs for real for the Haus, and he and Rans will be sharing the attic. He and Esther met by complete coincidence, and he’s struck by the fact he will probably never talk to her again, and it almost makes him sad. It’s not a real sadness, more like a regret for lost potential than anything else. But for that Sunday, he sits there, leaning against the counter while she makes truffles and feeds them to him every so often, and he thinks, “this is nice.”

Unbelievably, it isn’t the end.

Classes finish for the summer, he and Rans move all their collective shit into the attic and go out for best friend sundaes and then they road trip north. They spend a few days together at Niagara Falls, and then part ways. Holster has spent maybe a month in his childhood bedroom since he was sixteen, and it feels weird to be back there. It’s even weirder when his mom comes into his room without knocking and perches on the edge of his bed while he dicks around on his computer.

“So,” she says.

“So?” Holster echoes.

“How’s Esther?” she asks.

“I’m pretty sure she’s fine,” Holster says. “Why?”

“Why didn’t you bring her up to Niagara Falls with you and Justin?” his mom asks.

Holster stares at her for a minute, and is briefly distracted by the fact Sarah got their mom’s everything down to the last freckle and it’s kinda disturbing, and then he blinks. His mother thinks he and Esther are dating.

Well fuck.

“She was, uh, she had a thing,” Holster says. He is so, so fucked.

Well at least his parents aren’t on Facebook.

“Hmm,” his mom hums like she doesn’t believe him. “Well if she wants to visit this summer she’s more than welcome.”

Holster nods, thanks her, and then waits anxiously for her to leave. He feels like Ransom, and if this is what Ransom’s anxiety feels like even 30% of the time, he needs to figure out a better way to help.

Finally, after what seems like an eon of his mom standing in his doorway and staring at the old pinup posters of Gretzky and Bad Bob and the original cast of Beauty and the Beast, she leaves.

Holster dives for Facebook, and desperately searches Esther’s name. Her profile pic is about what he’d expect, since it’s a picture of her meeting Nathan Fillion, and he sends her a friend request immediately. To his relief, she accepts it within five minutes, and he opens a message chat.

He can be cool about this. He can be suave. He knows how to talk to girls, mostly – okay well he’s not Rans, but he does okay, sort of. Sometimes. And, well, generally he’s fucked.

Adam B: Hey so this is gonna sound weird but apparently my parents got the idea we were dating??

Esther S: …

Esther S: uh that is weird

Adam B: right?

Esther S: mine did too

Adam B: wait really?

Esther S: yup

Adam B: so how screwed are we?

Esther S: well we’re not since we’re not actually dating

Holster has to retreat from the computer for a moment to stop himself from replying with something crude. When he returns to the chat, he finds himself writing about how his parents have always been worried he’d end up married to hockey, and how they’d met in college and ended up married almost as soon as they graduated, and how they’re disappointed in the fact he’s more or less a frat boy. Esther returns that she’s got to deal with her parents being constantly worried she’ll never speak to anyone, and never have friends, and end up alone in a truffle shop.

And they hatch a plan.

Holster likes being partners in crime with Esther. She’s nerdier than any of his friends on the team, and when she comes to visit that summer, his freakishly tall blonde sisters don’t intimidate her like they do most mortals, and Esther even lets them decorate her. His sisters use the word “makeover” of course, but Esther says “decorate” and Holster thinks it’s a better description. They stay up late watching reruns of Buffy, and when Holster falls asleep on her, it’s not awkward in the morning because they’re friends.

They get back to Samwell, and go their separate ways, springing back together like mercury on occasions where their families might show up. They keep in contact though. Holster makes a point of inviting her to all their kegsters at the Haus, and steals her a piece of the frog Bitty’s pie because it’s magically delicious. Esther never comes to the kegsters because they are not her scene, and he understands that from an objective standpoint.

At least she doesn’t, until the first kegster after Thanksgiving, when she does.

Holster almost doesn’t recognise her when she walks into the Haus looking somewhat amused and also disgusted by her surroundings. She’s with a group of girls he thinks are from the soccer team, and one girl in particular seems to be Esther’s bridge to this world of frat parties. Holster is fairly certain she’s the one responsible for Esther’s hair being straightened and put up, and she’s got to be the one responsible for Esther wearing a dress and a lot of makeup. She looks pretty, but in a incongruous way, the way people look nice when they follow the latest fashion trends to a T even though those trends aren’t really the right ones for them personally. Like sure, they match everyone, so they look just fine, but anything unique about their appearance has been smothered by a few layers of the eyeshadow du jour and the cut of the dress is the one in all the magazines but it’s not the cut that’s best for their frame.

“You’re Kate, right?” Ransom asks, sidling up to the soccer girl who has her hand on Esther’s elbow like she’s both afraid she’ll run away and afraid something will happen to her if Kate is not watchful.

“Oluransi?” Kate replies, squinting like she’s trying to remember. Holster continues to stare, somewhat dumbfounded, at Esther.

“Yeah yeah,” Ransom agrees. “You dated Jack, right?”

Holster’s curiosity is now piqued. How in god’s name did one of Jack’s ex-girlfriends get Esther to go to a frat party.

“As much as anyone dates Jack Zimmermann,” Kate replies, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, this is my friend Esther from my business class. She’s never been to a party like this before. Are either of you trustworthy?”

Ransom is looking at Kate like he wants to know her better, in a “I want to understand how you managed to get Jack Zimmermann to stop breathing hockey enough to have sex with you” sort of way, and is not paying attention to what Kate is saying about Esther at all.

Esther, on the other hand, is looking at Holster like he might be convinced to save her.

“I’ll look out for her,” Holster offers. He wasn’t really looking to hook up that night anyway. At least, not in any active sort of way. Not in a “I have a target and a goal” sort of way, just in a “if it happens that’d be sweet” sort of way.

“Thanks,” Kate says, foisting Esther on him and then letting Ransom show her to the tub juice. Once they’re gone, Holster looks down at Esther.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asks.

“Oh, that reminds me we should get a selfie for our parents,” she says, grabbing her phone and tugging him down so their faces will both fit in the frame.

Holster manages to smile obligingly and then returns to the question at hand.

“No but seriously,” he says. “Why are you at a frat party?”

He’s trying not to be hurt she apparently showed up when Kate invited her, but never when he’s invited her.

“Kate and I did a group project together and then we were talking about our weekend plans and I think she took pity on me or something,” Esther says. “Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

She looks around the kegster room of the Haus, and alights on Bitty twerking with Shitty and Holster interprets the expression on her face as one of “what the fuck am I doing here?”

“You want a drink?” he asks.

“Oh dear god yes,” she replies, following him to the kitchen.

Holster plies both her and then himself with some liquor and tries to convince her to dance. It doesn’t work until they’re a few more drinks into the night, and then, inconveniently, his pants start getting a little tight. He hopes she doesn’t notice, but from the sort of evil gleam in her eye, she does.

“So which room is yours?” she asks, all casual, if a little drunkenly.

“It’s upstairs,” Holster says, feeling nervous about it. He’s brought…well, a lot of girls up to his room before, and never cared one way or the other what they thought of his living space because a physically awkward pubescence had led to a certain generosity and gratitude in bed as a way of compensating so usually it didn’t matter. But since he wasn’t going to be having sex with Esther, no matter what his groin was attempting to persuade him to do at that moment, he wouldn’t have any way of covering the fact he and Rans pretty much lived in squalor.

“Is it colder up there than it is down here?” Esther asks.

“Yeah,” Holster says. “It’s an attic in November.”

Esther nods, and then drags him towards the stairs. Holster catches Ransom’s eye by accident on their way up, and Rans throws him a mock salute, and then returns his attentions to Kate.

Esther doesn’t seem to judge the attic the way most thinking people would, and sits down on the bottom bunk fanning her red face.

“Why is it so cold up here and so warm down there?” Esther asks, kicking off her high heels and tucking her feet under Holster’s comforter.

“The heater doesn’t work so we just pack everyone in downstairs instead,” Holster says, grabbing one of the gallon jugs of water from the closet and opening it. He takes a healthy drink of it and passes it to Esther.

She giggles at his explanation, probably because she’s drunk not because he’s funny, and takes the water.

“I think you’re trying to make that a joke but I’m also pretty sure it’s true,” she says while he sits on the floor next to her knees. His bunkbed is too short for him to sit up on it without banging his head on the bottom of Ransom’s bunk.

He laughs and takes the water back when she hands it to him.

“It’s weird having you here,” he says without thinking about it.

“Why? Worried I’m gonna tell all your cool jock friends you occasionally play D&D?” Esther asks.

Holster doesn’t know how to articulate that it’s actually because he’s worried his “cool jock friends”, who are in reality the biggest dweebs on the fucking planet, are going to expose him as being some kind of shallow cad who would never think of a short, curvy, nerdy girl like Esther as anything more than one-off hook up material.

Which leads him to the bigger problem.

Holster likes Esther. And he doesn’t want her to think of him the way the others probably see him.

“Nah, they wouldn’t be surprised,” he says instead, leaning back against the bed. She peers down at him. “Mostly I’m worried one of them is gonna be a complete fuck up and offend the shit out of you and you’ll never talk to me again.”

Which is more than he meant to say, but it’s out now.

She leans over and pats him on the face. Despite the alcohol and the overheated atmosphere they’ve just left, her fingers are cold against his skin.

“I like this being taller than you thing,” she says, wrinkling her nose and looking down at him. He’s pretty sure if she keeps leaning over like that her boobs are going to fall out of her dress.

“I don’t, people aren’t supposed to be taller than me,” he says with a pretend pout.

“I’m not sitting on your floor to make you feel better,” she says. “Who knows what’s been on that.”

It’s out of his mouth before Holster really knows what he’s saying, and the part of his brain that isn’t a drunken idiot is trying to strangle the drunk one.

Because what he says is, “You could just sit on me,” and Esther’s face goes blank.

Finally she laughs, but it’s awkward, and the whole attic is awkward now, and he walks her back to her dorm a few minutes later and she doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t say anything and he knows he’s crossed a line but he’s not exactly sure where.

Things still aren’t better a week later when Rans announces their Winter Screw dates.

“You’re screwing me with Esther Shapiro? Bro!” Holster demands, panic rising in his chest.

“What the fuck, Holster, you guys hooked up last weekend,” Ransom says.

And what’s Holster supposed to say? That he and Esther sat in the attic together for an hour and then he walked her home and the closest they actually got to hooking up was him making a stupid suggestion and her laughing at him?

“And you chirped me for like 72 hours afterwards, remember?” Holster reminds him, because that had happened too. Rans had given him so much shit for hooking up with Kate’s pity-invite friend, without knowing any of the truth of the matter, and now Holster is so screwed.

“Oh fuck! Wasn’t she the chick with the rash shaped like Ellen Degeneres?” Shitty asks.

“No, I think she was the one with the eyepatch,” Jack says. “Right Holster?”

Why is it weird for me to be here? Esther had asked.

“Because my friends are fucking assholes,” is what Holster should’ve said.

But really, how bad can it get?

==Esther==

Esther: uh so Kate just told me she and my roommate conspired with Ransom/Justin/your roommate for Winter Screw?

Esther: is that actually a thing?

Me: it is. Rans just told me

Esther: do you want me to tell them to fuck off and that I’m not going?

Me: I’d rather go with you than anyone else they might try to set me up with. The girl they sent me with last year was

Me: It was bad, let’s just leave it there.

Esther: did she puke on you?

Me: on my bed actually.

Esther: that blows.

Esther: Fine. See you on Friday.

==

Holster wasn’t lying. He would rather go with Esther than anyone else, but he feels the need to protect her from his asshole friends, and doesn’t know how to tell them that.

He and Rans have a tussle over wardrobe choices, and it ends with Holster lobbing Ransom’s salmon shorts out the window and Ransom shrieking in despair, but Holster wins the rights to the purple tie that lives in their closet and the matching pocket square.

Bitty seems both delighted by the whole concept of Winter Screw and also like he might throw up from nerves considering the rugby boy they’ve set him up with. All their dates are converging on the Haus beforehand, even Bitty’s since Shitty’s helping him dress. At least, that was the official story, but seeing how Shitty looks well-groomed when they assemble downstairs makes it fairly clear Bitty was helping Shitty dress instead.

“Good choice,” Johnson says, patting Holster’s tie while his girlfriend helps him with his own pocket square.

“Thanks?” Holster says, because he’s never entirely sure the things Johnson says are a compliment.

Aside from Johnson’s girlfriend, Jack’s date shows up first. Camilla Collins, star of the tennis team, is intimidatingly hot, kinda like Jack, so Holster thinks he and Rans have done good work there. Camilla eyes Jack with an appraising look, and seems to find him adequate. Bitty’s date is next and Rugby Boy looks at Bitty like he wants to eat him up which makes Holster’s protective instincts flare up, but Bitty doesn’t even notice because he’s staring at Camilla. Holster understands. Even if he was fully gay rather than just bi, he’d still stare at Camilla.

Shitty doesn’t have a date, what with Lardo not being back from Kenya, so they’re just waiting on Esther and Kate.

They show up together, and Holster’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a second.

The point of Winter Screw is to look easy and be easier, but Esther missed the memo and Holster has never been more grateful for her apparent lack of caring about conventions like that. Based on his musical theatre background, he’s pretty sure her dress would be best suited to the 1950s, like something that might be in Grease, but it looks amazing on her and suits her so well. Oddly enough, it’s the same purple as Holster’s tie, and Johnson winks at him when he notices this.

Their dates arrived, it’s time to head for the student centre and the dance. Despite Camilla’s intimidating hotness, everyone is looking at Esther instead. Holster is fairly certain it’s not because there’s more fabric to her dress than anyone else’s. It’s because she looks amazing.

“You look great,” Holster says as they walk into the student centre.

Esther scoffs. “Thanks,” she says, accepting Shitty’s flask of alcohol as he passes it around. Holster frowns at her but takes the flask.

“No, I mean it,” Holster insists once he’s passed the flask to Bitty. Esther raises her eyebrows at him.

“You don’t have to,” Esther says. “I get it. I get what kinds of girls you guys date, Adam. You don’t have to pretend to think of me as anything other than your friend.”

Holster doesn’t know how to respond to that, but she brightens artificially and drags him off to the dance floor. Unlike everyone except Bitty, they don’t go home together, and Holster spends the night of Winter Screw playing Mario Kart with Shitty.

He gets home to Buffalo for winter break and obligingly shows his mom the pictures of him and Esther from Winter Screw, and then goes and wallows in his room.

== Esther ==

Me: you did look really pretty at Winter Screw

Esther: please stop

Me: sorry

==

Holster isn’t entirely sure what he’s done, and so he doesn’t know how to stop exactly except by not talking to her. And so he doesn’t. Not for months.

Valentine’s Day 2014 – Sophomore Year

“Got plans?” Ransom asks, putting on cologne in front of their mirror and checking his jaw for blemishes. There are none, because Ransom is flawless and Holster hates him for it just a little.

“Does drinking alone count?” Holster asks, taking another sip of his beer.

Ransom gives him a disapproving look.

“Call up that Esther chick or something,” Ransom suggests, casually like it doesn’t make Holster’s insides burn. “Just find some way to get laid rather than moping around here. For me, please.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Holster snaps. Something in his tone makes Ransom stop preparing for his date, and instead turn to look at Holster. And then Holster finds himself spilling the whole story. Everything about meeting Esther, and his parents, and her parents, and the summer and what had actually happened at Winter Screw.

Ransom stares at him for a long time after he’s finished talking and then claps him on the shoulder.

“Holtzy, man, I love you, you know this, but you’re a fucking idiot,” Ransom says.

“Yeah, I know,” Holster says.

“She still works at the candy shop, right?” Ransom asks. Holster nods. Ransom nods back and then forces the bouquet of flowers he’d intended to give to his own date into Holster’s hands.

“I can’t take these,” he says. “You need them.”

“Bro, I’ma just tell her this entire story and I will get mad laid,” Ransom replies. “You need the flowers more than I do.”

Holster can’t argue with him there, and he heads off for the candy shop in Samwell’s centre. He doesn’t even know if she’s working tonight, he realises, but luck is with him and when he walks into the candy shop, she straightens up from behind the counter where she was refilling chocolate covered espresso beans. Her customer service smile dims when she sees him.

“Hey,” she says, because it is a very small shop and it would be weirder if she said nothing.

“Hey,” he replies, now feeling very stupid. “I, um, I brought you flowers.”

Her eyebrows lift over her glasses and he realises it’s genuine surprise. Like she thought he was walking into the candy shop where she works to buy chocolate for whoever the recipient of the flowers happened to be.

“Why?” she asks, taking them over the glass counter anyway.

“As an apology?” Holster says, because now he’s not sure either.

“Do you even know why you’re apologising?” she asks, setting the flowers behind the counter and opening a jar. She grabs a handful of something, puts it on the scale to weigh it out, and then hands them to Holster. He pops them in his mouth without looking, sort of on autopilot, and sputters in horror immediately because it was a handful of the Little Sour Hearts and he feels like his tongue is going to melt off.

“Not really,” he gasps, sure he’s making the absolute worst face he’s ever made.

“It was for pitying me,” she says, giving him a cold look while his tongue burns. “For trying to pretend I was just as pretty as Kate and Jane and Camilla. I know I’m not, okay? I get it. You don’t have to lie to me about it and then keep bringing it up especially since we’re just friends. Or I thought we were and then you stopped talking to me.”

Holster has a brief moment of wondering who Jane is but realises it has to be Johnson’s girlfriend. He thinks he remembers something about that. Her name’s Jane Deer or something. Fawn. Doe. He can’t remember right.

“I wasn’t pitying you!” Holster insists. The burning has moved to his throat now. “You looked pretty. You looked really pretty. And I’ve had a crush on you since the day you let me hang out while you made truffles so--”

He’s cut off by the sound of the espresso machine whirring to life. Esther is pink in the face and it’s spreading down her neck and shoulders. He feels like he’s fifteen again trying to get Jenny Simmons to go to homecoming with him by telling her he has a crush on her. He’s almost 23, is he really allowed to use the word “crush” anymore?

The espresso machine shuts off, but Esther is no less pink in the face while she pushes a frothy pink beverage onto the bar. Tentatively, Holster sits, unsure if he’s still in trouble. She’s put the little rose shaped candies on the saucer and Holster bites into one, letting it dissolve on his tongue and wash away some of the burning from the sour hearts.

“I just thought I should tell you,” he says, taking a sip of the rose crème. Esther’s blush brightens to a full red.

“You’re a dork,” she informs him.

“Can we be friends again?” Holster asks.

“Maybe,” she says, looking down at the counter top and wiping it with a cloth.

“Just maybe?” Holster asks, trying not to seem overly sad about it.

“I kinda have a crush on you too,” she says, still looking down.

Holster feels his insides light up. “Really?” he asks.

Her head snaps up and she glares at him. “You’re all--”

She doesn’t appear to have a word for what he is and instead flails her hands at him like she’s trying to define a nebulous concept.

“So maybe we could be more than friends?” Holster suggests.

Esther rolls her eyes and grabs her step stool. She uses it to lean across the bar and grab him by the sweatshirt strings. He likes kissing her. He likes it even when their glasses clack together, and even when they have to break apart because a customer has just walked in.

Unbelievably, it’s the man from Valentine’s Day the previous year, looking like he’s in as much of a tizzy as he was the year before. He seems to recognise both Holster and Esther, and instead of shrieking at her like a deranged eel, he very politely and quietly requests a mixed box of fancy chocolates for his husband, and leaves a five dollar tip.

Esther doesn’t appear to have registered that it’s the same man, because Holster has to point it out.

“That was the guy from last year,” he says.

Esther snorts, and then bursts out laughing, and then she leans across the counter to kiss him again.

[indivisiblewestla]

Advocacy Training: How to Resist the Trump Agenda

I went to a great advocacy training (how to lobby your elected officials) over the weekend, and thought I would share a few important nuggets of what I learned. (Not a substitute for the actual advocacy training, which was awesome! Find one in your city!)

1. Your elected representatives are totally available to you. Their local district offices, especially, are often empty and very willing to have meetings with their constituents - that's you. You can and should develop a relationship with your elected representatives and their staffers over the next few years - which will be a marathon, not a sprint. This is going to be the best long-term way to use our democracy and maximize your influence in it (short of running for office yourself!). It's because of building respectful, trusting relationships that staffers may come to rely upon you for information and see you as a resource when issues they know you're interested in come up. Eventually they may be calling YOU to ask what you think before considering legislation related to an issue that you've been discussing with them!

2. We've all read that series of tweets from a congressional staffer saying that phone calls are more effective than emails. Totally true. But those are what's called "tally" phone calls. They are probably being answered by an intern. They are important, but if you're trying to build a relationship with your elected official and their staff, you can also call and ask to talk with the staffer assigned to that issue. If there isn't one, at the very least there's a staffer assigned to "constituent issues" - ask for that person. That staffer is going to be your new best friend!

3. Go to your elected representative's website. Read their bio and look at their "issues" page. You will find out the issues they really care about. Do they overlap with the issues you care about? That's your sweet spot. You need to meet them where they are.

4. On their website, you will also find out what committees your elected official is on, plus subcommittees. This is where they have the most influence. Find out what that committee does. Are they the chair, or the ranking member? Even more influential. Again, meet them where they are. If your congressperson is the chair of the Energy subcommittee, that's a great person to lobby about environmental issues.

5. Caucuses are less important but still indicate where the elected official has interest, though not necessarily where they have responsibility. A big exception, however, is anywhere a Member took a leadership position, by either founding/co-founding or chairing/co-chairing a caucus. In that case, that probably IS an area where they have influence. Caucuses are also a great way to hold folks accountable for what they SHOULD care about: "hey, you're a member of the Congressional Algae Caucus (that's a real thing), I would expect you to care about rising levels of acid in our seawater!"

6. While you're at the website, sign up for your elected representative's newsletter. You will find out about their town hall meetings. Attend, and maybe bring a friend/neighbor who looks different than you.

7. What about the issues that are at the top of your list, but your elected officials don't seem to care much about them? Find out the Senate and House committees in charge of those issues. The chair and ranking member are answerable to all Americans, not only the ones who are their direct constituents. A member of the committee who's in your state is also answerable to you.

8. I thought that if I'm a Democrat and my representative is a Democrat, there's no point in reaching out because they already agree with me. Not true. Your visible support of their actions makes it more likely for them to go out on a political limb for your mutual interests. And there are many things you can ask them to do:

9. Things you can ask your elected officials to do include: Vote on specific legislation; sponsor or cosponsor legislation; make a statement about an issue; speak out more forcefully about an issue; talk to another elected official they're close to about the issue; talk to their co-committee members about the issue.

10. You can look up bills at congress.gov to find out who's sponsoring/co-sponsoring, what committee is currently considering it (see #7 for whom to lobby on a committee - don't just call all the members), etc.

11. Partnering with a local organization for both policy support and clout is very important. A nonprofit already working on an issue should be able to help you with policy points, even if they aren't able to join you in organizing/attending a meeting - call them up and ask. But working with a community group can also do a lot of good - a synagogue, school, church, community center, rotary club, whatever. You want to have the power of a network behind you, because your elected officials need to know that YOU are influential in your community.

12. Nonprofits are not all the same. Some, like the Sierra Club, are 501c3 organizations. Donations to them are tax-deductible, and they can only spend 5% of their budget on lobbying elected officials, i.e. advocacy. Others, like the Citizens Climate Lobby, are 501c4 organizations that are focused on advocacy. Donations to them are not tax-deductible. Both have a purpose, and 501c3s often have an advocacy arm. If you find an organization working on an issue you care about and you haven't heard of them, call them up and ask some hard questions about their impact before you commit to volunteering with them or representing them to your elected official.

13. If you're interested in learning more about how best to lobby your elected officials regarding a certain issue you care about, call up an organization that's already doing work on that issue and say "I'm interested in building a relationship with my elected officials regarding this issue. Do you have materials that could help me? Do you offer advocacy training for your volunteers? Do you have other interested people in my area with whom I could be matched up?"

14. In preparation for meeting with your elected officials, think about how you can get personal and therefore memorable. Think deeply about one issue you care very much about - what personal thing makes you care about that issue? We did a great exercise in the advocacy training - we had a minute to write down our personal reasons for connecting with a certain issue, and then take 2 minutes to tell them to another person. That person then had to say "That's so interesting! Tell me more about [one compelling part that stood out]." So then we had to dig deeper and tell them more, and we repeated the process twice. By the end, we had dug deeply and come up with a very personal, much more compelling and memorable pitch than we had in the beginning.

15. Once you schedule your meeting: a) Send the elected official or the staffer a summary of your presentation at least a day before. Do NOT blindside them; b) Invite someone who is directly affected by your issue, such as a senior citizen dependent upon Medicare if you're talking about Medicare, c) Ask an organization already working on this issue to supply you with talking points, d) Prepare a short pitch, knowing that you have 10-30 minutes total, including your personal connection to the issue, maybe also asking the elected official about THEIR personal connection to the issue, r) Prepare two copies of any materials you bring and give one to the elected official and one to the staffer, e) Talk about a maximum of 2 issues and 3 policy asks total, something that can fit on one sheet of paper, f) Leave all your "asks" on that one sheet of paper and give a copy each to your elected official and the staffer at the end, g) You don't have to be an expert on the issue; it's enough to be a constituent who's passionate about it. If you don't know a fact, say so and offer to find out and follow up with the staffer later (and then do it!). It's a great excuse for a follow up!

16. Know that at least one staff member will be there, possibly in addition to your elected official, possibly by themselves. It's okay if it's by themselves - they are awesome, informed on your issue, and influential. When you take a photo at the end, which you should absolutely do and post/tag it everywhere, make sure you include the staffer.

17. Follow up a LOT. Every week is good.

18. There is so much work to do over the next few years, and it's easy to get overwhelmed. That's why we ALL are going to have to jump in and do our part. Pick one or two or three issues that are the most important to you and concentrate on those. You'll be less overwhelmed, and more motivated to follow through for the long haul. Others will have to pick up the slack on the rest. We're going to need all the help we can get.

[cwnerd12]

“Palace Magnifique” Rose stands on stage in a tastefully understated black gown, First Night, “Considerable changes have been made since First Night was last held, but Gilboa’s dedication to the fine arts remains the same. Tonight, for the first time, I am joined by a new Minister of Arts and Culture. I’m very pleased to introduce Miss Monique Broadnax.” She applauds politely as Monique makes a dramatic, sweeping entrance. She’s dressed in an elaborate gown with trains in trans pride colors. Rose maintains a tight smile as the crowd applauds wildly for Monique. David, sitting besides Jessie, cheers for her. Monique, “Good evening!” More applause, shouts of “YAAAAAS!” Rose’s smile tightens even more. Monique, “For years, the Shiloh Ballet has been a symbol of grace and culture. Tonight, we seek to continue the tradition of First Night, but to bring it into a new era. As this city changes, its culture must change along with it. Tonight, for the first time, new styles of dance will be incorporated into the performance, style of dance that have previously been considered to be less than. Tonight, we are once again blessed by angels, but we invite new ones to the table. Please, welcome our new dancers.” She and Rose graciously leave the stage to applause. Classical music plays, and ballet dancers pirouette across the stage. After a few moments of pure ballet, the music and lighting change; suddenly all colors and hip-hop. Vogue dancers appear on the stage, dancing furiously. Society people pretend not to be highly confused and/or outraged. Gays and AFG veterans finger-snap and shout “YAAAAAAAAS!” Jessie’s jaw drops in delight and David smiles and laughs at her astonishment. More fierce dancing.

(“Tomorrow Is My Turn” Nina Simone) David’s portrait hangs in the palace- bright and colorful, with a big, optimistic smile on David’s face. Monique leads a team of designers and architects, furiously taking notes, around the lobby of the palace, “There needs to be some actual life in this place, some warmth, I want plants, natural light, and some color. There should be design elements keeping in the celestial theme of the AFG, and maybe a few butterflies as a tasteful nod to history.” She turns around, “King David has stated that the most important thing is that the palace be open to all people. There should be no part of the palace that isn’t wheelchair accessible. Prince Jack lives here and he still can’t visit half the building. We’re beginning a new day!” In the council chamber, David sits and speaks into the camera, “Good evening. Today I signed into law a declaration of rights for the Citizens of Gilboa.” David has his picture taken for Elite Magazine. He smiles with brilliant charm. In his office, a reporter asks, “The impact of your kingship is being felt all across North America. Do you encourage those in other countries to take up the fight for their rights?” David, “Not unless they’re willing to go through hell for it. You think you know what the worst thing that can happen is, but then, something even worse happens, and then something even worse happens, and it just keeps getting worse and worse. If you think you can survive that, then, maybe.” On TV: David, “Citizens of Gilboa have a right to free speech and a free press.” Jack sits behind the cameramen, smiling supportively and giving a thumbs-up. At their own press conference, Adam and Liam stand behind two podiums in crisp new AFG uniforms. Adam, “With the cease-fire with Gath fully implemented, King David is beginning the integration of AFG forces into the Gilboan Army.” Elsewhere in Shiloh, buildings damaged by the Amalekites get repaired. Joel gets photographed as he holds up the declaration of rights, “I wrote this.” Asher is photographed smiling and leading a service in a synagogue. Shay is photographed smiling and standing in front of a proud group of Queens of Gilboa in their new uniforms. David breaks ground on a housing project for refugees as a crowd lovingly cheers and applauds. Abby poses proudly in her office. Jack has his picture taken. Photographer, “Can you turn your head a little bit, I want to get a better view of your scars.” Jack’s smile fades, and he turns his head. In his office, David explains to the reporter, “Being king really is exciting, I’m actually building things and getting things done.” He presses a button on his phone, “Abby, can you get me those reports I asked you for this morning?” Abby, over the phone, “Lick my BALLS, David! You aren’t the only person who’s busy today!” David laughs nervously, “We haven’t quite lost the informality of the AFG yet.” In their apartment, Jack watches an elevator being installed by the staircase. Back at Liam and Adam’s press conference, Liam says, “AFG veterans who wish to retire from combat will be given full benefits and recognition as veterans of Gilboa.” Reinhardt grins like a smug, handsome asshole as he poses in front of a display of weapons. Rose is photographed at her press podium. Monique is photographed in front of the still spray-painted MSS building, wearing a sparkly gold gown, and waving an AFG flag in the manner of Liberty Leading the People. David, “*announces equal rights, no discrimination based on religion, race, gender, or sexual orientation.*” Gay couples flood a courthouse trying to get married. One of the couples is Abby and Michelle, holding hands and giggling. Michelle wears a slinky white satin slip gown and Abby wears a feminine tux. At her desk, Rose receives a magazine: on the cover is Jessie, “Gilboa’s Mom.” Rose tosses it aside dismissively. Jack and David have their picture taken together, David standing behind Jack. Reporter, “Will Prince Jack be granting an interview?” Jack glances at David. David, “Oh, no. Jack’s made really remarkable progress in his recovery, but speech remains a real difficulty for him. I’d be glad to answer a few questions, though.” Jack tries to smile. At Liam and Adam’s press conference, a reporter asks, “Will either of you be returning to active duty?” Adam, “If King David asks us.” Liam grins, “This is a good thing because if I were Premiere Shaw, I’d be terrified to know that I had this guy coming after me.” He points at Adam. At sundown, Monique stands in front of a building, looking up at its neon sign. It flickers and lights up, PALACE MAGNIFIQUE. Monique claps and laughs with delight.  Reporter, “You’ve legalized gay marriage in Gilboa. Are you and Prince Jack intending on getting married any time soon?” Both David and Jack blush and laugh. Jack looks up at David. David, “Oh, man, I’d love to, but royal weddings are a big deal, aren’t they? I’ve got a ton of stuff that I’m working on, I don’t know when I can find the time to do a wedding.” Jack, “We should.” David, “Yeah, we should.” Rose watches as the cold stone facade of the palace lobby is taken down. She stoically tries to hide her sadness. Monique saunters past, followed by architects and designers, “The new stairwell should go over here. It creates more of a natural flow, has better feng shui.”

In bed, at night, Jack wakes up, rubs his eyes, and sees that he’s by himself. Slowly and carefully, he gets himself into his wheelchair and goes out into the living area. He sees a light coming from David’s office. He goes over and opens the door. Jack, groggily, “David?” David looks up from his work, “Oh, shit, what time is it?” He looks at his watch, “Damnit, I’m sorry.” Jack, “It’s okay.” David puts his stuff away, and says, apologetically, “I swear I was gonna go to bed with you, but I wanted to take one last look at these refugee numbers, I kinda got sucked into them and lost track of time.” He goes over to Jack, “Come on, let’s go to bed.” They go towards the bedroom. They both get into bed. Jack curls up on his pillow, away from David.

Jack at physical therapy: he does exercises for balance and coordination after brain injury. It’s difficult and strenuous but Jack powers through it with intense concentration and determination. Afterwards, his physical therapist, Josh, helps him back into his wheelchair. Josh, “You’re doing really great, Jack.” Jack, “Thanks.” Josh, “If it were based on strength alone, you could run a marathon tomorrow. Your issues are all related to balance and coordination, which are trickier to address. Are you continuing your exercises at home?” Jack, “Yeah.” Josh, “Good. You need to be walking around at home. Are you using your walker?” Jack, “Yes.” Josh, “You need to start using it all the time. It’s gonna be harder moving around with it at first, but once you start improving your coordination, it’ll be no problem.” Jack, “Okay." Josh claps him on the shoulder, “You’re doing good, man. See you Wednesday.”

Jack quietly goes into the council chamber, where David sits deep in discussion with his cabinet. He goes over to the railing at the top of the gallery. He rests his arms on it, and then rests his chin on his arms, watching intently. David, “Okay, what’s next on the agenda?” Asher reads, “Mental health care for AFG veterans.” David, “In the Elite interview, I talk a lot about my own mental health and how important taking care of it has been for me, by the time it comes out, I absolutely need to make sure that AFG veterans have full access to quality mental health care.” The minister of health, Miranda, says, “I have a good plan in place, but I need to go through it with military leaders and make sure it can be implemented.” David, “Excellent, when this meeting is over, You, Shay, and Caesar can stay and we’ll hammer out the details together,” he turns to Asher, “Anything else?” Asher, “Nope, that’s it.” David, “Sweet! Let’s get to work!” Everyone but Shay, Reinhardt, Miranda, and David gets up and leaves. David glances up at the gallery and spots Jack, “Jack! Hey!” Jack smiles at him, “Hey, babe.” Reinhardt rolls his eyes. David, “Hey, you should come join us, I think you’ll have some great ideas!” He pushes Jack towards the stairs, but then stops. They both stare down at the steps. David, “Shit. I guess I really need to prioritize making the council chamber accessible, huh? Do you think you could make it down the stairs if I help you?” Jack looks at the stairs warily, and then looks up at David, “Lunch.” David, “Oh, that’s right! Shit! I’m kind of busy.” Jack, “Okay.” David, “I’ll see you for dinner, though, okay?” Jack, “Yeah.” David leans down and kisses him on the cheek, “You go enjoy your lunch.”

In the kitchen, Jack and Michelle eat sandwiches. Michelle, “I got all my textbooks today. This afternoon, I’m taking Cameron on a tour of the campus. He already says he wants to go into trauma surgery, can you believe it? Most of my classmates still have no idea what they want to specialize in.” Jack, “Cool.” Rose enters, carrying a magazine. Michelle, “Hey, Mom.” Jack, “Hey.” Rose sits down next to them and lays the magazine out, “An advance copy of Elite came today. David looks very handsome.” Michelle, snidely, “Of course he fucking does.” Rose, “I say Silas looked better on his first Elite cover, but of course I’m biased.” Jack points at the picture of David, “Second. Second cover.” Rose, “Oh, I know.” Jack opens the magazine, and starts flipping pages. He lands on Michelle’s picture. Michelle, “Oh, I like that one.” Jack smiles and flips a few more pages to find his picture. In the image, he sits in profile, the emphasis on his scars, still visible through his hair. Jack tries to hide his displeasure. Rose, “It’s a very striking image.” Michelle, “Hey, I got something for the two of you.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out two photographs, “Wedding pictures. You two can put them wherever you like.” She hands one to Rose and one to Jack. Rose looks at hers, and says with a hint of shade, “Well, you two look very happy.” Michelle, “What?” Rose, “I just imagined your wedding would be a bit different is all.” Michelle, “Was this before or after I vowed to remain a virgin and never marry?” Rose, “I was just imagining things.” Michelle, “Hey, you and Dad got married on an army base while you were pregnant. You can’t complain about my wedding.” Rose, “I’m not complaining.” Jack stares down at his picture in Elite. Rose, “What’s wrong?” Jack doesn’t say anything. Rose, “Do you not like the picture?” Jack, “Scars.” He flips the pages, and finds the picture of him and David, small and embedded into a page of text. Michelle, “Hey, that’s a nice picture.” Jack, “Small.” Rose, “Don’t fret over it, Jack, there will be other magazines in the future.” Jack grimaces. Rose, “Whatever you do, just don’t complain about it to David. Your job is to support him, not add to his worries.” Michelle, “So Jack is supposed to just be some subservient wifey now?” Rose, “He doesn’t have to be subservient, but being the king’s spouse does have its own unique responsibilities.” Jack, “Not married.” Rose, “When you are. I speak from experience. The success of David’s kingship rests largely on you keeping him happy. You have to give him everything he wants, and know what he needs before he needs it. You have to lessen his burden, not increase it.” Michelle, bitterly, “That’s how Seth was kept from us for ten years.” Rose, “That was your father, not me.”

In the evening, Jack lays on David’s shoulder while they watch TV together. David plays with Jack’s hair, “I swear, your hair is growing back curly.” Jack smiles, “Just messy.” David, “No, it’s curly. I like it.” He kisses the top of Jack’s head, and then yawns deeply, “Shit, it’s been a long day.” Jack, “Tired?” David, “Yeah, I think I might go to bed. You want to join me, or watch TV for a little bit longer?” Jack, “Join you.” David gets up, and then helps Jack up. David, “Lemme get you your walker…” Jack, “No. Myself.” David, “Come on, don't be stubborn, you need the walker.” He goes to get it, but Jack takes a few shaky steps on his own. David grabs the walker and hurries over, “Jack!” Jack keeps going, and then stumbles. David lunges and catches him, “Don’t give yourself another head injury!” He tries to get the walker again, but Jack pushes it away. David, “Jack!” Jack keeps going, walking slowly and unsteadily on his own. David gives up and hovers close behind him. Jack stumbles again, and David grabs him. David helps him re-gin his balance, and slowly, they make their way into the bedroom.

Jack and Reinhardt sit in David’s office. Reinhardt, “All right, I had my secretary draw up a report for you, everything you need to be briefed on should be in there.” Jack looks through a stack of papers. Reinhardt, “Anyway, I am BUSY-” Jack cuts him off, “Wait.” Reinhardt, “What?” Jack knits his eyebrows, “Questions.” Reinhardt, “What questions?” Jack, points to a page and slowly reads, “Arming rebels in Gath,” he looks at Reinhardt. Reinhardt, “I just thought why are we sending our troops to fight Shaw when Gath is full of rebel groups willing to do it instead?” Jack, “Terrorists.” Reinhardt, “The AFG was considered a terrorist group until you all took over.” Jack, “No… Amalekite terrorists.” Reinhardt, “The Amalekites never operated in Gath.” Jack, “No.” Reinhardt, “I mean, they blew up that one bomb but it was only so David would escape, right? And anyway, all of our intelligence says that the Amalekites died with Alek Amal, so we don’t have to worry about them.” Jack, frustrated, “No.” Reinhardt, “What? Are you saying they’re still working?” Jack, “No.” Reinhardt, “Then what the hell are you saying?” Jack sighs. He points to the list of rebels in Gath, “Bad guys!” Reinhardt, “Bad guys who are on our side.” Jack, “Can’t.” Reinhardt, “Can’t what?” Jack, concentrating to say the words, “Help… bad guys!” Reinhardt sighs with annoyance, “Well, it’s just a proposal, not a plan. Besides, you always get David to do what you say.” His voice is full of insinuation. Jack glares at him, “Done?” Reinhardt, “Yes, I’m done. And I have other meetings to get to, so if you will please excuse me.” He gets up, and leaves. Jack watches him leave, and then leaves himself.

Reinhardt walks into David’s office, “You requested me?” David, “You briefed Jack this morning like I told you to, right?” Reinhardt, “I did.” David, “How did it go?” Reinhardt, “As well as could be expected. We had a few disagreements.” David, “Disagreements? I told you, Jack is still your authority, if he gives you orders, you have to follow them.” Reinhardt, “That’s just it. Jack is not exactly the best person for conversation.” David, “What the fuck are you saying?” Reinhardt, “I can’t follow his orders if I have no idea what the hell he’s trying to say to me.” David, “Okay, before this goes any further, do you seriously not understand what he’s trying to say, or are you just being an asshole?” Reinhardt, “I need clear orders so that I don’t get blamed when they go badly.” David, “So you’re just being an asshole.” Reinhardt, "Am I supposed to be buddies with Jack now?" David, “Don't ask like you can't understand him!” There’s a soft knock on the door. David, “Yes?" The door opens and a secretary enters, “Sir, Queen Rose is here to see you.” David, “I'll be there in just a moment.” Reinhardt, “Should I leave?” David, “We will deal with this later.” Reinhardt, “Well, I’ll see you later, then.” He gets up and leaves. As he exits the room, Rose enters. Rose, “What is it, David?” David pulls something up on his tablet and hands it to her, “This.” Rose takes it. On the screen is an OMGossip headline, “Prince Jack’s Struggle.” Rose, “Ah, Andrew.” David, “I have been clear from the beginning, Jack is off-limits! There’s personal information in there! They say that Jack has migraines and seizures!” Rose, “He does have migraines and seizures.” David, “How could they know that?!” Rose, “The palace has over 5,000 employees, and this doesn’t include the employees of the hospital and rehabilitation center. Any one of them could have been paid to say something.” David, “I want it looked into and anyone who talked fired.” Rose, “Tell Thomasina.” David, “This isn’t the first time OMGossip has published personal shit. They’re the ones who published the fucking sex tape!” Rose, “So what are you going to do about it, David? This is all factual information. Under your new declaration of rights, they’re perfectly free to do it. There’s nothing you can do.”  David, “The only way they could have gotten that sex tape was from Gath, this is an issue of national security!” Rose, “Then discuss it with Minister Reinhardt.” David sits back in his chair, slightly deflated, “Jack’s recovery is hard enough as it is. I don’t want anyone adding to it. Can you, like, talk to Andrew?” Rose, “Andrew learned from his father to resent anyone named Benjamin, and it’s a lesson he took to heart. The fact that Jack got CrossGen only makes it worse. He won’t listen to me. He won’t listen to anybody. And besides. This is hardly the worst thing Jack has had written about him.” David, “That’s beside the point!” Rose, “Right now, you have much, much bigger things to worry about. I have the outline of my Council testimony finished, and we’ll be meeting about it this afternoon. You need to figure out what you want to say.” David annoyed, “There’s nothing to say.” Rose, “That’s not good enough. I'll see you this afternoon.”

At speech therapy, Jack slowly reads out loud from a book. He pauses and rubs his eyes. His therapist, Zoe, say, “Hey, you’re doing good, keep going.” Jack, “Headache.” Zoe, “Ah, gee, that’s rough. You look tired, did you get much sleep last night?” Jack, “No.” Zoe, “Well, make sure you take a nap this afternoon and try to catch up. We gotta keep going, though, come on.” Jack begins reading again, but he goes slowly and struggles with the words. He squints with pain and rubs his head. He pauses again, blinking at the pages in front of him. Zoe, "Are you sure you don’t want some aspirin or something?” Jack winces and then suddenly vomits on the table. Zoe jumps to her feet, “Okay, let's take a break.” Jack wipes his mouth with embarrassment.

Outside the council chamber, David speaks in low, conspiratorial tones to Liam and Adam, “OMGossip published a story about Jack and I am not happy about it.” Liam, to Adam, “I told you man, I should have beat the shit out of that motherfucker when I had the chance!” David, “What?” Adam, quickly, “We saw Andrew Cross at Council. Nothing happened. Don’t worry about it.” David, “Sine being in touch with the press is you guys’ job, I want you to pay attention. Ask around. where's OMGossip getting its sources? Is it someone inside the palace or from somewhere else?” Liam, “You want me to deal with it when I find out?” David, “What? No! No, don’t do anything stupid. If you find any information whatsoever, tell me immediately, don’t do anything else. With the declaration of rights, I’m not supposed to be doing anything to interfere with the press, and… Look, I don’t give a fuck what anyone says about me, but I want Jack to be left alone during his recovery, got it?” Liam, “Got it.” Adam knits his eyebrows in concern. David, “Adam?” Adam, “Yeah, I guess. I… are you sure we won’t be breaking the law or anything?” David, “Hey, I’m the king, the law is whatever I say it is.” Behind them, Thomasina steps out of the council chamber, “Your majesty, we’re waiting for you.” David glances back at her, “Okay, just gimme a second.” He turns back to Liam and Adam, “Just keep your eyes open, and whatever happens, I’ve got you guys covered. Come on.” He goes into the council chamber.

In the chamber, David sits at the table with Rose, Thomasina, Joel, Abby, Asher, and a host of other advisors. Liam and Adam find a place in the gallery. Abby begins talking, “Confirmation Council is largely symbolic, in the end, David is still king of Gilboa, no matter what, but it serves the very important purpose of setting a clear narrative on what happened during the coup, and establishing why David is king. Everyone directly involved with the coup is expected to testify.” Adam diligently takes notes. Rose, “Honesty is going to be our best course of action, since we have nothing to hide, and David has built himself an image of being somewhat unflinchingly honest.” An aide discreetly enters the chamber and goes up to David, "Sir, Prince Jack has cancelled his afternoon speech therapy for today.” David, "What? Why? What happened?” Aide, “He has a migraine.” David, "Where is he now?” Aide, “He’s in bed.” David. “Shit.” He stands up, “I have to go." Abby, “David this is very important." David, "I have to go be with Jack." Abby, “David, this is when you tell everyone why you're king!” David, “I've done that already! I’ve done it like five times! If someone doesn't understand by now, that's their fault. Figure out what I need to say, and I’ll say it.” Abby, “Some of it should come from you.” David, “Then we’ll reschedule! I have to go!” Adam watches him as he hurries out.

Jack lays in bed in a darkened room, eyes shut tight with pain. The door opens, and Jack winces at the beam of light that enters the room. David steps in and says softly, “Hey, are you okay?” Jack moans. David loosens his tie and takes his jacket off. He gets into bed beside Jack and puts his arms around him. Jack, “Work.” David, “Don’t worry about that.” Jack, “No.” David, “I want to be with you.” In too much pain to protest, Jack curls up close against David, and David gently strokes his hair, “I'm not going anywhere.”

David goes into Vesper’s cell and sits down. David, “Can I talk to you?” Vesper, “I have nothing better to be doing.” David sighs heavily, “I don’t get it… you murdered your wife.” Vesper, “Yes, I did.” David, “You turned your army on your own people. You murdered thousands, maybe millions of innocent people, and you murdered the person who loved and supported you and was the mother of your children… but when I talk to you, you seem pretty decent. You’re not like Silas or Warner. You don’t seem like the kind of person who would do what you did.” Vesper, “I know what you’re trying to ask, and I’m afraid it’s a question best left to the scholars- Why did Vesper Abbadon go absolutely batshit insane? Anyone else’s guess is as good as mine.” David, “Is that what you’d tell your kids?” Vesper, “Perhaps I’d try to give them something better, but… I’ve tried to explain it to myself countless times over the years. Every time I think I’m close to some sort of rationalization or explanation, I see how wrong it is, and I’m once again left with no answers. Evil is like that. Sometimes, it just exists with no why.” David makes a face. Vesper, “What other answers are you looking for?” David, hesitant, “Is there something wrong with the fact that… I actually kind of enjoy being king? I’m helping people! I’m getting stuff done! That… that feels really good. And it’s really scary to have that power. I don’t want to end up like Silas… or like you. I’ve already done a lot of things I regret, from before I was ever even king.” Vesper, “You know your own faults, and you’ve learned from your mistakes. You’re already doing better than I did.” David, “I thought for sure, I’d hate being king, but, I’d do it because doing the right thing is hard. I thought as long as I had Jack with me, I’d be okay. But instead, the work’s making me happy, and Jack…” he grows quiet, “Jack isn’t happy. And I don’t know how to make him happy.” He shoots Vesper a dirty look, “I know what you did to gay people, so I don’t know why I’m telling you.” Vesper, “You’re seeking a connection with someone who understands what you’re going through.” David, “Laura knows, she’s given me plenty of advice.” Vesper, “But she’s a busy queen with her own life and her own problems. I, one the other hand, am a captive audience. I have no right to judge you, and I won’t share your secrets.” David, “Yeah, I guess.” Vesper, “You care about Jack, right?” David, “He’s the most important thing in the world to me.” Vesper, “Then don’t ignore his unhappiness, or pretend it doesn’t exist.” David, “I don’t know how to make him happy! That’s the worst thing about being king- I can solve everyone’s problems except for the one person I care about the most!” Vesper, “I don’t have an answer for you, David, but I think you may have one for yourself.”

Hobbling slowly on his walker, Jack gets into the finished elevator in the apartment, presses the button, and goes up to the second floor. He gets out of the elevator, goes over to the stairs, and looks down them. He thinks for a moment, and then stands up. He puts the walker to the side. He clutches the railing, and carefully, slowly, lowers himself down the first step. With slightly more confidence, he goes down the second step, and then third. On the fourth, he stumbles, and falls violently down the flight of stairs. He grimaces painfully and sits up, rubbing his shoulder. He looks around for something to help him stand up, but it’s all out of reach. Panic washes over his face, but he takes a deep, determined breath, and tries to get up. He rises a few feet, but then stumbles over and is once again on the ground. He tries to get up, again, but falls. Panting, he tries once more, and almost makes it, but loses his balance. He lies on his back, teeth gritted, breathing deeply, seething. He lets out a scream of rage, and pounds his fists and feet on the floor. When his anger is spent, he breaks down and sobs with frustration. The door opens, and David enters. He sees Jack lying at the foot of the stairs, and runs to him, “Jack?!” He kneels down beside him, “Jack?! Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” Jack, muttering, “I’m fine.” David, “What happened? Did you have a seizure?” Jack, “No. I fell.” David helps him sit up, “Do you feel okay? You aren’t dizzy or anything, are you?” Jack, “No.” He feels his head, “Did you dent your plates?” Jack grabs his hand and throws it away from him, resentful. David looks up at the walker at the top of the stairs, “Did… did you try to go down the stairs by yourself?” Jack, “Yes.” David, dismayed, “Jack, you aren’t even doing that in therapy!” Jack gives him a resentful look. David, “Are you okay?” Jack, somewhat defeated, “Yeah.” David touches his forehead, “You’ve got a bruise.” Jack turns his face away from David’s hand. David lowers it and sits quietly for a moment, “I know you’re not happy. I know you’re in a really difficult position, and…” he drifts off, “I don’t know what I can do to make it better for you.” Jack puts his hands over David’s, “You… be with you.” David, “Is that what you want?” Jack, “Yes.” David thinks for a moment, “All right. I should’ve had some time with you, anyway. Do you… want to get married?” Jack smiles a little bit, “Yes.” David smiles back, “Then we should do that. Take a couple weeks for a honeymoon. Finally take some time to be together. Does that sound good?” Jack smiles, “Yeah.” David, “Okay. We’ll do that.” He thinks for a long moment, and then smiles sadly, “I never really thought much about how I'd ask you to marry me, but I always figured it'd be a lot more romantic than this." Jack leans forward and puts his head on David’s shoulder. David puts his arms around him, “You're still what matters most to me.”

[gracewithducks]

Like a Mighty Rushing Wind (Acts 2:1-21) - Sunday School Stories #10, preached 11/10/19

When I was a child, I loved the movie The Wizard of Oz. I loved the songs, from Dorothy’s wistful “Over the Rainbow” to the delightful “If I Only Had a Brain.” Like so many young people, I resonated with Dorothy’s discontent, with her dawning realization that the world must be bigger than the little corner she’s experienced – and there is something wondrous in the idea that a mighty wind might turn things upside down and suddenly your world is transformed from shades of gray to technicolor.

 I loved the movie The Wizard of Oz, though I wonder if perhaps that movie may be the root cause of my recurring dreams about tornados. I’ve never been in a tornado myself; I’ve never even seen one first-hand that I remember, except for maybe a distant waterspout. But I cannot count the number of times in my dreams I watch as funnel clouds form, running to warn my loved ones, searching for shelter in a home that’s suddenly made of windows, watching as the clouds darken and still more funnels rush in with terrifying speed, one after another – and then, when they’re roaring right on top of me, I wake up – not in Oz, but right back at home.

 I’m not exactly sure what to make of those dreams, but they happen often enough that I sometimes, in my dream, think, “Wow, this is so weird; I dream about tornados all the time, and now it’s actually happening.”

 I don’t know what it means – but I’m not sure I want to know. So even if you’re gifted in psychoanalysis and dream interpretation, please don’t tell me! I’m thinking a few too many times watching the Wizard of Oz combined with a few too many tornado drills huddled in public school cinderblock hallways when I was still too young to know the difference between a drill and a real storm – all those experiences imbedded themselves in my subconscious, where they pop up again from time to time.

 If nothing else, those dreams remind me that wind is powerful, and it’s nothing to be trifled with.

 We don’t have to look far in the waking world to recognize the power of wind. Windmills spring up around our state and off our shores, trying to harness some of that power for our own use. But when storms blow through, we suddenly find ourselves aware how drafty our homes are; garbage cans go rattling and tumbling down the street, and siding and shingles are peeled away. When the bigger storms like hurricanes and tornados hit, we watch the scenes of devastation unfold on our TV screens: trees are uprooted, whole roofs take flight, schools are flattened, buildings ripped from their foundations, homes and neighborhoods suddenly just gone. And everything that seemed so solid is suddenly revealed to be fleeting and fragile – and we feel fragile, too.

 Wind is powerful, and it’s nothing to be trifled with.

 But this image – the image of wind – this is the image we are given of the Holy Spirit. This is the image Luke uses here in Acts to describe the birth of the church: the Spirit shows up, like a mighty rushing wind.

 In fact, Luke goes one step farther: because the Spirit doesn’t just come as a rushing wind, but the Spirit shows up like a tornado of fire. And fire, like wind, is a wondrous and dangerous thing; it brings illumination and warmth and life, but fire, too, can quickly spark devastation and reshape the landscape forever.

 As C.S. Lewis once described Narnia’s Christ-like lion, “He’s not a tame lion… [of] course he isn’t safe; but he is good.”[1]

 Or as Annie Dillard, a modern theologian, once wrote, reflecting on the ways we often underestimate the Spirit’s power,

 “Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.”[2]

 We often narrow this story of Pentecost to the Birthday of the Church – and we say, “Isn’t it nice how the church starts, with unity even in diversity? It’s like a reversal of the Tower of Babel, when instead of being scattered, people are gathered together, and instead of being confused, everyone understands each other.” And we have a party once a year to celebrate the day when those divisions were ended, and we all figured out how to get along.

 And I hope you realize how ridiculous that is: to celebrate as if Pentecost was a once-and-for-all kind of event, a bridging of divisions and great coming together… and we celebrate what happened then, without recognizing that two thousand years later, we still hide behind our walls, and divide ourselves along ethnic lines, and struggle to understand each other… and when we do come together in our diversity, we spend more time praising our diversity than praising God.

 But for Luke, the author of Acts, the story of Pentecost isn’t meant to be a one-time miracle, but instead he offers this story as a revelation of the character of this fledgling community. This is who we are supposed to be.

 The church at Pentecost is a church overcoming fear, a church that spills out into the world, proclaiming good news, crossing borders and boundaries, finding new ways to speak, to adapt to the audience around them, sharing the good news in new ways. And really, it’s not a reversal of Babel: God doesn’t make everyone speak one language; the miracle isn’t that everyone understands everyone, but rather that everyone understands someone. The Spirit doesn’t make us all the same, but rather, God finds a way to bring us together even in our uniqueness.

 Pentecost is only in chapter two of the book. It’s not the end of the story, not for Luke, or for the church, or for us. Pentecost is just the beginning; it’s a birth – and birth is where the story starts, not where the story ends.

 And the story starts with this reminder: the Spirit is not a tame Spirit. But the Spirit shows up like a rushing wind, like a tornado of fire, transforming what we imagined was solid and unchanging, reshaping the landscape of the world, and in the process, reshaping us. And as terrifying as that thought can be, it sure seems like the modern church could use some transformation and reshaping today.

 The story of Pentecost reminds us that the church is not what we’ve made it: the church isn’t a building, and the church isn’t a denomination. The church is people. The church is us. We are the church when we gather together, and we are the church when we leave this place and go out into the world. And we carry with us the power of the Holy Spirit, to reshape the world and transform everything.

 Before Pentecost, there was a different understanding of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit was reserved for kings, and for priests and for prophets, for people whom God had called to a specific ministry, a specific leadership, in a specific moment in history. But what Pentecost taught the early church, what changed that day, is that the Holy Spirit was given to everyone: everyone is a leader, everyone is called to ministry, everyone is empowered to bring the prayers and needs of the world to God, and everyone is given the gift of prophecy, to speak the truth to power, to name evil and call out injustice, and invite people to a better way of living.

 Back when Jesus started his ministry, in Luke 4, he stood up in the synagogue and read the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

 The Spirit is upon me, Jesus says, for the sake of bringing good news to others, for the sake of justice and compassion and transforming the world. And when the church started its ministry at Pentecost, when the Spirit came upon them, it was to continue that work: speaking truth to people from every nation, proclaiming good news, working for justice and compassion. And that work continues still today.

 It’s not work for one person; it’s work for us all. And it takes all of us, speaking in the languages we know, so that those around us can hear the good news each in their own language, in a way that they can understand, so that grace really resonates and we can all be changed.

 We started with the images of wind and fire… and in those first moments when we realize the whole landscape has changed, it’s terrifying. Even Dorothy was scared to find herself in Oz! But the thing about storms is, they aren’t the end; even forests ravaged by tornados of fire can grow back – and in fact, sometimes it takes that clearing away of debris to make room for new life to begin. The way forward is through resurrection, and before we can rise, we have to lay our lives down.

 So maybe the question is: what do we need to die to, what do we need to let blow away, what chaff and impurities do we need to let burn, so that something new might begin, so that the kingdom of God that is good news to the poor might be revealed in us?

 Dorothy woke up in Oz and realized that the world is much bigger than she imagined, that there are more colors and more kinds of people than she ever could have guessed. And she was changed; by getting to know others, by leaving home, she got to better know herself.

 God invites us into a new world, too. The Spirit invites us to imagine and to live into a transformed landscape, to be changed, turned upside down – and to live into God’s surprising and wondrous new kingdom. May we stop being gatekeepers, and open the doors instead; may we speak authentically, and may be willing and able to adapt, so that others might hear the good news and come to believe. And when the mighty rushing wind of the Spirit shows up, may we have the courage to go along for the ride.

  God, we’re good at asking you to show up, to transform us – but we’re not always sure what it is we’re asking for. It’s hard for us to see what you’re doing, and when we do see you at work, we struggle, afraid to get on board. Give us the courage to invite you once more. Let your Spirit fill this place; kindle your fire in our hearts, and send us to be the church and bring your good news into the world. By the power of your Spirit we pray; amen.

[1] C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/aslan

[2] Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk (1982); https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/170797-on-the-whole-i-do-not-find-christians-outside-of

[theconservativebrief]

It’s two days before the New York state primary election, and the internet still can’t get over Cynthia Nixon’s bagel order.

Nixon, the actress and activist who is challenging a powerful incumbent, Democratic Gov. Andrew Cuomo — doesn’t mind. Her team was trying to do some last-minute fundraising off the faux-Twitter outrage over her order of lox, tomato, onions, and capers on a cinnamon raisin bagel at famed Manhattan deli Zabars on Monday.

“Don’t yuck my yum!” Nixon told a crowd of reporters. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Yes, I like to eat a Cinnamon Raisin Bagel with… lox, capers, red onions, cream cheese, and tomatoes.

Give a few bucks to help support our campaign in the last days before the primary and enter for a chance to have YOUR favorite bagel with me: https://t.co/Q9Whsj4T6j. pic.twitter.com/pkfjRLNZuT

— Cynthia Nixon (@CynthiaNixon) September 11, 2018

Meanwhile, Cuomo is on the defense on two issues with the potential to be more damaging to his campaign than a bagel controversy. The first is a New York Times’ Shane Goldmacher story reporting the governor’s administration offered “enticements” to make the opening target for a recent, much-celebrated ribbon-cutting on the new Mario M. Cuomo Bridge (named for Cuomo’s father, a former governor). Another recent story by Goldmacher pointed to Cuomo’s excessive use of state planes and helicopters.

That’s on top of another controversy, as the New York State Democratic Committee recently sent out mailers to Jewish voters calling Nixon “silent on the rise of anti-Semitism,” despite the fact she attends a synagogue and is raising two of her children as Jewish. Cuomo, who heads the committee, has condemned the mailer and said he didn’t know about it, but no one on the committee has yet publicly taken responsibility for it.

The confluence of events is exactly the contrast Nixon — a progressive outsider — is trying to make with Cuomo, a centrist, longtime New York politician who is widely thought to be exploring a 2020 campaign (though he has said he’ll serve out a full term as governor). Nixon has been painting Cuomo as a moneyed, corrupt insider who has drained New York schools and infrastructure systems of their money in favor of tax cuts for the wealthy. She is still polling far behind Cuomo, but she might do well enough to ruin his dreams of a presidential bid — or even defeat him in the process.

Nixon calls herself a democratic socialist and wants to prove that the grassroots activism that helped Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez topple House Democratic Caucus Chair Joe Crowley (D-NY) can propel her to win the governor’s mansion in Albany. She has embraced Medicare-for-all, funding education, and exposing corruption in New York’s political system.

“We can’t just be a kinder, gentler, more diverse version of the Republican Party — that’s not compelling enough,” Nixon told Vox in a Monday interview. “We’re relying on people’s horror with Trump that they’re going to turn out and vote. We need to give them something to actually come out and vote for, and we need to be a party that is not only addressing, but actively fighting, inequality.”

Nixon’s campaign, which goes to the polls on the last primary day of the year, is the final chance for progressives to prove they have the power to win against the Democratic establishment. If Nixon does prevail against Cuomo on Thursday, it would be by far the biggest defeat of an incumbent.

“There’s people coming out in large numbers. There is an appetite for an insurgent political activity in New York state,” said Maurice Mitchell, national director for the Working Families Party. “It will shock the political class, I don’t think people are ready for that.”

I talked to Nixon about democratic socialism, New York’s urban/rural divide, and her day one agenda. Our conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Ella Nilsen

What do you see as the difference between the Democratic party and democratic socialism?

Cynthia Nixon

Democratic socialism, I think, is a movement that is really making the difference in the Democratic Party and holding the Democratic Party to its ideals and its foundation. The Democratic Party right now — I think one of the reasons people are not turning out for our candidates is they don’t understand what the Democratic Party stands for. And I think that is confusing because of the influence — particularly — of big money in our politics.

We keep saying, “We’re the good guys, you should vote for us. We fight for working people, we fight for people of color, we fight against inequality.” But I think people are not really believing that at the moment because of the influence of big money. We can’t just be a kinder, gentler, more diverse version of the Republican Party — that’s not compelling enough.

We’re relying on people’s horror with Trump that they’re going to turn out and vote. We need to give them something to actually come out and vote for, and we need to be a party that is not only addressing, but actively fighting, inequality. Fighting inequality in our criminal justice system, fighting inequality in our health care and our housing and our education. We have to affirm that these things I just mentioned, that these are human rights, and that we can’t just have a society that is completely profit-driven without regard to the human cost that’s being paid right now.

Ella Nilsen

Following up on that, what do you think is the most obvious policy win for Democrats that they leave on the table? Is there anything, either New York-specific, or nationally that you see?

Cynthia Nixon

I mean, I think what Bernie Sanders has been able to do in a very few short years is he’s been able to take the issue of a Medicare-for-all, single-payer system, and put it squarely in the midst of the political debate. This is something, obviously, that we have been talking about and trying to enact for decades now. But what we’re seeing is more progressive candidates, diverse candidates — diverse in every way, not just ethnically, racially, and in terms of gender, but also in terms of class — coming out and saying, “We as Democrats have to fight for this and have to make it happen.”

I think that’s the number one issue. It’s a touchstone for a lot of inequalities, but I think when you look at how we’re the wealthiest country on the planet, we’re the only industrialized country that doesn’t have universal health care, we frankly have not only the worst health care of any major industrialized country, but we also have the most expensive health care. We get it coming and going.

Ella Nilsen

As you have been traveling around the state campaigning, I’m particularly interested to ask about the state’s rural/urban divide and what you have seen in upstate New York. Are there similarities between what you’ve seen in New York City [in terms of inequality], and the plight of some of these poorer, rural communities?

Cynthia Nixon

What we have right now is a governor whose first allegiance is to corporations and the super wealthy, and to giving those powerful people who contribute to his campaign a major tax break, and that’s what he’s done. What it’s meant is a tremendous disinvestment in our state, a tremendous disinvestment in our infrastructure and our human service jobs in education and transportation. You name it, he’s cut it.

Certainly one of reasons I’m running is I’m fighting for better and more equal education funding for the past 17 years since my oldest kid entered kindergarten. Our New York school children are owed $4.2 billion that Andrew Cuomo refuses to invest.

Also, a lack of affordable housing. Because of the influence of the real estate industry, we have a government now that constantly sides with corporate developers and landlords rather than with tenants, and New York is becoming more and more unaffordable.

But I also think when you’re talking about economic development and job creation, one of the major failings of this administration is real job creation upstate. And again, it’s because of prioritizing corporations. If we really want to create jobs, we need to invest in minority-owned businesses, we need to invest in community banking. We need to invest in community-driven development, rather than what we’re doing now, which is handing over hundreds of millions of dollars to corporations as payback for political contributions, with little job creation to show.

If we really want to create jobs, we should do it by investing in infrastructure, which is a great job creator for today, but a great investment in our state for tomorrow. And also, I’m a big proponent of a bill we have here in New York — the Climate and Community Protection Act — which holds corporate polluters accountable and raises $7 billion in revenue in the first year alone that we can use to create 100,000-plus good jobs, green jobs, across the state.

If we really want to create jobs, particularly in our communities of color that have really been untouched by recent economic development, this is one of the most important things we can do.

Ella Nilsen

Have you given thought to what the most pressing need is, and what your day one agenda would be if you had to rank all of these issues that you just listed off?

Cynthia Nixon

Sure — I mean, I can tell you there’s a few very concrete things I would do on day one, but almost every change that I would enact has to do with combatting inequality. Racial inequality, economic inequality, gender inequality. Certainly on my first day, and this is something that shocks me that our current governor has not done this yet — by executive order, the governor of New York state can expand access to drivers licenses for undocumented people. And I will do that on day one.

Not having a drivers license and being undocumented, that’s the number one way that ICE [U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement] is able to identify who you are, come tear your family apart, deport you, and turn New York into a police state. If we really care about protecting our immigrants and combatting the Trump agenda, this is something we need to do immediately in New York.

Also, there was a thing in New York — the Moreland Commission — that was doing a great job investigating corruption in Albany, and it got a little too close to Andrew Cuomo and to his top donors and he disbanded it. I would call for a second Moreland Commission that would be fully independent and that would investigate corruption anywhere it saw it or suspected it.

But really, all of the changes that I would fight for an enact would fall under the umbrella of combatting inequality. Certainly, I would fight to legalize marijuana, because it’s a racial justice issue. Eighty percent of the people arrested for marijuana are black and Latino, despite the fact that everyone uses marijuana at the same rate.

I would fight to end cash bail in New York state. We’ve got 25,000 people in New York’s jails on any given day, 70 percent are there because they can’t afford bail — in other words, they’re poor.

I would fight and enact foundation aid, which is something that when Eliot Spitzer was our governor, he was doing. But Andrew Cuomo came in and made a $1.3 billion cut to education the same year he instituted a massive tax break for corporations, banks, and everyone earning over $300,000 per year.

One of the great inequalities in New York state is educational inequality. We have the second most unequal education system in the entire country. New York itself is the most unequal state, and it’s not just because we have Wall Street and so many wealthy people here. We also have such deep poverty. The depth of the poverty I think would really surprise people who haven’t experienced it. We’ve got more than half of the kids in our upstate cities living below the poverty line, and Syracuse has the most concentrate black and Latino poverty of any single city in the entire country. In New York state! One of the wealthiest states in the United States.

This is completely unacceptable, and the only reason we have allowed this poverty not only to exist but to deepen is because of the power of corporations and the wealthy, and because we have a governor without the political will, or frankly, the political interest to do anything about it.

Ella Nilsen

How do you cut through machine politics in a state where machine politics has existed for well over 100 years?

Cynthia Nixon

Well, one of the things we have to understand is we are in a new moment where our voters are so far ahead of our elected leaders — even our Democratic leaders — in calling for change. You galvanize public opinion. The other thing is, we’ve had a governor for the last 7.5 years who has incentivized Democrats to vote with Republicans to give Republicans control of the state Senate.

What that means is Andrea Stewart-Cousins, who will be the first female African-American leader of the state Senate, will be in control come the new year. She, along with me, will fight for the real progressive change that we want in New York and that’s been so long in coming.

It’s not that we don’t want the ability to enact this foundational change, it’s that we have a governor who doesn’t believe in it, and doesn’t want to pay for it, and has spent his career as governor trying to position himself in a centrist enough way to eventually run for president.

He comes from a time, in 2010 when he was elected, when Mitt Romney was going to be the president — that’s what everybody thought, right? But the time for centrism is long past, and we want our Democratic leaders to really be Democrats and really fight for Democratic values.

Everybody will understand, when I unseat Andrew Cuomo, that it’s a new day in Albany and people can get on board, or they can be next. If we can unseat Andrew Cuomo, we can unseat any Albany politician.

Original Source -> Cynthia Nixon: Democrats need to be more than a “gentler, more diverse version” of the GOP

via The Conservative Brief

[robinthebigcity]

To the coffee shop...

Rob leaves his condo to get a coffee. 

He walks by a guy sitting on a leather couch. It’s placed on the sidewalk parallel to the curb. The guy on the couch looks homeless. Rob wonders how the couch got there. 

A motorcycle gang passes Rob. They’re on Kawasaki Ninja motorcycles. One is lime colored. A black handkerchief covers the lower part of the driver’s face.The gang drives by.

There’s a lady sitting on the street near the liquor store. She’s selling Bic ball point pens. She’s sticking her tongue out. Her face looks like dough that’s been pounded in. 

Rob crosses the street. A lady in front of him is on her phone. She’s short and telling someone off 

Rob walks west another block. He turns back. He passes a skateboard gang. High school rich kids. The tallest is wearing polo shirt with a red cartoon heart logo. It’s a new brand. Rob saw their t-shirts the other day selling for over a hundred and twenty dollars.

"Omg, Sarah what did he tell you?" says a lady at the intersection. Rob waits for the light to change. They cross. At the other side of the street, Rob glances over at the lady’s face. He expects her to look like one of his cousins. She doesn’t. Her nose makes her look like the Wicked Witch of the West. 

Rob passes the pen lady again. She looka like a real life gremlin, Rob thinks. 

In front of a Thai restaurant, a man and woman walk towards Rob. The man looks like his husband’s uncle with his box-shaped frame and gray hair. I’m too high. He can’t see me like this. 

Rob walks closer. It’s not him. Good. 

Next, Rob passes a gang. Three on one side and two on the left. 

“I got candy, bro.”

Rob does not answer. 

Rob approaches a coffee shop and looks up from his phone. Is that the guy I hooked up with on Thursday? Rob takes a few steps closer and to the side. It’s not him. This guy's face is more masculine. He has more muscles too.  

Rob’s condo is to the right. 

A guy sits on a wooden deck that extends from the one-story building at the corner of the street. There’s a pop-up store inside. It sells over-priced clothing and a new type of e-cigarette that doesn’t burn the tobacco. The guy on the deck reminds Rob of his brother. He’s on his iPad and rocking back and forth. Rob thinks of his dad praying at synagogue, rocking back and forth. There’s a word for it. Shokeling. But, the guy sitting on the deck is shokeling. He is jittering.

Rob crosses the street and continues to walk. On his left, he passes another coffee shop. It’s still not too late to get the light roast. Bitter coffee was never Rob’s thing. 

Rob does not stop for coffee. He walks and passes a pink sign in a window.Mina, the Tarot Reader and Spell Caster, it reads. 

Rob inhales to smell the air. The Autumn air is chilly and does not have a smell, but there are sounds. The roar of engines. The squeaks and squeals of tires and brakes. Drilling and jack hammering from construction. The fragments of conversation.

“Did you know during World War Two, they got a hold of my grandma?” says a person to Rob’s left. He’s standing in front of a sushi shop that closed a month ago. That was after they changed management. The place was never the same. The guy the man's speaking to looks just like him. They both have shaved heads. They’re skin heads and too old for the look. They’re at least ten years older than Rob.

Rob passes a girl wearing black cat ears and a cheetah-print sheer robe. She looks young enough to be in high school. Beside her, there are a few guys and girls her age. Street kids.

Rob keeps on walking and crosses the street. There used to be a record store at the north west corner. Now, there’s just sun in his eyes and a couple walking behind him. They’re too close. 

“Yeah, why did he do it?” says the guy. The sun is still in Rob’s eyes. The couple passes him. Rob expected them to be white. They're Asian. 

Rob walks by the psychic. She's parked a desk in front of where a clothing store used to be. It was owned by the parents of a girl from Rob's high school class. Now, it’s for rent.  

The psychic looks Jamaican with her white dread locks. She looks young for her age too. Rob guesses she is in her early seventies. It’s the wrinkles around her eyes that give her away. The lady she is talking to is eating it all up. 

Rob once wanted the psychic to read his fortune. He had a question. “Will I find a job?”

Rob keeps on walking and hears a singer. Rob looks up from his phone to look at him. He’s playing an electric piano. He was not as good as the guy from the day before. Rob had mentioned to his husband that he had a really good voice. They still did not stop to listen. 

Rob turns left and walks back in the direction of home. 

There’s a green Dollarama sign across the street to Rob’s left. It reminds him of his husband. He likes to shop there. Rob resists the urge to call or text him.

A kid no older than sixteen is wearing a vacuum cleaner pack on his back. He’s with a group. An older woman and two other young children. His mother and siblings.

The kid’s golf shirt is blue and he's wearing khaki shirts. They make him look like he’s a cleaner. The thick yellow extension cord he has rolled up and attached to the side of his pants adds to the look.

The boys family must have bought a vacuum from the vacuum store close by. It must be used. It’s not in a box. One of the younger children is carrying its nozzle.

Rob continues his walk. A  guy leaning on a hydro pole spits on the round in front of Rob. Two more feet forward and the spit would have hit him. Rob looks at the guy again. He’s wearing a blue baseball hat turned backward. He’s muscular. Rob wouldn’t say no to sex with him.

Rob passes his place. Two statutes stand on either side of its front entrance. They face each other. Both are heads. Half blue and half checkered with black and white horizontal lines. One statue doesn’t have a face. Rob doesn’t know why. The artist is supposed to be famous in another country. 

He could have at least decorated the statues with gemstones. That’s how you design luxury. They look like a sex toy. When he gets home, Rob looks the name of the sex toy up. Clitoral massage wands. 

Rob walks past another coffee shop. Then, a pizza shop. Rob ate pizza last night. His husband ordered in at one in the morning. Pepperoni. It was the cheapest choice. Rob peeled off the cheese. It was too oily. He sprinkled on Parmesan from the fridge. 

The pizza tasted dry. Is it the tomato sauce or the Parmesan? Rob couldn’t figure it out. He still ate all three of his pieces. Rob and his husband were high. Rob bought a haze from the store next door the day before.

Rob walks back in the direction of his place. He's been typing his entire walk. He puts his phone in his pocket and takes a break.

Rob takes his phone out again. He is ordering from Lettie at the coffee shop beside his dentist. “Lettie” is what her name tag says. Rob reads the tag twice. Lettie is not an everyday name. 

"Did you used to come here a lot?" Lettie asks.

Not really, Rob thinks to himself.  

"A little bit and I live near here. So I walk by a lot.”

"Probably. I'm just really good with faces." 

Lettie smiles. Her cheeks or blushed. Either she’s blushing or wearing too much makeup. Rob cannot tell. 

“I sometimes see a person on the subway once and then think that I’ve met them if I see them again.”

Rob forces a laugh and walks to the sidebar to wait for his drink.

"Blonde non-fat hazelnut latte."

Rob takes the drink from the server’s hand. He looks at the white foam on top of the latte before covering it with a lid. 

Rob turns around. There’s a customer sitting at the window bar on his laptop. He’s barefoot.

Rob sits beside the guy. He sips his latte. It's sweet. Rob thinks that he would have liked a large light roasted coffee more, but he wanted to treat himself to something more expensive. 

Rob’s phone vibrates. His sister’s name flashes on the screen. Rob ignores the call. He knows what his sister wants. She should know better. They never get along on vacations when it’s just the two of them. Rob likes to drink and party on vacations.

Rob sips the rest of his latte. A gay couple passes him by. They have white beards and are bald. They hold hands. They look at each other and smile. 

Rob puts his phone away.