I've meal prepped in the past when i only had one roommate and it worked great, now i have the worst time fitting just normal groceries in the refrigerator... I eat 5-6 meals a day. how am i supposed to prep for the week without literally taking over the fridge??
I'm 22, 5'9" 145 lbs, trying to maintain weight in the process of building muscle/losing fat, so i take in a lot of protein and green veggies.
Was a pretty laid back summer this year, had a legal internship and player a lot of destiny. But I decided to get a bit craft and make an awesome refrigerator magnet.see here
I am a computer engineering student at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. I was accepted a few months ago into the program through a transfer program at a community college. I in fact still have my acceptance letter on my refrigerator. However that's not really what this post is about, something completely awesome happened to me that has pretty much secured my future as a computer engineer.
Back at my parents' house, one of the neighbors is an Atmospheric Science professor at the U of I and he's known me ever since I was but a little boy. A few months back during the summer, my mom asked me if I wanted to go to this charity fundraiser she had bought tickets for. The fundraiser was an auction/food/alcohol/barn dance sort of thing held at a large crop farm with lots of expensive farming equipment and really fancy and clean heavy equipment hangar. I agreed to go. Said neighbor was at the same fundraiser and we started talking about various things, computers, science, projects he's working on etc. He told me he was looking for some ECE students to help him with this big new NASA funded project he'll be working on and realizing that I was an ECE student gave me his number and said to call him so we could talk more about the position.
A few weeks pass and I go to his house and talk about the kinds of things that would be expected of me and it seems like we both agree that my current skill levels would be a good foundation for the position. After a few months of him battling with HR to get the hourly position approved, his colleague emailed me asking me to write a C program to solve a downsampling problem with a large matrix. I wrote the program and sent it to him, he and my neighbor were so impressed with the quality of it that they offered me the position without ever officially interviewing me.
Now I'm working on a NASA funded project called the Terra Data Fusion project which is creating a product that consolidates scientific data from 5 different weather instruments all residing on the Terra satellite spacecraft. The final project will be a little over a petabyte of data. Because there is so much information, we need to use a supercomputer to process it and repackage it. Turns out, my neighbor (now boss) is a Blue Waters supercomputer professor, and he recently gave me access to the UIUC in-house Blue Waters supercomputer, the largest supercomputer housed at an academic facility. I now have this RSA token key that allows me to connect to the computer through SSH. In a school of many thousands of undergrad students, I'm one of only a handful that have access to it. I'm VERY honored and grateful.
Basically, none of this would have happened if I said "no" to going to the fundraiser.
Lessons I've learned:
tl;dr Was accepted to the school of my dreams, got a job as a student hourly worker processing weather satellite data, have access to largest academic supercomputer in the world.
499.
What are the three steps to putting an elephant in a refrigerator?
Open fridge, put an elephant in, close fridge.
What are the four steps to putting a giraffe in a fridge?
Open fridge, take elephant out, put giraffe in, close fridge.
The lion king is having a birthday party. All the animals attend but one. Which animal is it and why?
The giraffe because he's stuck in the fridge.
Sally wants to cross an alligator infested river. There is no bridge and the only way she can get across is by swimming. She swims across and makes it to the other side safely, how?
The alligators are all at the birthday party.
Sally dies anyways. Why?
She got hit in the head by a flying brick.
Vintage GE Fridge / Icebox which probably dates from the 1930s or 40s. Amazingly, it still works with the original motor. I am cleaning out my grandparents basement and this item is looking for a new home. Height. 65.5" Width. 34.25" Depth 27.5 * [...]
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Approx. 14.5 cubic feet. Top freezer, 'bisque' color. Works. 4th floor walkup (no stoop/exterior stairs), For $25 I can help carry down, otherwise you will need at least two people to get it. Afternoons best for pickup. Park Slope.
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We are giving away a super cool 1950s fridge. It's white with some wear and tear, and we are not sure if it's in working condition as it was only used as a piece of set decoration. We cleaned up the outside and inside so it looks great on camera (and [...]
from Craigslist http://ift.tt/2cceYyB
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Okay so first of all this is a throwaway account. Just so you know.
There are a few kids I watch ages 2 and 4, both girls. Okay so my in opinion the TV is a wonderful invention. If I have to run to the bathroom or check my phone I simply put on Nick Jr and Kaboom! No little kids pounding on the bathroom door and trying to put their grubby fingers on my phone. Unfortunately something is definitely effing with me, although technically I guess this could be classified as a glitch.
Fast forward. The 4 year old (Let's call her Mary) was screaming and throwing a tantrum because I refused to give her candy before lunch (as the parents requested. They said NO candy.) So I put on the TV for the two year old who was dozing on the couch, and put the remote control on the kitchen counter. I carry Miss Screaming Four Year Old upstairs for a timeout in her room and shut the door.
I come back downstairs to turn on the cartoon channel and the remote is gone. Mind you, these kids live in a 1200 sq ft. townhome and there is nowhere for the black remote to hide on the white countertops. I asked the two year old (who walks, talks and is potty trained) if she took it.
She shakes her head sleepily and continues to stare at the TV. I am also fully aware that two year olds are not tall enough to reach kitchen counters and besides, I was literally carrying Mary with one hand and setting down the remote with the other so I know SHE didn't take it.
Like a madwoman, I comb the kitchen and turn the house upside down looking for this goshdarn remote. The first thing the parents do is plop down in front of the TV when they get home so what exactly am I supposed to tell them? After spending an hour and a half searching (I made them lunch, let them play and run around as usual, but every spare instance I would continue searching) I still couldn't find it.
It got to the point where I started checking weird places like the refrigerator and the silverware drawer. At one point I'm pretty sure I checked the bathroom too. I check Mary's room in case it was somehow up there but it wasn't.
The parents come home, I tell them I lost the remote and they honestly don't seem too surprised. They say it's fine, they think it will turn up so I go home.
The following week I go to watch the kiddies again and ask the parents if they have ever found the remote. They say "Mary found it." I ask her where and she replies "I found it in my toy chest."
WTF
Homemade barbecue sauce and sweet pineapple chunks bring a big punch of flavor to this grilled chicken salad. Topped with a sweet and sour salad dressing made with pineapple juice and apple cider vinegar, this salad packs a ton of flavor and a lot of veggies.
The list of ingredients to make a homemade BBQ sauce is long, but don’t let that deter you from making the sauce. Skip the refined sugars, preservatives and who-knows-what-else in those store-bought BBQ sauces, and slather your own on the grilled chicken in this recipe. Think ahead: make a big batch and store the leftover BBQ sauce in small jars in your freezer. Remove a jar from the freezer and place in the refrigerator to use when you’re ready for a new jar.
If you have Paleo kids or someone with a sweet tooth, this would be a good recipe to serve because the pineapple chunks and BBQ sauce add sweetness without a ton of added sugar. If you make more salad than you can eat, enjoy the big chunks of grilled, caramelized pineapple and chicken the next day for leftovers!
Ingredients
2 chicken breasts, boneless, skinless; 1/2 cup Paleo barbecue sauce; 1 pineapple, thickly sliced 6 cups mixed greens; 1 red onion, sliced; 1/2 cup grape tomatoes, halved; 1/4 cup pineapple juice; 2 tbsp. apple cider vinegar; 1/4 cup olive oil; Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper;
** Preparation **
Preheat grill to medium-high heat. Season the chicken breasts and grill the chicken until no longer pink, about 8 minutes per side. Liberally brush the barbecue sauce over the chicken, and cook for another 2 to 4 minutes per side. Remove from heat and let rest. Grill the pineapple 2 to 3 minutes per side, then set aside. Slice the chicken and pineapple into bite-sized pieces. In a salad bowl, gently toss the pineapple, chicken, mixed greens, red onion and grape tomatoes together. In a dressing jar, combine the pineapple juice, apple cider vinegar, olive oil, and season to taste. Drizzle the dressing over the salad, toss gently, and serve.
I made homemade salsa fr canning and didn't have time to can right away. It has added vinegar for acidity. How long will it keep in the refrigerator safely to can?
I previously posted about buying a TH in the Parkside development in NE. We got our conditional approval last night, so I'm hoping everything is almost complete!
With that in mind, the kitchen has a full suite of black, brand new GE appliances that we'll be replacing with SS ones. Anyone have a good idea if there's a place other than CL that buys appliances? I plan to list them on CL anyways, but I'd like to have alternatives.
It's a refrigerator, dishwasher, 2 wall ovens, cooktop, and microwave, with the tags still inside lol.
I'd come home Friday evening and there she'd be, nursing a joint, dressed in a black lace corset and thread-thin stilettos, dancing around to a Pink Floyd album while she set the table. Since the third grade, I'd been madly in love with Annie, and finally succeeded in winning her heart freshman year at community college by some random act of God. We became inseparable, like two halves of a whole. Our weekends were often spent getting high, indulging in her impeccable cooking, then drinking whiskey from the bottle and fucking until we passed out. Monday morning would arrive and off she'd go to sell insurance policies to cookie cutter suburbanites as I waited for them to return to their own desk jobs where they'd call me in IT to advise them, "turn it off and on again." We lived as rockstars on our free time and become respectable citizens at the command of an alarm clock. If millennial relationships were an Olympic sport, we'd bring home the gold. I knew how lucky I was to have Annie. Everything you've ever wished your significant other would be, she was that and more. Always down for an adventure, drop dead gorgeous, and financially successful at only 26; I did my damnedest to keep that girl in love. Two months ago, Annie seemed tired and irritable, very unlike her usual easygoing self. Our two year anniversary was coming up and I had to make it incredible, get that spark back. I took off that Friday and ran around town gathering her favorite records, chocolates, and flowers. I even cleared out the liquor stores of Viniq, something we both found too sweet but loved when we were on shrooms. She said it felt like we were drinking in the universe. My last stop was at a cocktail bar my high school best friend, turned drug dealer, frequented. Sean had always been a quiet, reserved guy, and I was confused when I saw him waving me over to his table excitedly, grinning. "You requested something special and, man, I've got you covered. Annie is going to worship you forever after this." I frowned and shook my head, "what is it? Bath salts? People are eating faces on that gear. I'll just take the usual, shrooms and few of those acid sour patch kids." I'd known Sean for years, prone to dipping into his own honey pot too often left him a little out of touch. "No, not bath salts! Come on, I'd never do that to you. No, man, this is better. This is brand new." He said, opening his wallet and retrieving a thimble sized glass vial containing an syringe and a shimmering pinkish liquid. "It's called Delerium. Trip like LSD on steroids, without the paranoid, and an ecstasy that shames Ecstasy. This is government shit, experimental, fresh out of the underground shit." There it was; why are drugs prone to making conspiracy theorists out of junkies? "Well, like I said, sticking with what I know." "I sound crazy, hear me out. This shit runs two hundred, but I'll give it to you for one fifty." He spoke over my burst of laughter. "If you and Annie take this together, she'll be indebted to you, the man who gifted her with an other worldly high. One hundred percent satisfaction guaranteed, or your money back." He was obviously fried, but he wasn't a con. I thought of Annie and her early nights, brushing me away when I tried to touch her, and handed over the cash before I could change my mind. I took the vial and turned to leave, "lay off the hard stuff, okay?" Sean stopped me when a firm grasp on my shoulder. He leaned in close and whispered, "I've got to warn you though, it's the right thing to do. My supplier says this shit was engineered for population control. All you need is one drop on the back of your neck, but for every drop you lose nine days of your life. There's a little over 40 or so drops in there, less than a year for each of you, and that's not much really." "Is it heroine? Are you back on heroine?" I pushed him away from me lightly. "Please, ease up. You're fucking losing it. 9 days to a drop? Government experiments?" I'd grown tired of humoring him. "I was just being straight with you, maybe you want all your years." He called as I walked out.
Annie didn't even question what the stuff was, just took punched my arm, and told me to stop being such a pussy. The excited looks in her eyes was all I needed to convince me.
The ridiculous description Sean gave Delirium was nothing compared to what it really offered.
We couldn't keep our hands off of each other and we actually tore the clothes from our bodies. It was excruciating to be apart from her, and so pleasurable on contact that I couldn't stop shaking. Colors took on new shades of unimaginable vibrancy, turning ordinary objects into radiant treasures. Every sound was entirely alien, taking on an ethereal magnificence that left us with our ears pressed against the refrigerator door each time the ice maker would switch on. We were giddy, pleasure overloaded, wild creatures. Annie said she loved me over and over again until it was a chant she could not keep from repeating. By Monday, we'd finished the entire bottle between us. Her screams woke me. Blood soaked the bed sheets through her pajamas. I tried not to panic as she sobbed, sweat pouring from her forehead from a fever I could feel without touching her. I lifted her into my arms and took her to the kitchen where I soaked washcloths in cold water and layer them over her. She writhed in agony on the linoleum floor as I dialed 911. On the rise in the ambulance I thought of Sean, the bastard. He'd probably gotten fucked up and mixed together some concoction of whatever was under his sink, delusions of government experiments replacing realty. I'd kill him. The nurses kept me confined to the waiting room for hours while the doctors worked to stabilize Annie. I'd left Sean dozens of threatening voicemails and texts by the time an white haired man in dark green scrubs approached me. "Mr. Harris, your girlfriend seems to have suffered an infection caused by intrauterine death. Why did you not bring her in sooner? This could have been prevented." He glared at me, tight lines pulling at his mouth. I shook my head. "A what? What are you talking about." "Ms. Parker was pregnant, probably about 18 weeks along. But the fetus died in her womb, still it would've over two taken weeks after to develop this kind of infection." He sighed. "She had to have been gravely ill. Vomiting, bleeding, fever, excruciating stomach pains. Why the hell did you wait so long?" "I didn't know." I said. "She would've told me, she wouldn't keep it from me." The doctor went on, but my mind was racing. Sean, Delirium, a baby, my baby, my Annie.
40 drops, at 9 days each. 20 drops for her, 20 for me. 180 days a piece. 25 weeks. 25 weeks in two days. All that partying, she wouldn't have even shown. "She didn't know," I whispered, "she wasn't hiding it. This is my fault, this is my fucking fault. Please let me see her, please let me see Annie." I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Mr. Harris, I'm sorry," he managed to answer, trying to loosen my grip as my weight slumped against him. "The infection had already taken hold, she didn't make it." He freed himself and left me on the ground, the blame he placed on me more deserving than he could realize. I lost her.
That morning I searched for Sean, but no one has seen him since we'd last met. I looked for months and never found him. Maybe I'm supposed to wrap this up with some kind of big finish, but I don't have one. I lost the love of my life to something unknown. I didn't know who else to tell. I'm sorry. Just, be careful, I guess.
So we have just moved into a new flat and unfortunately there is a bunch of waste and shit (empty bottles, broken refrigerator, crates), on the balcony. We don't have a car and have no idea how to get rid of it. Is there a service we can pay to come and take it away? Thanks :)
Hello – My wife and I are working on updating our house (purchased in April) and are currently stuck in the kitchen. We’ve started refinishing the cabinets (sanding/painting), ripped out the original (cracked and failing) tile floor, but we need to get our final footprint nailed down before we do much else. There is a lot of space to work with, but we haven’t found a plan that felt 100% right for the space.
The main issues we would like to address: Cook-top – I am not a big fan of the downdraft ventilation and also the constricted space on the right side burners due to the cabinet for the wall oven. Optimally, we would ditch the downdraft ventilation and go with a hood. The question is if we leave it in the current spot and deal with the tight access on the right side, or if we 1) move the cook-top to the new island and put in a hood over the island or 2) take out the wall oven/microwave area, add a hood and put in a range (oven/stove) with a small segment of counter between the range and the refrigerator.
Island – We would like to build a large rectangle island (all one height) for additional storage and also to possibly incorporate the eating area and get rid of the table in the “eating” portion of the room. Any “must have” ideas you would suggest for a new island? Any alternative shapes you would suggest? 2 islands vs. 1 due to the size of the space? The flooring in the kitchen is currently just subfloor, so it would be the time to run conduit/high voltage power for a cook-top/water and drain for prep sink/etc. although that also means $$$$.
We are located in the USA. We do a lot of DIY.
The overall room dimension area 24’ * 16.5’ (Kitchen + eating area). Under the kitchen is a finished basement. http://ift.tt/2c3i1dl
The current island is abnormally shaped, but approximately 8’x4’ http://ift.tt/2cdl8S0
Long side of the L counter-top from end to corner = 13’ Short side of the L = 47” (Mostly taken up by the cook-top) http://ift.tt/2c3j25f
Hello – My wife and I are working on updating our house (purchased in April) and are currently stuck in the kitchen. We’ve started refinishing the cabinets (sanding/painting), ripped out the original (cracked and failing) tile floor, but we need to get our final footprint nailed down before we do much else. There is a lot of space to work with, but we haven’t found a plan that felt 100% right for the space.
The main issues we would like to address: Cook-top – I am not a big fan of the downdraft ventilation and also the constricted space on the right side burners due to the cabinet for the wall oven. Optimally, we would ditch the downdraft ventilation and go with a hood. The question is if we leave it in the current spot and deal with the tight access on the right side, or if we 1) move the cooktop to the new island and put in a hood over the island or 2) take out the wall oven/microwave area, add a hood and put in a range (oven/stove) with a small segment of counter between the range and the refrigerator.
Island – We would like to build a large rectangle island (all one height) for additional storage and also to possibly incorporate the eating area and get rid of the table in the “eating” portion of the room. Any “must have” ideas you would suggest for a new island? Any alternative shapes you would suggest? 2 islands vs. 1 due to the size of the space? The flooring in the kitchen is currently just subfloor, so it would be the time to run conduit/high voltage power for a cooktop/water and drain for prep sink/etc. although that also means $$$$.
We are located in the USA. We do a lot of DIY.
The overall room dimension area 24’ * 16.5’ (Kitchen + eating area). Under the kitchen is a finished basement. http://ift.tt/2c3i1dl
The current island is abnormally shaped, but approximately 8’x4’ http://ift.tt/2cdl8S0
Long side of the L counter-top from end to corner = 13’ Short side of the L = 47” (Mostly taken up by the cook-top) http://ift.tt/2c3j25f
Hello – My wife and I are working on updating our house (purchased in April) and are currently stuck in the kitchen. We’ve started refinishing the cabinets (sanding/painting), ripped out the original (cracked and failing) tile floor, but we need to get our final footprint nailed down before we do much else. There is a lot of space to work with, but we haven’t found a plan that felt 100% right for the space.
The main issues we would like to address: Cook-top – I am not a big fan of the downdraft ventilation and also the constricted space on the right side burners due to the cabinet for the wall oven. Optimally, we would ditch the downdraft ventilation and go with a hood. The question is if we leave it in the current spot and deal with the tight access on the right side, or if we 1) move the cook-top to the new island and put in a hood over the island or 2) take out the wall oven/microwave area, add a hood and put in a range (oven/stove) with a small segment of counter between the range and the refrigerator.
Island – We would like to build a large rectangle island (all one height) for additional storage and also to possibly incorporate the eating area and get rid of the table in the “eating” portion of the room. Any “must have” ideas you would suggest for a new island? Any alternative shapes you would suggest? 2 islands vs. 1 due to the size of the space? The flooring in the kitchen is currently just subfloor, so it would be the time to run conduit/high voltage power for a cook-top/water and drain for prep sink/etc. although that also means $$$$.
We are located in the USA. We do a lot of DIY.
The overall room dimension area 24’ * 16.5’ (Kitchen + eating area). Under the kitchen is a finished basement. http://ift.tt/2c3i1dl
The current island is abnormally shaped, but approximately 8’x4’ http://ift.tt/2cdl8S0
Long side of the L counter-top from end to corner = 13’ Short side of the L = 47” (Mostly taken up by the cook-top) http://ift.tt/2c3j25f
I have some old refrigerators, metal safe box air-conditions and a tv for scrap if interesting please call between 8 am and 3 pm to arrange pick-up show contact info
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Hi everyone!
I'm starting up a mobile espresso bar out of a Citroen HY! It's an old French van.
Anyway, I'm trying my damdest to get this thing running without using a generator. So I've been looking into battery banks. Quite pricey, but should pay for itself vs. a generator all day, and they are so noisy it would likely ruin business anyway.
Power Requirements
Based off 2 hours busy 4 hours slow [6HD]
| Product | Draw | Peak Hourly | Off Peak | KWH/6HD | AH/6HD |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Espresso Machine | 5000 | 1000 | 500 | 4.00 | 350 |
| Coffee Machine | 1350 | -750 | --0 | 1.35 | 110 |
| Refrigerator | 600 | -300 | 150 | 1.20 | 100 |
| Electronics | 50 | --25 | -25 | 0.15 | -12 |
| Water Pump | 100 | --50 | -25 | 0.20 | -15 |
| Extra | |||||
| Totals | 7,100 | 2,125 | 700 | 6.90 | 587 |
I did a little bit of rounding, especially on the AH to simplify it. Tried to go over on some and under on others to balance it.
I could also be completely wrong on the espresso power requirements, but nobody, and I mean nobody will give me the average wattage usage of their machines during peak usage. Even spoke directly with espresso machine engineers. Their response was 'well, we really don't go out of our way to figure that stuff out? Nobody needs it so we don't do testing for it.' I will make sure to blast the info everywhere though.
There was one, and I mean one test I found online for a professional 2/3 group espresso machine with a 4000 watt boiler. It was taking about 800 watts per hour during peak. So I rounded up.
It would be nice to setup a system with LiFePO batteries for this so I don't have to use a generator. I was thinking about getting around 1000 AH worth of batteries to be on the safe side. Also set it up so I can expand. I really don't have the funds to do some crazy 4000 AH lithium bank for starters, so I'll be doing shorter days until then.
I did find these Large capacity lithium cell LiFePO4/LiFeYPO4 - 3.2V/1000Ah
and I'm a little confused. 1300 for 1000 AH of LiFeYPO4 batteries seems too good to be true. Are these batteries not good for my application?
After some reading a few people said that CALB are the best to buy.
GWL/Power CALB CA180FI - Lithium Cell LiFePO4 (3.2V/180Ah)
I also need to figure out the way to connect everything up. My espresso machine is probably going to be 220. Same with the coffee machine. The rest is 110.
Inverter/Charger
Thinking 8000 total is what I need, but don't know if they can be ran as 2 4000 watt or has to be one.
I found the AIMS power pure sine inverter charger, but it's ridiculously expensive. Is this my only option?
What else do I need? Battery monitors, dc-ac, shut off switch, charge controller... That's also something I'm trying to figure out too. Mainly so I can get a good idea of pricing for this whole thing.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4jMin2Xqqw
I found this video that actually has an electric citroen HY, even using flexible solar panels... that seems like it might be a waste though. 100 watt max draw, and probably only works for a few hours a day. I'd probably only be able to fit about 4 of those on the roof...
Holy crap this is way too long of a post. Sorry.
Lots of wire, heavy steel, aluminum door, metal pipes, etc. in the front yard. Please do not take the yard stuff on the side of the driveway, but you will see lots of metal. There is also a lot of very good wood pieces: preserved wood, cedar fence s [...]
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People are naming food in the break room refrigerator. Today I ate a sandwich named "Kevin".
Lots of wire, heavy steel, aluminum door, metal pipes, etc. in the front yard. Please do not take the yard stuff on the side of the driveway, but you will see lots of metal. There is also a lot of very good wood pieces: preserved wood, cedar fence s [...]
from Craigslist http://ift.tt/2bTWELZ
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I am outfitting a room with a private bath and want to offer a very basic food area. Appliance-wise it will include a coffee maker, a compact refrigerator, and either a microwave or a toaster oven. Place your votes! Thank you.
Bought new from Lowe's 2 years ago for ~$800. Hasn't seen much wear as we eat out WAY too much and have no kids.
No dings, scratches etc.
Includes the optional ice maker, but it can be removed very easily if you don't plan to use it.
Not this exact model as this is it's replacement, but looks identical and dimensions appear to be the same.
I am outfitting a room with a private bath and want to offer a very basic food area. Appliance-wise it will include a coffee maker, a compact refrigerator, and either a microwave or a toaster oven. Place your votes! Thank you.
As the post says, I messed up some chocolate chip cookies, and my SO loved them. I texted him that I made the cookies, but they weren't quite right. I left the house for a couple hours, and when I came home, he ate ALL the cookies and even dug some out of the garbage that I threw away. (And made it clear I should never throw away cookies ever again)
I've used the same recipe for my chocolate chip cookies (below) dozens of times. They come out thick, soft and chewy without fail. This time they came out thin and chewy, and they were crinkly around the edges. After I made the dough I noticed it was very wet and runny, but I decided I would bake them anyway. When I put them in the oven, the dough started to spread right away, so I ended up taking them out of the oven about 6 minutes early. I'm a novice baker, so I'm not sure where to troubleshoot. My first thought was maybe I didn't measure out the flour correctly. Here's the recipe I use.
Ingredients
Instructions
If anybody has any other cookie tips for somebody who doesn't bake often, that would be swell.
Hello, I bought a couple spawn bags online (now before anyone tells me I can make them at home cheaper, I know. I just prefer this method for my own reasons) and inoculated them almost three weeks ago. I used old syringes that I've had for a little under six months. I kept them in the refrigerator. Anyway, nothing happened and I was wondering if it would be safe to use the same bags over again with a new syringe. The bags show no signs of contam. It seems like it would work
Free fridge. You must pick it up. Works, old and needs a good cleaning. Or can be used for parts.
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So here's the story. There's a Mexican family shopping the front denim table in mens which is like diagonally backwards from register 2, which I was on. So the parents are shopping that table and their 2 sons, like a 2 year old toddle and a 4/5 year old brother, are messing around with the refrigerators near the front and I can't see them but I see the door opening and closing a bunch. It's good to note that at this point I wasn't aware of the toddler. I had only noticed his brother because the kid was licking a vitamin water bottle and walking in circles around a jewelry stand and I was laughing my ass off. Okay, so anyways the kid stops licking the bottle and goes back to the fridge, whatever, I keep doing my thing at my register. After like 2 mins of this kid fucking w the fridge he walked back over to the jewelry stands and was chillin by his parents, but he left the fridge wide open. No biggie. I waited like 15 seconds to see if he'd come back but he was doing kid shit so I got up from what I was doing and went to close the door. So I walk up to the fridge, and it's a blind angle. to me I just see the door wide open but can't actually see the front of the fridge. Also the door has the like frosty cover brand advertisement on it, I think it's coke, so you can't really see throught it. So I push the door closed from behind the fridge, like not hard, but decent enough to close it lol, and as I take another step forward in my peripheral I barely see the build of a toddler and I'm just immediately thinking "oh fuck no I'm about to kill a toddler" but it's too late. The door is making contact with the back of his head and I hear him just start fucking wailing! Like that was a decent blow for a kid of that age, I'm glad his dad didn't actually witness it, just the screams. So he turns around, and he's a decently built, hardworking looking man of about 30 and I start thinking fuuuck this dude is gonna get in my face and try to fight me, (like I just read another story about this same type of shit on Reddit the other day) but he actually turns out to be the chillest man ever and keeps completely cool. He immediately says it's his fault he had his back turned and wasn't watching his sons, and I'm just apologizing a million fucking times to this guy and shaking his hand and shit. I felt soooo bad lmao. So after that I go back to my register and have 2 or 3 customers, but then the same family comes through MY line. Annnnd with about $550 worth of clothes... So it was a pretty long transaction that I had to make small talk with a guy about a mix of how I just hit his kid with a refrigerator door, and about how his day was going! and while this is going on the kid is sniffling and still crying a little bit and looking at me like I'm the biggest asshole in the universe, which is totally fair. The dad keeps reassuring me everything is totally fine and he's not mad at all, and I just keep saying thank you. So we always have to do our schpeal( is that how you spell that?) for our store cards. Goes something "save 15% today and 10% for the next 2 months", and I wasn't gonna do it cause I don't normally like doing it since most people brush it off, but it really was a fat purchase and we didn't have any coupons going on that I could hook him up with so I told him it really would be a lot of money he could save today, and I already had 2 today so why not shoot for a 3rd. He asked if he could cancel the card after he payed it off and I told him yes, just call in. So he went for it.. And in my head I was fucking speechless because the amount of credit cards we get is one of the few performance indicators managers have of employees, so I'm sitting here thinking "I just made this mans kid bawl his eyes out, then got him to apply for a credit card, which in they eyes of my managers means I'm doing a good job.. for injuring children...woww. Anyways the dude ends up not getting accepted for the card, and I felt better, cause those cards can fuck some ppl if they're not on top of payments. So he just paid normally and they went on their way. The entire time I was alone at the registers and I'm so glad it was slow and nobody else was up there. So yeah that's my story about how I hit a kid then got his dad to apply for a credit card.
TL;DR: read that shit it's funny
Thank you so much
So I’ve done my research and am just about ready to jump into this project…however I want to ping you guys for some last minute advice/answers to a few questions before I begin. I’ve bolded my questions since this post ended up way longer than necessary.
My goal here is a 2 tap Kegerator. I chose Kegerator over Keezer because I live in a small apartment and this will be in my living room so keeping this thing as small as possible is a high priority.
--Parts List-- Items I’ve already obtained-- (5lb Co2 tank, Taprite dual body regulator, 1 5gal corny keg, 1 Perlick 630SS with SS gooseneck shank, 12ft Ultra Barrier Silver beer line, PC fan wired to a DC adapter, Eva dry-E500 dehumidifier, drip tray, STC-1000) Items that I need to buy-- (Mini Fridge, Tower-this is the one I plan on buying http://ift.tt/2bN0GpQ, 1 5gal corny keg, 1 Perlick 630SS with SS gooseneck shank, 12ft of Ultra Barrier Silver beer line, Gas hose and Quick Disconnects for both gas and liquid…debating if I should get John Guest fittings, white marker board to line the inside fridge door, clear silicone sealant, waterproof aluminum tape, 1” copper pipe to cool tower, screws/washers/nuts to mount tower, plastic cutting board to mount tower securely.)
--Tools needed-- Hole saw (bit size?), dremel (certain cutting bit needed?), circular saw, drill.
Mini Fridge- I’ve narrowed my search down to these 2 fridges… Danby DAR044A4BDD Compact All Refrigerator, 4.4 Cubic Feet, Black- $170 on Amazon, http://ift.tt/2c5chPm Danby DAR044A6BSLDB 4.4cu All Refrigerator, Stainless Steel- $150 at Costco. I need to choose between these 2…as far as I can tell they are pretty much identical and the only difference is color and the Costco one is $20 cheaper?
Process- Once the fridge is obtained I will use a dremel to remove the plastic interior lining of the door to free up space and will line it with the whiteboard/seal it with the aluminum tape. I do not yet know if I will also dremel off the plastic side shelf supports on the inside of the fridge for more room? Then I will use the hole saw to punch the hole in the top of the fridge in the rear center to avoid any wires. I’ve seen people go with anywhere from a 1-1/8” to 2-1/8” size hole…I’m shooting for 2”. Any idea if a specific hole size is more desirable?
After that I will secure the tower to the fridge with a plastic cutting board on the inside to stabilize it. I will most likely install a 1” copper pipe in the tower leading into the fridge to help with cooling. From there I will install the faucets, shanks, beer/gas lines and should be pretty much good to go. I also will be plugging the fridge into an external temp controller to monitor the temperature.
Another thing I’m questioning is if I should get MFL fitted quick disconnects alongside John Guest fittings…Is this a worthwhile upgrade from the standard barb/clamp fittings?
Anything I’m missing? Tips before I begin? Concerns? Thanks for reading this and for any advice!
A few days ago I thought out some frozen chicken in cold water in the refrigerator. I only used about one-fourth of it. The rest of it has sat in the water for the past 3 days. Is it still safe to use or should I throw it out?
Has anyone used a lush fresh face mask past their expiration date? Is it still safe/effective? They expire rather quickly and I still have 3 unopened tubs in my refrigerator. I use "don't look at me" to be more specific.
So I’ve done my research and am just about ready to jump into this project…however I want to ping you guys for some last minute advice/answers to a few questions before I begin. I’ve bolded my questions since this post ended up way longer than necessary.
My goal here is a 2 tap Kegerator. I chose Kegerator over Keezer because I live in a small apartment and this will be in my living room so keeping this thing as small as possible is a high priority.
--Parts List-- Items I’ve already obtained-- (5lb Co2 tank, Taprite dual body regulator, 1 5gal corny keg, 1 Perlick 630SS with SS gooseneck shank, 12ft Ultra Barrier Silver beer line, PC fan wired to a DC adapter, Eva dry-E500 dehumidifier, drip tray, STC-1000) Items that I need to buy-- (Mini Fridge, Tower-this is the one I plan on buying http://ift.tt/2bN0GpQ, 1 5gal corny keg, 1 Perlick 630SS with SS gooseneck shank, 12ft of Ultra Barrier Silver beer line, Gas hose and Quick Disconnects for both gas and liquid…debating if I should get John Guest fittings, white marker board to line the inside fridge door, clear silicone sealant, waterproof aluminum tape, 1” copper pipe to cool tower, screws/washers/nuts to mount tower, plastic cutting board to mount tower securely.)
--Tools needed-- Hole saw (bit size?), dremel (certain cutting bit needed?), circular saw, drill.
Mini Fridge- I’ve narrowed my search down to these 2 fridges… Danby DAR044A4BDD Compact All Refrigerator, 4.4 Cubic Feet, Black- $170 on Amazon, http://ift.tt/2c5chPm Danby DAR044A6BSLDB 4.4cu All Refrigerator, Stainless Steel- $150 at Costco. I need to choose between these 2…as far as I can tell they are pretty much identical and the only difference is color and the Costco one is $20 cheaper?
Process- Once the fridge is obtained I will use a dremel to remove the plastic interior lining of the door to free up space and will line it with the whiteboard/seal it with the aluminum tape. I do not yet know if I will also dremel off the plastic side shelf supports on the inside of the fridge for more room? Then I will use the hole saw to punch the hole in the top of the fridge in the rear center to avoid any wires. I’ve seen people go with anywhere from a 1-1/8” to 2-1/8” size hole…I’m shooting for 2”. Any idea if a specific hole size is more desirable?
After that I will secure the tower to the fridge with a plastic cutting board on the inside to stabilize it. I will most likely install a 1” copper pipe in the tower leading into the fridge to help with cooling. From there I will install the faucets, shanks, beer/gas lines and should be pretty much good to go. I also will be plugging the fridge into an external temp controller to monitor the temperature.
Another thing I’m questioning is if I should get MFL fitted quick disconnects alongside John Guest fittings…Is this a worthwhile upgrade from the standard barb/clamp fittings?
Anything I’m missing? Tips before I begin? Concerns? Thanks for reading this and for any advice!
A few days ago I thought out some frozen chicken in cold water in the refrigerator. I only used about one-fourth of it. The rest of it has sat in the water for the past 3 days. Is it still safe to use or should I throw it out?
We are moving out of our office and need to get rid of the following by noon tomorrow: 4 Ikea Desks (already disassembled) 6 Desk Chairs 2 Air Purifiers one 3 foot high refrigerator - works great Microwave - works great garbage bins - a few kit [...]
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“What the hell do you want?” Neil said to the short man who had walked through the door to the rat trap Neil called an office. The newcomer was wearing a heavy coat with a wide brimmed hat pulled down to hide his face. Neil new him; his name was Van Calhoon and he wasn’t somebody you did business with if there was any way you could help it.
“No need to be rude, friend.” Van took his coat and hat off with a small flourish and hung them on the coat rack by the door. The dark coat was still dripping from a trip through the torrential downpour that had started three days ago and showed no signs of stopping.
“We ain’t friends Van, and I can be rude as I want in my own damned office,” Neil said.
Unfazed, Van sat down in the chair across from Neil’s desk wearing a smile. It was the smile of a man who knew he had the winning hand. It was a face that made Neil want to light the cigarette he had been sucking on for the last hour. He’d promised June that he had stopped smoking, and he was trying his best, but it still felt good to have a cigarette in his mouth even if it wasn’t burning.
“What I want, my surly friend, is to help you.”
Neil grunted and tossed his cigarette in the trash. He had three packs stuffed in the back of a drawer in his desk if he didn’t like what he was about to hear. “I can’t afford your help, and I don’t want it. So if you can see yourself out, I’m busy.”
“Busy,” Van pursed his lips, “Should I let Mr. Pearson know that you’re too busy then, Neil?”
“Shit,” Neil muttered, reaching for a fresh cigarette, “Fine, talk fast.”
“Of course. I can see you are very busy today. Mr. Pearson needs someone found and I suggested you might be able to find this person. You would, of course, be well compensated for your time.”
“Why me? Pearson owns half the cops in Chicago. They can find anybody he wants a hell of a lot easier than I can.”
Van nodded, his bald head reflecting neon light from the bar across the street, “Yes, yes. The police would usually be most helpful. But they are not discrete, you understand. You can not trust a man who will sell himself to the highest bidder. You’re a man of integrity; you can be trusted in this matter. Discretion is of great value to a man like Mr. Pearson.”
“If I’m a man of integrity, why would I help your boss find anybody? Somebody who doesn’t want you lot finding them probably has a good reason to stay hidden.”
“Speak to Mr. Pearson, that is all I ask. I think you will choose to help us,” Van stood up as he spoke, making it clear he wasn’t expecting an argument.
He wanted to tell Van to leave. When he’d been a cop, he had learned a hard lesson about getting involved with crime families, and it wasn’t one he wanted to risk repeating. Turning down the job could go worse for him than taking it, and the only way to find out was to meet with the city’s most dangerous man. Neil jerked open the drawer next to his desk and grabbed the .38 S&W revolver he kept there. To his credit, Van didn’t twitch at the sight of the gun, and he didn’t protest when Neil shoved it into the holster attached to his belt. The weight of the gun was comforting, but Neil knew that the sense of security it gave him was an illusion. It was up to Pearson whether or not he walked away.
“Let’s get this over with,” Neil said. The desk drawer stood open, and Neil hesitated before reaching back inside to grab a pack of off-brand cigarettes. June would kill him, assuming she got the chance, “Hope you don’t think I’m walking in this shit, though.”
Outside the door to Neil’s office two black-suited goons were waiting for them, “Nothing to worry about,” Van said as he exited the office, “There’s a car waiting outside.”
“Right. And the gorillas?”
“Insurance, in case you needed more convincing,” Van said with a smirk. The little man loved a chance to throw his wait around, and nobody said no to Pearson. The car outside was brand new, a black ’55 Crown Victoria. It wasn’t the kind of car you saw much in South Chicago, and when you did you knew not to mess with the guys inside. Neil’s thinning hair was soaked in the short walk to the curb, sending water cascading down the open neck of his coat.
“This keeps up, the rats are gonna have to learn to swim,” Van quipped once they were safe inside the car.
“This keeps up, we all might,” Neil said. There was standing water on most the streets now, pretty soon cars wouldn’t be making it anywhere., “What’s so important your boss wants to meet in this.”
Van glanced at the two men sitting up front and shook his head, “Mr. Pearson will explain everything, my friend.”
Neil just grunted and lit up another cigarette; at this rate he’d need to run to the store by midnight. The smooth burn of tobacco rushing into his lungs took Neil’s mind off the rain outside and the small man sitting next to him. Pearson lived in what Neil could only think of as a small mansion fifteen minutes outside Chicago. The car pulled up to the front door beneath a large covered entry that had greeted senators, police chiefs, and movie stars all alike. It greeted Neil with the same glitz, a polished mahogany door opening to a view of the main hall. It was an old Chicago home dating back to before the fire and filled with all the trappings of wealth that it took to make a good impression with Chicago’s elite. The goons closed the door behind him and took up spots on each side. Somehow, the gun at his side didn’t bring Neil any comfort. If it came down to bullets, he wasn’t walking out.
Van lead him to a small room to one side of the large staircase in the center of the main hall. Inside a well-dressed man was reclining in an oversized red leather chair. A fireplace offered an excess of warmth despite the chilly night. When the man, Pearson at a guess, motioned him to sit Neal collapsed into the seat across from him, soaking up the warmth. If he was going to die, at least it wouldn’t be cold and soaked to the bone.
“Detective Malone, I’m glad you decided to join us,” Pearson said and offered a toothy smile. His voice was smooth silk, the practiced voice of a professional liar, or a career politician.
“It’s just Neil. They don’t let you keep the title when they drum you out,” he said.
“Of course. But they do let you keep the gun, I see.”
Neil ran a finger along the grip of the revolver. The wood was worn smooth from long years on the firing lane though it hadn’t seen much use in recent years. “You didn’t call me out here in the middle of a flood to talk about my bad career choices.”
“I apologize for the short notice. It’s my daughter.” Pearson stood up, facing the fire with closed eyes, “I understand that you have a daughter?”
Neil felt a familiar itch in his throat, an old thirst that talking about his daughter always brought back, “So your cop buddies looked into me, is that why I’m here?”
“Children are a joy, Detective. I was sorry to hear about your family; that must have been devastating. Italian dogs, they talk about honor and family, right up until someone gets in their way,” there was an edge to Pearson’s voice when he talked about the Italians, rivals and competitors in his line of work, that hinted at the man who made his fortune pushing drugs and women. “A man would do anything to protect his children.”
“Anything,” Neil agreed and leaned back in the overstuffed chair.
“Someone has taken my daughter,” Pearson looked away from the flames, and Neil could feel that he was weighing his reaction.
“So pay them what they’re asking. You don’t need me for that.”
“If he wanted money, I wouldn’t need you to start with,” Pearson’s voice came out in a growl. Out of the corner of his eye, Neil could see Van shifting closer from his spot by the door, Pearson saw it too. “Van, wait outside with the boys.”
The small man’s face fell, “Are you sure you should be alone with him Mr. Pearson?” when Pearson nodded a reply Van went on, “At least let me take his piece.”
“He’s not going to shoot me,” he offered Neil a smile, “Are you Detective?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Neil clamped his teeth down the moment the words were out. He wasn’t in a position to make threats. To his relief, Pearson laughed and sent Van scurrying off with a jerk of his head.
“I see the things they say about you are true. That’s good, I need a man I can trust right now.”
“You said they don’t want money. Why’d they take the girl, revenge?” Neil changed the subject. Pearson’s friends didn’t fair much better than his enemies. With a little luck after his business with Pearson ended; he would forget Neil existed.
Turning back to the fire, Pearson took a breath. The slight tremor in the man’s well-manicured hands didn’t touch his voice, but Neil knew the sound of a man hiding his fear. “Do you believe in magic, Detective?”
Neil considered the question a long time before answering, the crackle of logs in the flames and the patter of rain outside were the only sounds that broke up the silence. “No Mr. Pearson, I don’t believe I do.”
“The man who has my daughter does.”
“And what does a man like that want with your daughter?”
“I made a lot of deals to get where I am today. I have made a lot of enemies, and I’ve survived. The man who has my daughter helped me get where I am, a long time ago. I made him a promise, and he’s come to collect on my debts,” Pearson had turned to face him, but his eyes kept shifting away from Neil’s gaze, working to look anywhere but at the man he was asking for help.
“You promised him your daughter? You’re a son of a bitch Pearson, what could have been worth that?”
Pearson’s eyes locked onto him and Neil regretted his choice of words for the second time. “I was young, brash. I didn’t think I’d live long enough to be a father back then, and I didn’t understand what it would mean to me. She’s only twelve years old Detective; she shouldn’t be any part of this. I thought you’d understand that sometimes our work can put the people we love at risk.”
“You still haven’t said what he gave you.”
“I don’t know his name,” Pearson said, his eyes sliding away from Neil’s gaze again now that the heat had left his voice, “I was introduced to him as ‘The Monk’, and that’s all anyone ever called him. He’s Russian; I can tell you that much. He said that he could give me anything. Fame, power, fortune. All I had to do was make a promise. Six months after I said yes I was making back room deals with the mayor. I don’t know how he did it, and I never asked. After that, he disappeared and I didn’t hear from him for fourteen years. Yesterday he showed up on my doorstep, asking for his payment. I told him to go to hell.”
“But he took her anyway. Got past all your guards and your fancy gates and walked off with the girl,” Neil finished the story.
“He killed three of my men on the way out. I want that bastard dead.”
“But you can’t find him, and if word gets out that you couldn’t protect your daughter in your own house…” Neil let the sentence hang in the air. To a man like Pearson reputation was everything. The other families would come sniffing around like hounds after a wounded buck if they got the idea that Pearson was vulnerable. Neil had seen gang wars when he was on the force, a lot of innocent people tended to get caught in the crossfire.
“Bring her home to me Detective. And if you have to put a bullet in The Monk in the process, I can promise you the police will not ask any questions.”
“I’m not going to kill anybody for you Pearson.”
“No, I didn’t think you would. Just keep her safe, that’s all I ask,” Pearson reached into his jacket and pulled out a brown paper envelope, “This should more than cover your expenses.”
Neil stood up, straightening his coat as he did. He was dry and warm now, and if he was lucky he’d be able to stay that way the rest of the night. “Keep your blood money. I don’t work for guys like you. Van could have told you that.”
“But you will find her,” Pearson said.
Neil nodded, heading for the door as he did. “I’ll find her. Not because it’s you asking, and not because you could have me killed and nobody would bat an eye. I’ll find her because a kid shouldn’t have to pay for her father’s mistakes.”
Pearson said something else that Neil couldn’t make out. He was already on his way to the car.
———————————————————————————————————————
The sign above the green door was unadorned, with one word printed in bold red letters. Kelly’s. During prohibition, it had been a speakeasy catering to lowlifes and boozers. When that come to an end, the bar found other reasons to want to keep the cops from sniffing around.
At the door, a large slab of a man patted Neil down. He didn’t find anything, trying to bring a gun into Kelly’s was a good way to end up in a dumpster. Fragrant smoke enveloped Neil when he walked inside, cigar smoke and Turkish cigarettes. All around him, men in fine suits drank expensive whiskey and everyone with a pretty girl to keep him company. On the stage, a woman swung around a metal pole leaving nothing to the imagination. Neil tried his best to keep his mind on the job even as two young women offered to keep him company. He declined with a smile and headed for the bar, on a detective’s pay he couldn’t afford their company.
Bottles of brown and green lined the counter behind the bar, old friends that wanted to know why Neil never visited anymore. He ignored them too. Next to them were the bottles that had brought him to Kelly’s, clear bottles shining like torches from light reflected in a mirror behind the bar. Vodka. Kelly’s had always catered to an Irish crowd, but an old friend had tipped him off to a few new items in stock. If the Russians were moving into Kelly’s, then O’Bannon was starting to slip. Rumor had it the old man was sick, whether it was too much whiskey or too many women no one could say. Either way, it looked like it was starting to get in the way of protecting his business.
“What’ll it be pal?” the bartender asked.
“Information,” Neil said, “I’m looking for a Russian.”
“We got girls, and we got booze. What we don’t got is information,” he said.
“But you do have Russians,” Neil said with a nod toward the bottles of vodka.
“People come in, they order a drink, they cozy up with a girl. I don’t get their life story,” the bartender glanced around at the bar and walked away. A smart man who knew when to keep his mouth shut was good for customers and bad for Neil.
“You got a light?” a woman’s voice said next to him.
“Sure,” Neil said, pulling out his lighter and the half empty pack of Lucky Strikes. The woman was a tall brunette with a pretty face and a body that was all too visible through the clinging silks she wore.
“Thanks handsome,” she said after he had lit the slim cigarette sticking from the corner of her red lips.
“I’m not looking for company,” he said and puffed on his cigarette.
She laughed. It was a fake laugh, too loud and too sudden to be a real response to anything he’d said, “Well pretend you do. Smile, the boys always smile for me.”
Neil turned his eyes toward the mirror behind the bar. Three men in black suits sat with a pair of pretty blonde girls; they weren’t even trying to hide the fact they were watching him. Neil forced a smile on his face and turned his full attention to the woman in silk.
“What do they want?”
“You think they wouldn’t notice you asking questions hon?”
“And they sent you to figure out why?” He asked, looking her over like a man appreciating the view.
“They don’t need the girls to get answers for them; they have their own way of doing that. You want to know about Russians?” She placed her hand on his shoulder, leaning in like a lover whispering secrets, “Come with me.”
Neil put his arm around her waist and let her lead him upstairs. What had probably been built as a loft for the bar’s owner had been converted into small private rooms. The woman led him into the first room at the top of the stairs and locked the door behind her.
“You are here about The Monk.” It wasn’t a question.
“That ain’t supposed to be common knowledge.”
“Viktor knows about Pearson’s daughter, and Viktor’s boys talk too much when they drink,” she said, “When you came asking about Russians, I thought you might be looking for her.”
Neil sighed. “So much for Pearson’s secret search. Viktor, huh? Don’t know the name, guess I’m out of the loop. So if you’re working with Viktor’s gang, why are you talking to me?”
“My family owes The Monk a debt. One that might disappear if something happened to him,” she said.
“I’m not here to kill anybody. And if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of debt? No offense, but what do you have to offer a man who makes deals with the likes of Pearson?”
“The Monk makes many deals, with people from all stations. Sometimes he asks much, sometimes he demands what seems like very little. Few say no to him,” her eyes were wet.
The door burst open with the sharp crack of splintered wood, and two large dark haired men burst into the small room. Like the bouncer, they towered over Neil wearing scowls. Neil’s heart dropped at the sight of the small black Luger clenched in one giant fist.
“You come with us,” one of the men said to Neil in a thick Russian accent, “And you, girl, get back to work.”
The men could have been brothers with their dark hair and scar covered trunk-like arms. Each one had a small compass tattoo on the soft skin between thumb and the forefinger of their right hands. Neil slumped his shoulders and pulled his hat down over his eyes, shrinking inward to hide his bulk beneath the heavy raincoat he wore. “Buddy, I’m just trying to spend some time with a pretty lady, I don’t want no trouble.”
“Too bad,” the other one responded. The unarmed man stepped forward, moving toward Neil to grab him. It was just enough to put him in the way of his friend’s gun. Neil struck out, slamming a clenched fist into the big man’s nose. Before the Russian could respond, he shoved the injured Russian, who had clasped a hand to his face to stem the sudden gush of blood, into his friend. The sound of the Luger going off in the small room was like a crack of thunder and Neil heard the vase on the small dresser shatter as a bullet passed through it. He charged forward like a bull while the two men tried to untangle themselves, pushing them out the door. Gravity took over from there. The two men, arms tangled, fell sideways and tumbled down the stairs to the floor below. The sound of screaming told him their sudden fall hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“I need another way out,” he said to the woman inside, “Now.”
“There’s a window down the hall, opposite the stairs. It has a fire escape.”
“Perfect. The name’s Neil Malone, come by my office on 83rd if you still want to talk, I’ll be there late,” Neil grabbed his hat from the ground where it had fallen in the scuffle and jogged down the short corridor to the open window. As soon as he dropped off the fire escape and into the streets he hunkered down, catching his breath. Neil knew he was better off hiding in the dark than trying to outrun anybody in the shape he was in.
Back at his office Neil poured himself a glass of milk from the refrigerator he kept in back. It was a trick he learned when he was getting sober, every time he wanted to pour a scotch he’d have milk instead. It didn’t kill the urge, but it blunted it just a little. He called June and let her know he’d be home late again and not to wait up then he got to work. The file on his desk was thin, all he’d learned in the past two days of searching was that The Monk hadn’t left town yet, but not why. No real name, no other alias, and not a hint to where he was keeping the girl. The only reason he even knew The Monk was still in town was because Van had dropped by and told him. Van wouldn’t say how he knew, only that he was sure of it.
The night stretched on, and Neil was closing up the office when the tale-tell sound of a woman’s heels on the sidewalk outside his window made him stop. The woman that walked into his office looked different without the heavy makeup she had on at the club. She was wearing a black dress and tall sexy heels that had warned him she was coming, but she moved just like any other woman with a purpose. It was clear that the swaying walk and coy looks were all just part of the act when she was entertaining customers.
“I’m glad you decided to show miss…” Neil said, leading her into his office.
“Call me Kira, please Mr. Malone,” the woman said. She sat down in the cheap wooden chair across from Neil’s desk.
“Kira, thanks for helping with this. I hope I didn’t get you in any trouble.”
“No trouble. Alexei and Pasha will not tell Viktor that they were injured by an American detective, and I made sure no one followed me tonight,” she said. The accent was thicker than it had been in the club, “What do you want to know about the Monk.”
“Anything you can tell me. You know about Pearson’s daughter; that he has her. I’m trying to get her back.”
“A brave man. Or a fool. The Monk is koldun. No man steals away his prizes.”
“Koldun,” he repeated. The word reminded him of something half buried by long years, “It means…warlock, right?”
“You speak Russian, Mr. Malone?”
“Not much,” he said, “I was stationed in Berlin after the war. I taught a couple of Russian guards to play poker and they taught me a little bit of the language.”
“A war hero.” She pursed her lips.
“We weren’t trying to be heroes miss; I was just trying not to get my head shot off.” He shifted in his seat. “So you’re telling me this monk character is a magic man? Why? If you’re looking to scare me off, you’ll have to come up with something better than that.”
“That’s not my intent, Mr. Malone. If you want to find The Monk I can tell you where he will be, and when. But I could not send you to face him without a warning.”
“Before I take any tips from you, I’m gonna need more information. For all I know you’re planning to send me into a trap for your friend Viktor.”
Kira’s eyes widened, and her shoulders pulled up, raising the hem of her dress above her crossed knees. Neil thought she was going to spit at him. “Viktor is no friend of mine.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with his men,” he pointed out.
“His men always pay, and they are no crueler than the pigs your American mob bosses employ. Bratva men who cause trouble are disciplined, harshly,” she growled.
“All the same sweetheart, why don’t you tell me why you’re putting your neck on the line coming to me with this. I already told you I’m not killing anyone, so I can’t help you with whatever you owe him.”
“My father was a farmer, a proud man who worked hard and fed his family with the fruits of his labor. He was not a wealthy man, but he had land. It was his, passed down from his father. Then the communists came and they told my father the land was no longer his. It belonged to the people. He went from being a free man to a tool of the state, much to his shame. That was when The Monk came to us. I was only a little girl, but I remember his eyes when he looked at my sister. Like staring into the heart of a Siberian winter.”
“Your father made a deal,” Neil chimed in when Kira fell silent.
“He was a proud fool, and he paid a fool’s price. The Monk promised to make the communist party go away. That my father could keep his land and his freedom for a small price. Girls, they do not have much worth on a farm you know. My father traded my sister, his oldest daughter, for his freedom.”
“And you think you could free your sister if The Monk wound up dead?”
“I do not even know where to find her, or why that creature wanted her. If he dies, if such a thing can even be killed, perhaps she will be free. I am not sure. It was a slim hope.”
Neil leaned back and considered her story. It was touching, the right mix of tragedy and realism. The wet sheen in her eyes convinced him, though. “So tell me, how do I find this warlock?”
“Tomorrow night there will be a party for The Monk. Viktor owns a home outside Chicago.”
———————————————————————————————————————
A tall fence surrounded the house, just the way Kira had described it. Wrought iron ended in sharp spikes pointing up toward the sky, discouraging would-be fence-hoppers and thieves. Loud music played from the open windows of the ballroom where, Neil had been told, a party in The Monk’s honor was just getting started. The light pouring from the large downstairs windows didn’t reach the fence, and Neil hid in the depths of the shadows created by a large oak tree. Men with guns patrolled the front of the house but, as promised, the gate by the kitchen was unguarded and unlocked.
Three steps lead up to the service door in the back. The plain brown door to the kitchen showed none of the elegance of the house’s main entrance. Leaning against the wood Neil put his ear to the door expecting to hear the bustle of a kitchen in full swing. Silence. Kira had said that Viktor didn’t trust servants and had them all cleared out before the guests arrived. So far her information was good. Neil walked into the gleaming kitchen with caution, but the noise of the music playing one room over drowned out any sounds he might make. The girl would be upstairs; the plan was to get her and leave while The Monk was entertaining guests and drinking wine.
More stairs, leading from the kitchen to a narrow hallway built for servants carrying food. There were a dozen rooms upstairs, and Neil was surprised when he found the girl on the first try. Not in a bedroom, tied up or drugged as he’d expected, but in a small library instead. Old books bound in leather with worn spines lined the walls, and the smell of dusty tomes filled the air. The girl, wearing a simple dress of pure white, lay unconscious on a black cloth with gold trim. Candles arranged around the girl provided the room’s only source of light.
“The girl is not harmed,” a voice said from the shadows. The voice was cool and tinted by a Russian accent that had almost faded away. “She is of great value to me.”
The man who stepped into the light looked down at the girl with a hint of a smile touching his lips. The well-tailored suit he wore shone with reflected firelight and his eyes seemed to burn with their own flame. Thick black hair fell over one side of his face, half concealing a scar that ran from chin to hairline.
“I’m getting her out of here,” Neil slid the S&W from its resting place at its hip. The weight of the long barrel and the feel of the well-worn grip felt good in his hands, “It’s been a long time since I shot anybody, but I’m not leaving without her.”
“Come now, Mr. Malone. We are businessmen.” The Monk’s eyes flicked to the side, looking over Neil’s shoulder, “I trust we can come to an agreement.”
Neil turned on his heel, holding his gun steady with both hands. The two men in the doorway were, large, familiar hulking figures silhouetted by the hallway lights. “Don’t take another step,” Neil said.
“Restrain him,” the well-dressed Russian man ordered.
One of the figures moved forward, a bright flash of metal appeared in his hand as he came. Neil’s finger was hovering over the trigger. He gritted his teeth and let out a breath the way he had been taught years ago, and he squeezed. The recoil was barely noticeable, a shudder that rippled up his arms and nudged the barrel of the gun up. Without taking the time to think he squeezed off two more shots. Every bullet hit its mark center mass, taking the big man in the chest. A knife clattered to the floor as the wounded man staggered backward.
When he didn’t fall Neil raised his gun, pointing it at the man’s head. “Body armor, huh?”
“Before you waste any more ammunition Detective, you may want to wait just a moment,” The Monk said behind him, “Alexei, show him.”
Alexei unbuttoned his shirt with deft fingers to reveal a chest of chiseled stone with three neat holes in it. The bullets had entered in a tight circle through his chest and should have gone through his heart. The wounds didn’t bleed, and they looked scorched where the bullets had pierced the flesh. Neil stepped back, bumping into the table and raised a hand to his head. Neil had never hallucinated, not during the worst of his withdrawals, when the sweats had left him drenched and his hands were shaking so bad he couldn’t hold a fork. Hallucinations were the only explanation he could wrap his mind around at that moment. The other one, the word Pearson had used when they met two days prior, forced its way out of his mouth anyway. “Magic.”
“Magic is a spectacle put on for the entertainment of fools,” The Monk said, “What I offer is something far greater. My word.”
Alexei stepped back, taking up a place by the door across from his counterpart. Neil holstered his gun; hands steady from years of practice despite the fear burrowing into the pit of his stomach and turned toward the warlock. “What the hell are you?”
“A man of means Mister Malone, a man who can offer you anything you desire. But, if it is a name you seek, I have worn many. The Monk is an old moniker, a bastardization of a time when I was known as Grigori Rasputin. It was not the first name I wore, but it will suffice.”
“Rasputin,” Neil grasped the edge of the table, “You’re dead.”
“I have been told. But that is neither here nor there. For now, let us do business as gentlemen. Come, come. Sit,” The Monk motioned to a pair of chairs sitting by an unlit fireplace, “I would speak with you.”
“I’ll stand,” Neil answered.
“As you wish. You have many questions, you will have a chance to ask them, I promise,” he said, “but first you may wish to hear my offer.” When Neil nodded, he went on. “I know much of you detective. I would offer this. Accept my terms and I will return your daughter to you.”
“If you know so much about me, you know that’s something you can’t promise,” Neil said.
“I can offer you her return, much as I promised Alexei and Pasha that they would not be harmed again. They are brothers who came to me before being sent to fight the Persians two centuries ago. They offered me their eternal service if I would protect them in battle. They have held up their end of the bargain, as have I.”
In and out. The simple act of breathing could dull the edge of fear that threatened to cut Neil off from his sanity. “Either you’re mad, or you’re the greatest snake-oil salesman in history. What is it you want from me?”
“Two things, small things Mr. Malone,” The Monk’s eyes flashed toward the holster at Neil’s hip, “The first is your father’s gun.”
“Why the hell do you want this old thing? Pearson could get you crates of weapons, and I’m guessing Viktor wouldn’t have too much trouble with it either.”
“My reasons are my own; I do not make a habit of explaining why things are valuable to me.”
Neil grunted and placed the old revolver on the table in front of him, “What else?”
“Leave the girl to me. Tell Pearson I had already left the country by the time you tracked me down, that I am back in the Motherland and out of reach. Tell him anything you like, for I will be out of his reach by the time you speak to him again.”
Neil’s eyes surveyed the room; the two men would be on him in a second if he said no. It was all too much. Sorcery, resurrection, men who could take a bullet to the chest and not flinch. He needed time to think. “Why aren’t you? You could have left the night you got the girl, why are you still here?”
“You haven’t figured it out, detective? When I heard you were going to be looking for me, how could I resist introducing myself?”
“Alexei…the goons at the bar,” Neil glanced behind him, “Kira said they were Viktor’s.”
“Yes, the girl was happy to accept my terms. She got what she wanted, and she delivered you to me. It was an equitable bargain.”
“Son of a bitch. How did you get to her, was it her sister?”
“I don’t discuss the details of my arrangements with others, but I can assure you that the woman you speak of has no sister. Indeed, no family of any sort anymore. She is one of Stalin’s many war orphans and a refreshingly ambitious young woman.”
“Fine. Why stay in town for me? Why make a deal with me?”
“I have an interest in people. I used to make deals for my own profit, but that became tiresome some time ago. Now I seek something more out of my arrangements. I offer the impossible Mr. Malone. In return, I ask for something of equal valuable. Something irreplaceable. I ask men to give me a piece of their soul in return for my gifts.”
“I can always get another gun,” Neil said.
“The gun will serve another purpose entirely. What I want to see is how far a good man will go to get back one who was so suddenly ripped from his life.”
“I give up the girl and the gun, and you give me back my baby girl,” Neil’s voice came out with a sandpaper rasp, his throat felt raw. The memory of finding his daughter’s body still woke him up at night; the booze had been the only thing that let him rest undisturbed.
“Yes. Don’t worry about this child, I assure you her father was more than happy to trade her in return for his fortune. The pain of her loss is no more than he deserves.”
Neil nodded, thinking about all the families Pearson had torn apart. The Monk was right, Pearson deserved to suffer. All of the crime families did. The girl laying in front of him had chestnut curls and pale skin, she looked almost dead in the candlelight, like a child victim laid out for a wake. Neil clenched the edge of the table until his knuckles made a loud pop. The Monk watched in silence, not shifting his eyes away from the detective as if he could read Neil’s mind by concentrating hard enough. For all Neil knew, he could.
“No deal,” the detective said at last.
“You’d choose this child over your own?”
“You’re a sick bastard; I’ll give you that. I don’t know if there’s magic here; I don’t know if you can deliver your promise…”
The Monk interrupted, “I assure you, I can.”
“And I don’t care,” Neil kept going, “I went along with Van, I listened to Pearson, I trusted Kira. I’m just about fed up making deals with you sadistic sons of bitches. She’s a child, an innocent girl. She isn’t going to be punished just for being that jackass’ kid.”
“If you won’t reconsider…” Neil shook his head before the Monk could finish the thought. “That is most unfortunate Mr. Malone. I have looked into the souls of many men in my life. You are better than most, though not so good that I thought you incorruptible. I had believed the return of your daughter would be worth any cost.”
“Five minutes. Five more minutes with my family would be worth my life,” Neil said, “But this? Trading kids like cigarettes for favors? How the hell could I look at myself in a mirror after that? How could I look into my daughter’s eyes knowing what it cost? Five minutes would mean the world to me, but not this way.”
“It seems I underestimated you,” The Monk nodded to the men standing behind Neil.
Neil went for the gun. His hands were shaking now, the adrenaline of what was about to happen pumped through his veins and every muscle tensed in anticipation. Alexei was almost on him when Neil shoved the gun in his face.
“That will not do you any good,” The Monk said, “You can not hurt them.”
“I kind of figured that out,” Alexei was relaxed, facing the gun without fear. Neil had turned to face the big Russian; the monk was on his right. Neil could see the Monk out of the corner of his eye, a curved smile and dark eyes watching with interest, waiting to see if he would shoot or try to talk his way out. “When I got here I told you it's been a long time since I shot anybody.”
“You did.”
“Did I mention that I used to be pretty good at it?”
Neil’s gun was inches from the point of Alexei’s nose. The big man's eyes took in the barrel without blinking. “I used to be pretty good at it.” Everything after that happened fast. Alexei reached out to take the gun away at the same time Neil swung his arm out pointing the barrel to the right and behind him. The Monk jerked back, the smile slipping from his face as the gun went off. One shot, a loud bang followed by the acrid scent of gunpowder. The big Russian fell into Neil knocking him off his feet. A sharp crack and a dazzling pain followed the feeling of Alexei’s weight crashing into his gut. The big man didn’t move, and with an effort, Neil shoved him off. When he stood up Alexei’s eyes were glassed over, and his skin was mottled and gray.
On the other side of the table, The Monk’s expensive leather shoes were pointed into the air. Black ichor, unlike any blood Neil had ever seen, dribbled from a neat hole in The Monk’s forehead. By the door, the other Russian collapsed. As dead as his brother before he even hit the ground. Neil tried not to think about the how and why. On the table, the girl stirred coming out of her dream with an uneasy groan.
“It’s okay honey; we’re gonna get you home.”
On his way out the door, Neil tipped over the candles that had made up the girl’s altar. The black cloth covering the table went up in a blaze and the rug underneath caught fire almost as fast. “Just in case,” He said as the flames lapped at the warlock’s legs.
I’ve never been one to complain, and I don’t like people who do. I mean, of course there are times when it’s unavoidable. Things happen and you have to either vent or try to affect some kind of change, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Just getting around from day to day has plenty of challenges. Obstacles. Issues. Complaining about these things is, basically, complaining about life itself. For some people, that kind of complaining becomes a habit.
I can’t stand that in someone.
In all honesty, I try not to even complain about the major things. For example, here’s a big one, and fairly recent.
About six months ago, I was sitting at a stop sign, waiting to turn right. I had just paid off my car the month before. A car was behind me, also waiting. The cross street was a four-lane with a grass median and a speed limit of 45 miles per hour, but people tended to speed there so I knew from experience that you had to make sure you had a good gap. A woman was waiting to turn left onto the street I was on, and a truck was coming up the hill from my left, going pretty fast. Just as the truck crested the hill, the woman pulled out directly in front of it. I don’t know what was going on in her mind, maybe she just flaked out or misjudged the speed of the truck. The truck rammed into her car and both of them plowed into my car, skidding it sideways to the right a good twelve feet. Quite an impact, really. My airbag deployed and my car was sort of folded at the driver’s side door. My head hit the door window hard enough to put a big star pattern into it, and the impact pushed me into the center console. I was certain I was hurt, but I didn’t know how badly.
The guy in the car behind me ran to my car and looked in, but then immediately ran to the two other cars. I could understand, of course. The truck had hit the woman’s car pretty much dead-on. I’m sure there were people who needed more help than I did. I didn’t hold it against him.
I don’t seek out opportunities to be offended. People do that, you know? They go out of their way to look for things to get angry or feel slighted about. I don’t get it.
My driver’s side door was completely crumpled, so I popped my seatbelt and scooted over to the passenger side. That door wouldn’t open either, but the window had been open. I crawled out and stood on the grass, taking a quick look back at the scene. It was chaotic. Both of the other vehicles were trashed, but the worst damage was to the one belonging to the lady who had caused the accident. Within seconds, I heard sirens.
I wasn’t hurt. Nothing. My head was fine, no cracked ribs, broken bones, nothing. I had been broadsided hard enough to shove my car in on itself, and I had literally walked away without a scratch.
Some people complain about not having enough creamer in their coffee or if the upstairs neighbor has to move furniture around. Yeah, sure, my car was totalled, pretty much destroyed, but I was standing on my own two feet. Who could complain in a situation like that? People were much worse off than I was. The left-turning woman had been hurt badly, and people were already giving her first aid. The truck had been occupied by a small family, and one of the children was screaming, lying on the ground as her mother tried to comfort her. She didn’t appear too badly injured, but who was I to say?
The police and ambulances arrived and went straight to work. Since I was perfectly fine, I didn’t intrude or otherwise bother them.
As the ambulances were starting to load people, the father of the truck family wanted to go with his wife and kids to the hospital. I was just about to ask about what should be done about my damaged car, but he beat me to it. Just as I walked up to one of the policemen, he rushed up.
“I need to go to the hospital with my kid,” he said, “what about the truck?”
“Don’t worry about that,” the policeman replied. “We’ll handle all of that. Just go to the hospital. We’ll contact you.”
Well, there was my answer.
I had thought they would want my information, but the scene was oddly frantic. And when the ambulances left, both of the police cars followed them. For a moment, I had the impulse to trail behind them, saying, “Hello? Excuse me?”
My phone was still in my pocket, so I took it out. The screen was cracked, of course, but I tried to turn it on. No luck. The shattered screen stayed dark.
I lived only about a quarter of a mile away, and since I was feeling ok, I decided to walk. It was a cool spring day, and come to think of it, I had a lot to be grateful for. Yes, I was still experiencing residual shock from the accident, but every single other person in that accident had left in an ambulance. And here I was, walking with a light breeze ruffling my shirt.
I got to my apartment and let myself in. It was almost weird to me how normal everything seemed. How utterly prosaic. My tv set, my sofa. Just my normal everyday stuff. Same as it ever was. I can’t describe what i was feeling. I guess some part of me had expected some kind of change after something that arresting and epic had taken place. But no, just my plain little place.
I was supposed to be at work in a couple of hours, so I used my land line to call in. Went to the manager’s voicemail, so I left him a message explaining what had happened and that I would take a day or two off. It occurred to me that I had heard somewhere that soft tissue damage can take time to manifest, and I thought it might be best to rest.
I took a shower and propped myself up on the sofa. All of a sudden I felt exhausted. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I just felt depleted. As I dozed off, I thought about my father. It was from his negative example that I had developed my policy of not griping about everything. He was just so incredibly negative.. Even as a child, I knew I didn’t want to grow up like him. A day like the one I’d just had would have left him fuming. Probably planning to sue someone, anyone. A hundred phone calls. Fake whiplash. Who knows? Just thinking about it made me even more tired.
I woke up fuzzy and confused. It was dark, and I had no idea how long I had been asleep. I’ve always been the kind of person who flips and flops in bed, but I noticed that I was in the exact same position I’d been in when I fell asleep. One leg straight out and the other propped on the back cushion. As a longtime fighter of sleep, it felt good to have actually rested.
I sat up on the sofa and looked around the room. For a moment, I was completely disoriented. (I almost always am when I wake up from a long sleep.) But this was different.
When I had fallen asleep, the sofa had been on the south wall, with my 40 inch television opposite. Now, the sofa was against the north wall. I was sure of it. I could tell by the angle of the building’s security lights through the slats of the window blinds.
It was alarming. Disconcerting. I looked across the room and stared stupidly at the darkened television.
My TV stand was gone, and the flatscreen I saw was not only much larger than I remembered, but mounted on the wall. It seemed to hover. That was completely, completely wrong.
The carpet. The carpet was wrong, too.
My carpet was a heel-flattened tan shag. But this was different. This carpet was a tuck-and-rolled Berber. Dark and brindled. I could see that even in the limited light available. I sat up and shook my head.
I was still dreaming. Although I couldn’t remember any dreams. But that didn’t matter because this was definitely a dream.
I stood up and walked to the kitchen, and that was when it struck me: I didn’t need to pee.
Even if I’ve only slept for an hour, I always need to pee when I wake up. And I knew for a fact that I’d slept a lot longer than an hour. So yeah, that was weird.
I opened the refrigerator and that was when things went from slightly strange to something else entirely, because two things happened simultaneously. Two things that had nothing whatsoever to do with each other.
The fridge was literally crammed with food. I lived alone and I ate out virtually every meal. I kept some condiments, maybe some milk, a six-pack.
This looked like my mother’s refrigerator. Milk, eggs, lettuce, orange juice, meats. It was packed to the brim.
This was the wrong thing, the first really wrong thing, that made me realize that I wasn’t dreaming. That I was awake and that this was really happening.
The other thing?
A baby began to cry.
Eddie Vasquez is actually a really good guy. He works hard and he takes care of his little family. When he’s home alone, he doesn’t surf porn or chat up girls online. He and I sit on the sofa and watch the kind of movies he likes. When Valerie isn’t home we watch Die Hard With A Vengeance and Apocalypse Now and Scarface. When she is home, we watch Family Guy and Key & Peele.
Valerie loves comedies. But mostly short-form, tv comedy. Anything longer and she falls asleep halfway through.
But that’s understandable. She’s breastfeeding. She says it really takes it out of you.
I don’t mind all this. The Vasquez family are sweet and caring. I stay out of their way as much as I can. The baby, Esme, is a little butterball and she giggles at anything and everything. I’m about half in love with that baby.
Esme is four now, and Valerie is big with Eddie Junior. Big Eddie, as she’s already calling him, says they’ll need a bigger place soon.
Sometimes I walk around. Day or night, doesn’t matter. Things seem brighter during the day and darker at night now. Sunshine seems to go through you somehow, and shadows are lovely and long.
I wonder what that’s about?
I walk everywhere. Days and nights are sort of the same anymore, so my perception of time is kind of off, but that’s a blessing, if you ask me. The turns of the world and the goings and doings of everyone around me are oddly pleasing. I’m outside of it and smack dab in the middle of it at the same time. Years ago, a friend of mine gave me a small capsule of MDMA. The kids call it X.
This is kind of like that. You’re here, but you’re not.
It’s nice, actually.
I walked by the scene of my accident not long ago. Seem like a million years, but the grass still hasn’t grown back yet. Not properly, anyway. There’s still a trough where my wheel rims furrowed up the soil. The grass is starting to grow over the little hummock I inadvertently created as the other cars jammed me to the side. I like that. Maybe they’ll never fix it. That makes me happy, in a weird way. Something I can come back to. Something to visit.
I do have my sad moments, but they don’t last long. I’ll miss Eddie and Valerie and Esme. I could follow them where they go next, but there’s something about that that I don’t like. Feels weird and stalkerish somehow. It’s enough to know that they’re going ahead, making a life for themselves. Esme is going to break hearts someday.
They told me growing up that you would be reunited, but that’s not what I know now. I’m alone, but I am around people all the time. I hear them and see them and then they’re gone, on to their things, their tasks, their shopping, their whatever. They pass through me and I can feel them. Like waves.
David is a gamer. I sit beside him on his black futon couch and watch him kill aliens and terrorists and such. He wears a headset and talks to people online while doing so. They all really seem to enjoy it.
The other day (night?) he spilled an entire 2-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper on the Berber carpet. He cursed and grabbed a towel to sop it up. But, like any average guy, he didn’t do a very thorough job. It has dried now, but you can still see where it happened if you look at it right.
When David leaves, they’re going to have to put in new carpet.
I don’t really want to do anything, and that’s ok. I don’t have to. Nothing is pulling me in any direction. I just kind of hang around, for lack of a better term. There’s nothing wrong or bad about it. Sometimes I think about things I used to like to do. Things like sex. Things like eating delicious food. Getting high or drunk. But I don’t miss those things, I just remember them. I’m just kind of here.
Does that make sense?
Everything is different now. More different than I could have imagined it. I mean, it’s the same, and I mean exactly the same, but it’s different somehow. That’s the best way I can describe it. It’s just different. This same stuff is just different.
David has a girlfriend now. Her name is Cassie. She’s short and blond and perky-chubby and they have a LOT of sex. He hardly plays his video games anymore. I don’t go in the bedroom to watch, if that’s what you’re thinking. And if they start in the living room, I go to the bedroom and wait. I don’t think that makes me a better person or anything, it’s just my natural reaction.
It’s weird to be able to feel the sensation of wanting something but not caring if you don’t have it at the same time. When I hear them, I want what they have. I want all the things. All the things. But I don’t care if that want isn’t fulfilled.
But I don’t complain. I’ve never been one to complain.
And I don’t like people who do.