2014
Following John McCain's introduction we flew home and went through about seven days at Hereford decompressing. I likewise watched the destroying of the detailed security screen we had around the spot. The vast majority of the security and commo trailers were pulled out, alongside the overwhelming weapons and against airplane frameworks (Stinger groups). At that point we concluded that the Bahamas were significantly hotter than Maryland in January and went there for one more month or thereabouts. We not, at this point had a Navy destroyer staying nearby, yet at the same time appraised a Coast Guard shaper. The most recent seven day stretch of February I was feeling somewhat exhausted and we flew home and made a call to Georgetown University Hospital.
That is the place I was having my knee substitution medical procedure done. Before I left office I'd had Doctor Tubb inquire about the methodology, and Doctor Richard Shawshank of Georgetown was totally fit for doing the medical procedure. Indeed, even Suzie said something, significant distance, and concurred. I realized that on the off chance that I disregarded her recommendation and something awful occurred, I could never hear its finish! In any case, it was really stunning. I went in that morning at the break of day, experienced careful prep, and was on the table by 8:30. The stunning part? That night, after I came completely alert from the sedation, they had me up on my feet and strolling around the room and a couple of feet here and there the corridor. I was home several days after the fact.
Home, for this situation, was the house in Georgetown. We kicked Charlie and Megan out of the changed over library and moved into it; they moved to the ace suite upstairs. Marilyn and I remained ground floor while I experienced my recovery. Marilyn and Megan presented on the up and coming wedding, presently with a date in September, and I gave Charlie the advantage of my long stretches of insight, which essentially comprised of doing what the ladies advised him to do and keeping his mouth shut something else.
After I was authoritatively discharged from recovery and treatment I added strolling to my normal exercise schedule. Following half a month, I had the option to start running, in any event for short separations. I was unable to accept how much better my leg felt! In the event that I'd realized I would feel this great, I would have done it years prior! It was additionally to some degree discouraging to discover how in a bad way I was. I had a reasonable piece of chest area quality, yet running forms endurance, and it was going to take some work to get back up to my old self. I overlooked the way that my old self was from thirty years back.
I concluded that I should assist the new President with his new motivation. His State of the Union discourse had been genuinely workmanlike, however nothing stupendous. I wasn't whining, however. The just one of mine which had been critical had been my first, after 9-11, when I needed to give the most elevating message conceivable to a country despite everything bringing in stun from the Al Qaeda assaults. The others? Exhausting as damnation!
John had a few subjects to his discourse. The majority of them were basically augmentations of existing arrangements, a third term of Buckman approach paying little mind to whatever rubbish he had rambled about new plans and not being a third term. One new thought was another national social insurance plan. He talked about how one out of six Americans was deficient in medicinal services, of youngsters passing on, of moms picking between attempting to take care of their kids and treating their own malignancy, of patients being precluded inclusion in light of the fact that from securing previous conditions, and of protection approaches not worth the paper they were imprinted on. He squeezed that we could improve.
Monday, May 18, 2020
Lonliness in Soup Chapter 1
Saturdays were "getting down to business days." Many ranch families couldn't stand to go into town consistently on the grounds that occasions were so difficult and cash was rare. Despite the fact that fuel was just eight pennies a gallon in those days there were times when eight pennies was every one of certain individuals had. Indeed, even before the Great Stock Market Crash of 1929 pieces of Oklahoma endured terrible dry seasons and ranchers saw an entire year's work lie passing on in the fields for absence of downpour.
Still it was important to make the excursion in any event once per month if just to get the "necessaries" and to see others to converse with. Our farmhouse was a little more than twenty miles from town close to the North Canadian River so Pa and Ma went in three or four times each month. Dad was an incredible one for arranging things out ahead of time so we could about consistently take off on a Saturday and go through the majority of the day shopping and chatting with companions and neighbors.
One Saturday when I was around ten or so years old, I saw a shaded kid wrecked and seriously beaten by two a lot bigger white young men. They provoked him and called him "grimy Nigger" and different names similarly corrupting. He was near my own age, however a lot littler of fabricate. "I ain't done nuffin to youse, why you do dis? No mo! No mo! It would be ideal if you no mo!"
A few grown-ups saw what was occurring and either smiled or turned away. I saw how the ones who dismissed acted sort of embarrassed, yet they don't did anything to stop it. The ones who watched seemed as though they suspected it was extraordinary game to hurt a dark kid. It astounded me, I asked why anybody would get a kick out of harming others.
At this moment I wish I could state I bounced in, thumped the two white domineering jerks to the ground and spared the hued kid from getting a further beating. To my disgrace I didn't however. I watched and felt what they were doing was extremely off-base, yet I was hesitant to act since I didn't have a clue what I ought to do. I realized it wasn't right to pound on any living animal. Indeed, even mutts and ponies had sentiments and Pa consistently instructed me to be caring to creatures, and I realized a hued kid was something other than a creature.
I remained there and bantered with myself about whether I should go to the guide of this a lot littler kid so near my own age as opposed to acting. I was likewise dreadful to act and do an inappropriate thing. I had no dread of both of the two domineering jerks. The two of them tested me at school and lifted themselves up off the ground subsequently. I was stressed over what others would think on the off chance that they saw me go to the guide of the hued kid. I feared being marked a Nigger darling. There was my concern more or less I feared what individuals would think.
Still it was important to make the excursion in any event once per month if just to get the "necessaries" and to see others to converse with. Our farmhouse was a little more than twenty miles from town close to the North Canadian River so Pa and Ma went in three or four times each month. Dad was an incredible one for arranging things out ahead of time so we could about consistently take off on a Saturday and go through the majority of the day shopping and chatting with companions and neighbors.
One Saturday when I was around ten or so years old, I saw a shaded kid wrecked and seriously beaten by two a lot bigger white young men. They provoked him and called him "grimy Nigger" and different names similarly corrupting. He was near my own age, however a lot littler of fabricate. "I ain't done nuffin to youse, why you do dis? No mo! No mo! It would be ideal if you no mo!"
A few grown-ups saw what was occurring and either smiled or turned away. I saw how the ones who dismissed acted sort of embarrassed, yet they don't did anything to stop it. The ones who watched seemed as though they suspected it was extraordinary game to hurt a dark kid. It astounded me, I asked why anybody would get a kick out of harming others.
At this moment I wish I could state I bounced in, thumped the two white domineering jerks to the ground and spared the hued kid from getting a further beating. To my disgrace I didn't however. I watched and felt what they were doing was extremely off-base, yet I was hesitant to act since I didn't have a clue what I ought to do. I realized it wasn't right to pound on any living animal. Indeed, even mutts and ponies had sentiments and Pa consistently instructed me to be caring to creatures, and I realized a hued kid was something other than a creature.
I remained there and bantered with myself about whether I should go to the guide of this a lot littler kid so near my own age as opposed to acting. I was likewise dreadful to act and do an inappropriate thing. I had no dread of both of the two domineering jerks. The two of them tested me at school and lifted themselves up off the ground subsequently. I was stressed over what others would think on the off chance that they saw me go to the guide of the hued kid. I feared being marked a Nigger darling. There was my concern more or less I feared what individuals would think.
Carree Loves Billy: Carree Sets the Duff
The accompanying story contains ADULT SEXUAL SITUATIONS. Try not to peruse any further in the event that you don't wish to peruse material of this sort. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
I lost my William from the get-go in 2001. He was an author who, at some point, intended to utilize my diary's, which I kept through our young romance and past, as a reason for a genuine sensual story. William and I appreciated perusing suggestive accounts of this sort to one another. He intended to utilize the pseudonym Billy Hand and needed to share our sexual encounters for a methods for helping other people comprehend what a genuine cherishing relationship was, and how sexual one can be. Not many of the narratives we read on locales like this managed genuine romance, sex and sexual acts with the sincerity and delicacy we really demonstrated one another.
As a methods for treatment for managing his misfortune, I have taken up the task. In spite of the fact that not as cultivated as William as an essayist, I as well, compose expertly for movement and excursion guides.
I trust you make the most of our accounts as much as we did living them. Regardless of whether you accept our accounts or not, trust me when I state they have been decorated pretty much nothing. Names and places have been changed to veil our characters, however the premise and a large portion of the circumstances are valid.
I will in every case genuinely love the character you will know as "Billy" or "Bill" Wilson. When Bill turned into a distributed essayist and writer, he was constantly known as William. This will be the Seventh section in the arrangement after the variety story: Carree Loves Billy - Complete - The Awakening.
This story is,
CARREE SETS THE DATE
I lost my William from the get-go in 2001. He was an author who, at some point, intended to utilize my diary's, which I kept through our young romance and past, as a reason for a genuine sensual story. William and I appreciated perusing suggestive accounts of this sort to one another. He intended to utilize the pseudonym Billy Hand and needed to share our sexual encounters for a methods for helping other people comprehend what a genuine cherishing relationship was, and how sexual one can be. Not many of the narratives we read on locales like this managed genuine romance, sex and sexual acts with the sincerity and delicacy we really demonstrated one another.
As a methods for treatment for managing his misfortune, I have taken up the task. In spite of the fact that not as cultivated as William as an essayist, I as well, compose expertly for movement and excursion guides.
I trust you make the most of our accounts as much as we did living them. Regardless of whether you accept our accounts or not, trust me when I state they have been decorated pretty much nothing. Names and places have been changed to veil our characters, however the premise and a large portion of the circumstances are valid.
I will in every case genuinely love the character you will know as "Billy" or "Bill" Wilson. When Bill turned into a distributed essayist and writer, he was constantly known as William. This will be the Seventh section in the arrangement after the variety story: Carree Loves Billy - Complete - The Awakening.
This story is,
CARREE SETS THE DATE
Summer Camp: George (Book 16)
I listened to him with only half my attention. He offered me his
deepest condolences on my, our, loss. It sounded strictly pro forma, but
I appreciated it nonetheless. I smiled at my wife and sat down heavily
in my office chair. I picked up my pen, flipped the page on the notepad,
and began writing as he talked.
It was going to be a long couple of days, and I couldn’t imagine how we were going to tell the girls. With an inaudible sigh, I concentrated on the lawyer and blew a kiss to my wife. She smiled sadly and closed the door to my office. A short time later, after I’d hung up the phone, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
When I was in high school, and then college, so much of my life consisted of routine. I suppose it’s the same for everyone. Even today, much of my life is routine. Pedestrian. Mundane. But there are times when the routine is broken, and these are the times by which we measure our lives: a kiss, a love, a graduation, the birth of a child, the death of a lover.
Once again, sitting at my desk in the quiet afternoon hours, I thought back to my past, to one of those times when the routine of my life was broken, and the world seemed to change, all at once. As you might have guessed, it was the summer of 1979. But there’s so much to explain before I get there. In many ways, my life changed more during my sophomore year in high school, but the changes were all gradual. They’re obvious to me now, but at the time, I hardly noticed them.
It was going to be a long couple of days, and I couldn’t imagine how we were going to tell the girls. With an inaudible sigh, I concentrated on the lawyer and blew a kiss to my wife. She smiled sadly and closed the door to my office. A short time later, after I’d hung up the phone, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
When I was in high school, and then college, so much of my life consisted of routine. I suppose it’s the same for everyone. Even today, much of my life is routine. Pedestrian. Mundane. But there are times when the routine is broken, and these are the times by which we measure our lives: a kiss, a love, a graduation, the birth of a child, the death of a lover.
Once again, sitting at my desk in the quiet afternoon hours, I thought back to my past, to one of those times when the routine of my life was broken, and the world seemed to change, all at once. As you might have guessed, it was the summer of 1979. But there’s so much to explain before I get there. In many ways, my life changed more during my sophomore year in high school, but the changes were all gradual. They’re obvious to me now, but at the time, I hardly noticed them.
The Making Of A Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton Chapter 1
1975 - August
The weather was beginning to get cool at night. The days were still warm and glorious. It was going to be perfect weather for the Harvest Festival, and Amanda Griggs was very happy about that. KDEF was sponsoring the event, in coordination with a number of other businesses. She was responsible for the nightly concerts that would take place at the State Fairgrounds.
It had been an obvious choice, for the group of businessmen who gathered in a smoky room, to cuss and discuss the festival. Amanda ran the best radio station in the area, and had the connections, so they thought, to find and recruit some good talent.
Amanda felt the same way, until she started trying to contact agents of big name musical talents. She found out that being the general manager of a radio station in a town most big time agents had never heard of didn’t get her much.
In fact, it had gotten her nothing, thus far.
She sighed and sat back. Belinda Snokes, who had hired on as a college kid, to do odd jobs around the station, stuck her head in the door of the office.
“I got all those tapes organized. Three of them were bad, so I re-recorded them.”
“Thanks, Belinda,” said Amanda.
“Why so glum?” asked the girl.
“The festival,” sighed Amanda. “I can’t get any agents to talk to me in Nashville, or Hollywood either,” said Amanda. “Everybody’s already booked up. I had no idea they scheduled these things so far in advance. Where am I going to find somebody to put on concerts at the festival?”
“Who have you tried?” asked the girl.
Amanda reeled off a list ... a long list of names of well known musical groups, in various genres, from rock and roll, to blues, to country and western.
Belinda nodded. “Yeah, all of those are good, but they’re big names. They won’t come to Hutch unless the money’s really good.”
Amanda scowled. “This is Hutchinson. The money will never be really good.”
Belinda just grinned. “Then you have to go for somebody less well known.” She thought for a moment. “Like that new girl, Misty Compton. We just started playing some of her stuff on the country segment you dreamed up.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” growled Amanda. “Country is getting more and more lively. It’s beginning to allow cross-over from other genres. I hear a lot of rock and roll influence in some of the new artists.”
Belinda held up both hands, palms outward.
“Hey, I’m just telling you. That Compton girl is going to go far. I love her myself. But she’s only put out one album, and it hasn’t been out long enough for people to make up their minds about her. I think she’ll hit it big. Maybe you could sign her before that happens.”
Amanda sighed. “Find me a number. I’ll give it a whirl.”
The weather was beginning to get cool at night. The days were still warm and glorious. It was going to be perfect weather for the Harvest Festival, and Amanda Griggs was very happy about that. KDEF was sponsoring the event, in coordination with a number of other businesses. She was responsible for the nightly concerts that would take place at the State Fairgrounds.
It had been an obvious choice, for the group of businessmen who gathered in a smoky room, to cuss and discuss the festival. Amanda ran the best radio station in the area, and had the connections, so they thought, to find and recruit some good talent.
Amanda felt the same way, until she started trying to contact agents of big name musical talents. She found out that being the general manager of a radio station in a town most big time agents had never heard of didn’t get her much.
In fact, it had gotten her nothing, thus far.
She sighed and sat back. Belinda Snokes, who had hired on as a college kid, to do odd jobs around the station, stuck her head in the door of the office.
“I got all those tapes organized. Three of them were bad, so I re-recorded them.”
“Thanks, Belinda,” said Amanda.
“Why so glum?” asked the girl.
“The festival,” sighed Amanda. “I can’t get any agents to talk to me in Nashville, or Hollywood either,” said Amanda. “Everybody’s already booked up. I had no idea they scheduled these things so far in advance. Where am I going to find somebody to put on concerts at the festival?”
“Who have you tried?” asked the girl.
Amanda reeled off a list ... a long list of names of well known musical groups, in various genres, from rock and roll, to blues, to country and western.
Belinda nodded. “Yeah, all of those are good, but they’re big names. They won’t come to Hutch unless the money’s really good.”
Amanda scowled. “This is Hutchinson. The money will never be really good.”
Belinda just grinned. “Then you have to go for somebody less well known.” She thought for a moment. “Like that new girl, Misty Compton. We just started playing some of her stuff on the country segment you dreamed up.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” growled Amanda. “Country is getting more and more lively. It’s beginning to allow cross-over from other genres. I hear a lot of rock and roll influence in some of the new artists.”
Belinda held up both hands, palms outward.
“Hey, I’m just telling you. That Compton girl is going to go far. I love her myself. But she’s only put out one album, and it hasn’t been out long enough for people to make up their minds about her. I think she’ll hit it big. Maybe you could sign her before that happens.”
Amanda sighed. “Find me a number. I’ll give it a whirl.”
Sherlock Homes in the Making Chapter 1 2020
Sid worked around the outside of his house getting it prepared for
winter. The hoses had to be disconnected, patio furniture carried into
the garage, and the last of the fall leaves raked. None of the jobs
required his full attention. As a result, he had plenty of time to think
about his life.
In hindsight, he was sorry that he had told Cynthia about the portal. She hadn't gone through it yet and he didn't know if she really did want to go through it. He could tell that the idea of camping and wilderness cooking didn't thrill her. He didn't know if she was all that excited about the fact that she would have to take care of his sexual needs as well, although he could imagine that she was dreading the idea.
His biggest fear was that with her inexperience she would end up getting killed. For her to go to Chaos in the company of an individual who was knowingly riding into trouble was not a good thing; particularly when she didn't know even the basics of self-defense. He could imagine nothing worse than watching a lover die.
His second biggest fear was that she would complicate his relationship with Sally. Although she had learned the grace and manners of Sally, he wasn't convinced that having a relationship with Cynthia was a smart move. He feared that she would be jealous of Sally and forbid him from going to Crossroads to see her. Although Sally talked about him finding an Earth woman, he wasn't sure that she would really like that.
Working in a slow, but steady, pace, Sid finished the yard work early in the afternoon. It had only taken him about three hours to take care of all the tasks. His uncle had often said that a job rushed took twice as long. Satisfied with his work, he put the rake in the garage and closed the door. Everything was ready for whatever weather the winter might throw in his direction.
Standing in the front lawn, he looked over the property with appreciation for the gift his uncle had given him. He thought back to the times when his uncle and he would work in the yard. The men would work side by side while talking about honor, duty, and compassion. His uncle swore that his personal motto was, "Death before dishonor, duty before pleasure, and compassion above all else." Sid had enjoyed those discussions and taken the lessons to heart.
Entering the house, he grabbed a drink out of the refrigerator. Taking a sip as he headed towards the study, his progress was halted when the telephone rang. The closest phone was in the kitchen, so he went back in it. Picking up the handset, he answered somewhat suspiciously. He seldom received calls and those were usually from telephone salesman.
In hindsight, he was sorry that he had told Cynthia about the portal. She hadn't gone through it yet and he didn't know if she really did want to go through it. He could tell that the idea of camping and wilderness cooking didn't thrill her. He didn't know if she was all that excited about the fact that she would have to take care of his sexual needs as well, although he could imagine that she was dreading the idea.
His biggest fear was that with her inexperience she would end up getting killed. For her to go to Chaos in the company of an individual who was knowingly riding into trouble was not a good thing; particularly when she didn't know even the basics of self-defense. He could imagine nothing worse than watching a lover die.
His second biggest fear was that she would complicate his relationship with Sally. Although she had learned the grace and manners of Sally, he wasn't convinced that having a relationship with Cynthia was a smart move. He feared that she would be jealous of Sally and forbid him from going to Crossroads to see her. Although Sally talked about him finding an Earth woman, he wasn't sure that she would really like that.
Working in a slow, but steady, pace, Sid finished the yard work early in the afternoon. It had only taken him about three hours to take care of all the tasks. His uncle had often said that a job rushed took twice as long. Satisfied with his work, he put the rake in the garage and closed the door. Everything was ready for whatever weather the winter might throw in his direction.
Standing in the front lawn, he looked over the property with appreciation for the gift his uncle had given him. He thought back to the times when his uncle and he would work in the yard. The men would work side by side while talking about honor, duty, and compassion. His uncle swore that his personal motto was, "Death before dishonor, duty before pleasure, and compassion above all else." Sid had enjoyed those discussions and taken the lessons to heart.
Entering the house, he grabbed a drink out of the refrigerator. Taking a sip as he headed towards the study, his progress was halted when the telephone rang. The closest phone was in the kitchen, so he went back in it. Picking up the handset, he answered somewhat suspiciously. He seldom received calls and those were usually from telephone salesman.
Antelope Homes Freeway 1st chapter
Jim Arnold looked at his watch in the early morning light and sighed.
It was 7:20 AM, more than a half hour after sunrise, and the traffic
jam he was caught in was monumental. Nothing had moved since daybreak.
Facing westbound on I-80, he was at least grateful he didn't have the
intense heat of the August morning sun shining in his face. The air
outside felt like a furnace, very hot and dry; and it was already
approaching 90F. Jim thought wistfully about his decision to get the
super economy package and not have AC with his new Chevy, but then he
reminded himself he just didn't have money for those kinds of luxuries.
The eastbound lanes were absolutely clear of traffic, and Jim thought that was a really ominous sign. He searched the radio again for a traffic report, but all he could find were country & western music stations and the ubiquitous news reports on Iraq. Looking down from the elevated Interstate, he tried to remember whether he had crossed into Nebraska yet or if he were still in Iowa. But then he remembered driving across the bridge over the Missouri River in the pre-dawn light, shortly before hitting a solid wall of unmoving cars and trucks.
"So this must be beautiful Omaha," he thought to himself, looking around. "It's not bad actually... Thank goodness I built so much extra time into the schedule. I don't have to be in San Francisco for another eleven days..." He scanned his radio to another country song. "Damn... Come on, come on... There's got to be a traffic report here somewhere... How can they not report on this?!"
As Jim continued scanning, he shook his head at the delays he was having this morning. When he broke camp before daybreak, he noticed one of his tires was flat. A close inspection revealed a very fluke accident. The value stem-cap was missing, and a tiny pebble had bounced in and wedged against the pin, slowly releasing the air. There was no permanent damage, but it took twenty minutes to get out the bicycle pump and inflate the tire. And now this, a major-league traffic jam, his second delay of the morning...
The eastbound lanes were absolutely clear of traffic, and Jim thought that was a really ominous sign. He searched the radio again for a traffic report, but all he could find were country & western music stations and the ubiquitous news reports on Iraq. Looking down from the elevated Interstate, he tried to remember whether he had crossed into Nebraska yet or if he were still in Iowa. But then he remembered driving across the bridge over the Missouri River in the pre-dawn light, shortly before hitting a solid wall of unmoving cars and trucks.
"So this must be beautiful Omaha," he thought to himself, looking around. "It's not bad actually... Thank goodness I built so much extra time into the schedule. I don't have to be in San Francisco for another eleven days..." He scanned his radio to another country song. "Damn... Come on, come on... There's got to be a traffic report here somewhere... How can they not report on this?!"
As Jim continued scanning, he shook his head at the delays he was having this morning. When he broke camp before daybreak, he noticed one of his tires was flat. A close inspection revealed a very fluke accident. The value stem-cap was missing, and a tiny pebble had bounced in and wedged against the pin, slowly releasing the air. There was no permanent damage, but it took twenty minutes to get out the bicycle pump and inflate the tire. And now this, a major-league traffic jam, his second delay of the morning...
Flossie's Almost Revenge Chapter 1
Flossie Pendergast struggled, her arms full, to reach the doorknob and
open the door to the old building. She hooked the knob with her fingers
and twisted, pushing against the door with her shoulder and knocking off
a few more paint chips. The door stuck, and she had to put everything
down and then pull, twist and push in just the right order before the
door creaked open. It was the same every day as she entered the decrepit
schoolhouse where she was the teacher, teacher's aide, and janitor, all
combined into one. In private, she called herself the Principal of the
school, but she couldn't say it out loud. That would bring the kind of
scorn and derision she was so used to, but which ate at her guts like a
rat inside a dead possum.
She surveyed her kingdom, such as it was, her eyes falling on the scarred and tilting desks, with their built-in chairs that required a student to slide into the seat from the left side. There were fifteen of those desks, neathly lined up, facing the wall with the blackboard on it. One forlorn wooden, straight-backed chair, two slats missing out of the back, sat by the board. Other than that there was no furniture in the one room that made up the structure. There was no desk for the teacher. What few materials she had scraped together were in cubby holes that had been nailed to the wall, patched together from odds and ends of lumber that had been scrounged from the surrounding area. A former student had done the work.
The school was in a region of the United States that was south of the Mason Dixon line, and East of Texas - exactly where isn't all that important - and most of the reason that the school was in such poor repair was because the building had once been used to house thirty people who, in these modern days, would gently be called 'migrant workers'. In the old days, though, the workers didn't have the luxury of moving from place to place to pick the cotton, or tend the tobacco. If they felt compelled to move from one place to another, shackles took care of that.
She surveyed her kingdom, such as it was, her eyes falling on the scarred and tilting desks, with their built-in chairs that required a student to slide into the seat from the left side. There were fifteen of those desks, neathly lined up, facing the wall with the blackboard on it. One forlorn wooden, straight-backed chair, two slats missing out of the back, sat by the board. Other than that there was no furniture in the one room that made up the structure. There was no desk for the teacher. What few materials she had scraped together were in cubby holes that had been nailed to the wall, patched together from odds and ends of lumber that had been scrounged from the surrounding area. A former student had done the work.
The school was in a region of the United States that was south of the Mason Dixon line, and East of Texas - exactly where isn't all that important - and most of the reason that the school was in such poor repair was because the building had once been used to house thirty people who, in these modern days, would gently be called 'migrant workers'. In the old days, though, the workers didn't have the luxury of moving from place to place to pick the cotton, or tend the tobacco. If they felt compelled to move from one place to another, shackles took care of that.
From Nothing, Everything Chapter 1
ADDISON FINISHED ADDING GROUND coffee to the drip brewer and switched it
on. Pausing, she sipped her glass of chilled orange juice enjoying the
sweet flavor and pulp, then checked that the toaster was ready. With the
frying pan warming, a pat of butter melting, and fresh eggs waiting at
the side, she checked her watch.
Where was he? Usually he was the first up in the morning, especially today, Father’s Day.
Where was he? Usually he was the first up in the morning, especially today, Father’s Day.
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