Mineral gray sherwin williams
Deck feedback!
2023.06.04 04:13 AdministrationIll702 Deck feedback!
 | Hey guys, this is my first time working on a deck and I’d really appreciate some feedback on the results and procedure I used. I’d like to continue working on decks and increase my knowledge and skills with your help. submitted by AdministrationIll702 to Decks [link] [comments] There was 1 upper and 1 lower deck, each between 250-300 sq feet. About 5-10 years old and have never been stained or sealed. They had greyed a lot over time . I charged $550 for everything, excluding price of stain and cleaner. I live in Canada. Like I said I am new to this so Maybe my prices were too low, but i wanted to try it out, as I potentially want to have this be a side hustle for the summer. Looking back I feel like I still should have charged more. My procedure:
It took me a total of 25-30 hours of work, from start to finish. Like I said I’m a newbie so I’m not the fastest but I definitely kept an eye out for quality and detail, I also did quite a bit of research prior to starting. Overall I enjoyed the experience and I believe I did a good job. The home owners were also happy with my work. What do you guys think? How are the results? Is my procedure correct? Maybe use revive after and not before sanding (still contemplating this )? Should I consider charging more? Any tips for me? Maybe certain tools that can make the job fasteeasier? The pictures are: before sanding, after sanding and after staining. Please feel free to leave any feedback or comments. Be honest😅. Your time and and knowledge is appreciated, thank you! |
2023.06.04 03:40 monkeybaby23 Found in deepest Delaware..
 | …really great album that I wasn’t previously aware of. Both principles at the top of their game with an excellent band especially Peter Lemer on piano and Prog-tastic Laurie Allan on drums. I’m definitely not one to fly the flag but I gotta say, UK jazz in this period was really something (actually it was really something in the US and all over Europe too, and a bunch of other places/continents!). Plus I’m from Yorkshire and Side A is The Wensleydale Suite! Nothing to do with the cheese BTW. submitted by monkeybaby23 to Vinyl_Jazz [link] [comments] |
2023.06.04 00:45 idreamofchickpea Does anyone have an opinion on sherwin Williams vs. behr?
Paint for a bathroom. I don’t know anything about brands, would appreciate any recs.
submitted by idreamofchickpea to HomeDecorating [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 23:02 getmein-ughh [F4M] I will rp or catfish you as any celebrity you want me to be or porn star but you have to feed photo of them while we rp and I do joi ( I love deepfakes and babecocks and I am kinky and I have a list of celebs if you need it it’s down read it and come with a photo of who you want me to be ) l
What about Elui lea Jlo Shakira Mimi Keene Jennifer Anniston Rihanna Malu Camila cabello Lexi rivera cadey mercury Willa Holland Loren gray Dannielle Cohn Emma hixx Emmy rossum Melissa benoist Amber heard Emma stone Anne Hathaway Sophia turner Aj lee Paige Marisa tomie Milly Alcock Talia mar Kruzadar Cardi b Kenzie reeves Perry piper Charli d Amanda cerny Miley Cyrus Natalie lust Casey calvert Brandi love Alexis fawx Andi rose Sophia Leon Mia khalifa Rachel zegler Billie Dani Danielle Hailee stainfeild Kristen hancher Mikaila dancer Azzy land Mia MalkovA Skylar mae Baybrissa Nenasmind Veronica Perasso Emilia clark Brie Larson Natalie dormer Lauren jauregui Masie Williams aliceredlips astridwett elleBrooke dua lipa Nina dobreve demi levato faith ordway Sommer ray trish status anya Taylor joy norafathi Eva martinez Scarlett Johansson cocolovelock Melissa benoist pokimane Lana Rhodes Jane Wilde
submitted by getmein-ughh to CatfishMePlease2 [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 22:00 fourknick8 Updated (6/3) Conquest Pitching Guide
Updating this again based on the last roster update and current as of 6/3
If you don’t know, if you pick your third starter (as listed on pitcher select screen, not roster screen), you’ll face the conquest team’s third best starter (always the same slot as you pick).
This guide then can help you set lefty / righty lineups or just make sure you pick a pitcher you can tee off against and avoid ones you hate.
Fair number of changes from the last roster update. I believe what is below to be accurate, but if anyone catches mistakes let me know and I’ll fix / update.
AL East
Orioles
Yankees 1. Cole - R 2. Rodon - L 3. Severino - R 4. Cortes Jr - L 5. German - R
Rays 1. Mcclanahan - L 2. Glasnow - R 3. Efflin - R 4. Bradley - R 5. Chirinos - R
Blue Jays 1. Gausman - R 2. Bassitt - R 3. Berrios - R 4. Manoah - R 5. Kikuchi - L
AL Central
White Sox 1. Cease - R 2. Giolito - R 3. Lynn - R 4. Kopech - R 5. Clevinger - R
Guardians 1. Bieber - R 2. Civale - R 3. Quantrill - R 4. Bibee - R 5. Plesac - R
Tigers 1. Rodriguez - L 2. Lorenzen - R 3. Turnbull - R 4. Boyd - L 5. Faedo - R
Royals 1. Singer - R 2. Greinke - R 3. Lyles - R 4. Keller - R 5. Marsh - R
Twins 1. Ryan - R 2. Lopez - R 3. Gray - R 4. Ober - R 5. Maeda - R
AL West
Astros 1. Valdez - L 2. Javier - R 3. Mccullers Jr. - R 4. Brown - R 5. Garcia - R
Angels 1. Ohtani - R 2. Sandoval - L 3. Detmers - L 4. Canning - R 5. Anderson - L
Athletics 1. Blackburn - R 2. Kaprielian - R 3. Miller - R 4. Rucinski - R 5. Muller - L
Mariners 1. Castillo - R 2. Gilbert - R 3. Kirby - R 4. Ray - L 5. Miller - R
Rangers 1. Degrom - R 2. Eovaldi - R 3. Heaney - L 4. Gray - R 5. Perez - L
NL East
Braves 1. Strider - R 2. Fried - L 3. Elder - R 4. Morton - R 5. Soroka - R
Marlins 1. Alcantara - R 2. Luzardo - L 3. Garrett - L 4. Rogers - L 5. Cabrera - R
Mets 1. Verlander - R 2. Scherzer - R 3. Senga - R 4. Megill - R (probably still in 4 slot like last update despite lower stamina than Carrasco and both 73s — not sure why) 5. Carrasco - R
Phillies 1. Wheeler - R 2. Nola - R 3. Strahm - L 4. Walker - R 5. Suarez - L
Nationals 1. Gray - R 2. Gore - L 3. Corbin - L 4. Williams - R 5. Espino - R
NL Central
Cubs 1. Stroman - R 2. Steele - L 3. Smyly - L 4. Taillon - R 5. Thompson - R
Reds 1. Greene - R 2. Lodolo - L 3. Ashcraft - R 4. Weaver - R 5. Williamson - L
Brewers 1. Burnes - R 2. Peralta - R 3. Lauer - L 4. Miley - L 5. Howser - R
Pirates 1. Keller - R 2. Oviedo —R 3. Hill - L 4. Contreras - R 5. Velasquez - R
Cardinals 1. Mikolas - R 2. Montgomery - L 3. Flaherty - R 4. Wainwright - R 5. Matz - L
NL West
Diamondbacks 1. Gallen - R 2. Kelly - R 3. Nelson - R 4. PFaadt - R 5. Vargas - R
Rockies 1. Marquez - R 2. Freeland - L 3. Gomber - L 4. Feltner - R 5. Seabold - R
Dodgers 1. Kershaw - L 2. Urias - L 3. Gonsolin - R 4. Syndergaard - R 5. Miller - R
Padres 1. Darvish - R 2. Musgrove - R 3. Snell - L 4. Wacha -R 5. Lugo - R
Giants 1. Webb - R 2. Desclafani - R 3. Stripling - R 4. Cobb - R 5. Manaea - L
submitted by fourknick8 to MLBTheShow [link] [comments]
If you don’t know, if you pick your third starter (as listed on pitcher select screen, not roster screen), you’ll face the conquest team’s third best starter (always the same slot as you pick).
This guide then can help you set lefty / righty lineups or just make sure you pick a pitcher you can tee off against and avoid ones you hate.
Fair number of changes from the last roster update. I believe what is below to be accurate, but if anyone catches mistakes let me know and I’ll fix / update.
AL East
Orioles
- Wells - R
- Rodriguez - R
- Gibson - R
- Irvin - L
- Kremer - R
Yankees 1. Cole - R 2. Rodon - L 3. Severino - R 4. Cortes Jr - L 5. German - R
Rays 1. Mcclanahan - L 2. Glasnow - R 3. Efflin - R 4. Bradley - R 5. Chirinos - R
Blue Jays 1. Gausman - R 2. Bassitt - R 3. Berrios - R 4. Manoah - R 5. Kikuchi - L
AL Central
White Sox 1. Cease - R 2. Giolito - R 3. Lynn - R 4. Kopech - R 5. Clevinger - R
Guardians 1. Bieber - R 2. Civale - R 3. Quantrill - R 4. Bibee - R 5. Plesac - R
Tigers 1. Rodriguez - L 2. Lorenzen - R 3. Turnbull - R 4. Boyd - L 5. Faedo - R
Royals 1. Singer - R 2. Greinke - R 3. Lyles - R 4. Keller - R 5. Marsh - R
Twins 1. Ryan - R 2. Lopez - R 3. Gray - R 4. Ober - R 5. Maeda - R
AL West
Astros 1. Valdez - L 2. Javier - R 3. Mccullers Jr. - R 4. Brown - R 5. Garcia - R
Angels 1. Ohtani - R 2. Sandoval - L 3. Detmers - L 4. Canning - R 5. Anderson - L
Athletics 1. Blackburn - R 2. Kaprielian - R 3. Miller - R 4. Rucinski - R 5. Muller - L
Mariners 1. Castillo - R 2. Gilbert - R 3. Kirby - R 4. Ray - L 5. Miller - R
Rangers 1. Degrom - R 2. Eovaldi - R 3. Heaney - L 4. Gray - R 5. Perez - L
NL East
Braves 1. Strider - R 2. Fried - L 3. Elder - R 4. Morton - R 5. Soroka - R
Marlins 1. Alcantara - R 2. Luzardo - L 3. Garrett - L 4. Rogers - L 5. Cabrera - R
Mets 1. Verlander - R 2. Scherzer - R 3. Senga - R 4. Megill - R (probably still in 4 slot like last update despite lower stamina than Carrasco and both 73s — not sure why) 5. Carrasco - R
Phillies 1. Wheeler - R 2. Nola - R 3. Strahm - L 4. Walker - R 5. Suarez - L
Nationals 1. Gray - R 2. Gore - L 3. Corbin - L 4. Williams - R 5. Espino - R
NL Central
Cubs 1. Stroman - R 2. Steele - L 3. Smyly - L 4. Taillon - R 5. Thompson - R
Reds 1. Greene - R 2. Lodolo - L 3. Ashcraft - R 4. Weaver - R 5. Williamson - L
Brewers 1. Burnes - R 2. Peralta - R 3. Lauer - L 4. Miley - L 5. Howser - R
Pirates 1. Keller - R 2. Oviedo —R 3. Hill - L 4. Contreras - R 5. Velasquez - R
Cardinals 1. Mikolas - R 2. Montgomery - L 3. Flaherty - R 4. Wainwright - R 5. Matz - L
NL West
Diamondbacks 1. Gallen - R 2. Kelly - R 3. Nelson - R 4. PFaadt - R 5. Vargas - R
Rockies 1. Marquez - R 2. Freeland - L 3. Gomber - L 4. Feltner - R 5. Seabold - R
Dodgers 1. Kershaw - L 2. Urias - L 3. Gonsolin - R 4. Syndergaard - R 5. Miller - R
Padres 1. Darvish - R 2. Musgrove - R 3. Snell - L 4. Wacha -R 5. Lugo - R
Giants 1. Webb - R 2. Desclafani - R 3. Stripling - R 4. Cobb - R 5. Manaea - L
2023.06.03 21:55 Th3_American_Patriot Every single Republican who holds high office that thinks the 2020 Election was stolen (according to the Washington Post)
Jerry Carl, Barry Moore, Mike Rogers, Robert Aderholt, Dale Strong, Gary Palmer, Steve Marshall, Kay Ivey, Katie Britt, Debbie Lesko, Paul Gosar, Rick Crawford, Bruce Westerman, Leslie Rutledge, Doug LaMalfa, Tom McClintock, Kevin McCarthy, Darrell Issa, Doug Lamborn, Matt Gaetz, Neal Dunn, Kaat Cammack, Michael Waltz, Cory Mills, Bill Posey, Daniel Webster, Gus M. Bilirakis, Greg Steube, Scott Franklin, Bryon Donalds, Brian Mast, Mario Diaz-Balart, Carlos Gimenez, Buddy Carter, Drew Ferguson, Rich McCormick, Austin Scott, Andrew Clyde, Mike Collins, Barry Loudermilk, Rick Allen, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Russ Fulcher, Mike Simpson, Brad Little, Mike Bost, Mary Miller, Darin LaHood, Jim Bank, Jim Bair, Greg Pence, Diego Morales, Kim Reynolds, Tracey Mann, Jake LaTurner, Ron Estes, Hal Rogers, Rand Paul, Andy Harris, Jack Bergman, John Moolenaar, Bill Huizenga, Tim Walberg, Lisa McClain, Tom Emmer, Michelle Fischbach, Pete Stauber, Trent Kelly, Michael Guest, Ann Wagner, Blaine Luetkemeyer, Mark Alford, Sam Graves, Eric Burlison, Jason Smith, Eric Schmitt, Matt Rosendale, Adrian Smith, Jeff Van Drew, Elise Stefanik, Claudia Tenney, Gregory Murphy, Virginia Foxx, Daivd Rouzer, Dan Bishop, Richard Hudson, Brad Wenstrup, Jim Jordan, Bob Latta, Bill Johnson, Max Miller, Warren Davidson, Kevin Hern, Frank Lucas, Tom Cole, Stephanie Bic, Markwayne Mullin, Cliff Bentz, Dan Meuser, Scott Perry, Lloyd Smucker, John Joyce, Guy Reschenthaler, Glenn Thompson, Mike Kelly, Joe Wilson, Jeff Duncan, William Timmons, Ralph Norman, Russell Fry, Alan Wilson, Kristi Noem, Diana Harshbanger, Tim Burchett, Chuck Fleischmann, Scott DesJarlais, John Rose, Mark Green, David Kustoff, Dan Crenshaw, Keith Self, Pat Fallon, Lauce Gooden, Jake Ellzey, Morgan Luttrell, August Pfuger, Ronny Jackson, Randy Weber, Pete Sessions, Jodey Arrington, Troy Nehls, Beth Van Duyne, Roger Williams, Michael C. Burgess, Michael Cloud, John Carter, Brian Babin, Chris Stewart, Burgess Owens, Rob Wittman, Bob Good, Ben Cline, Morgan Griffith, Dan Newhouse, Cathy McMorris Rodgers, Carol Miller, Alexander Mooney, Scott Fitzgerald, Tom Tiffany, Harriet Hageman, Chuck Gray, Anna Paulina Luna, Ashley Moody, Ron DeSantis, Nicole Malliotakis, Dave Yost, Andy Ogles, Monica de la Cruz, Ken Paxton, Greg Abbott, Dan Patrick, Derrick Van Orden, Maria Elvira Salazar, Burt Jones, Tedd Budd, J.D. Vance, and Jen Kiggans
submitted by Th3_American_Patriot to AngryObservation [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 21:04 bucksfan740 [For Sale] MOVING SALE, ALL RECORDS $25, MOST UNDER DISCOGS AVERAGE
Happy Saturday I will be moving in less than a month and need to get rid of some records that I don't listen to or haven't got around to listening to yet. All records are sealed and NM/NM (unless otherwise noted). I am experienced collector & seller so purchase with confidence! I can send pictures of any record(s). SHIPPING INFO: - $5 for USPS Media Mail shipping, if you purchase multiple records include $1 per additional record. - Shipping out of Beachwood, OH in brand new mailers. I will ship out on Tuesdays & Fridays. - International Shipping available, buyer pays for shipping. Payment via PayPal Goods & Services only. MISC INFO: - Please use chat feature if interested. - Please include the record you're purchasing and your address in the PayPal comments. Thanks in advance! --
2 Chainz - Rap or Go To The League
Alabama Shakes - Boys & Girls (Blue and Pink Swirl, Platinum Edition) Altopalo - Farawayfromeveryoneyouknow (Blue, VMP, #/500, played once) August Burns Red - Looks Fragile After All (Tusk, #/750) August Burns Red - Looks Fragile After All (Black, #/750)
Bartees Strange - Farm to Table (Green/Brown/Tan Tricolor)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Alternate Cover, Tricolor w/ splatter)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Green)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Red/Black Splatter)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Clear with Red Stripe) Black Wing - No Moon (Aqua w/ Orange/Black Splatter, Silk Screen Cover, #/???) Boy Pablo - Wachito Rico (Purple w/ Yellow Splatter, Urban Outfitters) Brejean - Feelings (VMP, Red Nebula, #/300) Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning (VMP, Red Marble, 180 gram)
Caribou - Our Love (Black) CARRTOONS - Homegrown (VMP, Terra Cotta colored #/300) Clipse - Hell Hath No Fury (VMP, 45 RPM, Dirty Green Money) Dead Kiwis - Systematic Home Run ! / Karate Karnage (Blue w/ Pink Splatter, unsealed but never played) Deem Spence - Pretty Face (VMP, Red, #/500, played once) Death Grips - No Love Deep Web (Black, small corner ding) Denzel Curry - Melt My Eyez See Your Future (VMP, Purple Marble, #2,000) Destroyer - Kaputt (Roughtrade, Green/Blue, #/300) Dinner Party - S/T (Black) Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca (VMP, Blue + Red Color In Clear) Disclosure - Energy (Multicolor Marble, unsealed but never played) Drowse - Light Mirror (Flenser Series One Membership Exclusive, SilveMilky Clear Split, #/150) Dufflebag Hottie - MAX Three (Daupe!, Black, #/100) Eyedea & Abilities - First Born (VMP, Red/Silver 2xLP) Fiddlehead - Between The Richness (Newbury Comics, Quad Color, #/500) For Your Health - In Spite Of (CleaRed Quad, Revolver Exclusive, #/100) Foxing - Draw Down The Moon (Newbury Comics, Brown in Light Blue, #/600) Freddie Gibbs & Madlib - Pinata '74 (RSD 2020) FUN - Some Nights (Silver) Gang Starr - No More Mr. Nice Guy (VMP, Red/White)
The Garden - Kiss My Superbowl Ring (Black) George Clanton & Nick Hexum - S/T (Yellow w/ Blue Splatter, #/???) Grimes - Art Angels (Black, opened, played once, NM/VG) Grimes - Visions (VMP, Purple/Grey Galaxy)
Guns N' Roses - Appetite For Destruction (Black, Repress 2015) Holy Fuck - Congrats (Black) Invisible Familiars - Disturbing Wildlife (Silver, opened & never played) iwresteledabearonce - It's All Happening (Clear w/ Rainbow Splatter, #/500) Jack White - Entering Heaven Alive (VMP, Heavenly Eclipse Colored, #/2000) James Blake - Friends That Break Your Heart (Silver, Alternate Cover) John Prine - S/T (VMP, Orange) John Williams Empire Strikes Back (VMP, Ice Planet Hoth Blue, #/1,500, 180 gram)
Killer Mike - R.A.P. Music (VMP, Clear w/ Green & Black Splatter) KOKOKO! - Fongola (Rough Trade, Yellow, #/1,200 w/ Bonus CD Remixes) Lorde - Solar Power (Blue Marble) LANNDS - Lotus Deluxe (CleaPurple/Cream Swirl, #/300) Maxim Mental - Fucking (RSD, Pink) Melody's Echo Chamber - S/T (Black) Mid-Air Thief - Gongjoong Doduk - (Gray/White Marble, OBI strip, #/1,000) Mount Eerie - A Crow Looked At Me (Black, Corner ding) My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade (Urban Outfitters, Smoke) My Morning Jacket - At Dawn (20th Anniversary ,Clear Orange Swirl, 3xLP #/500) My Morning Jacket - At Dawn (20th Anniversary ,Orange Opaquel, 3xLP #/750) Nails - Abandon All Life (White, Relolver Exclusive, #/300) Nappy Roots - Watermelon, Chicken, & Gritz (VMP, Brown) Naughty by Nature - Naughty by Nature (30th Anniversary Blue w/ Yellow Splatter) Needle Drop Compilation (Yellow/Black Split, Significant Corner Damage) Nick Hakim - Will This Make Me Good (Rough Trade, Blue w/Black Smoke, #/300) No Alarms - Deja View (Red)
Open Mike Eagle - Unapologetic Art Rap (VMP, Blue) Real Estate - Atlas (Black, played once) Red Hot Chili Peppers - Unlimited Love (Urban Outfitters, Light Blue) Red Hot Chili Peppers - Unlimited Love (Lakers Purple/Yellow) Rome Streetz X ANKHLEJOHN - Genesis 1:27 (Red/Blue, Split Cover 1, #/75) Run The Jewels - RTJ4 (Deluxe 4xLP, Gold/Magenta) Sault - 7 (Turntable Lab, Clear, #/1,500) Sharky - Love and Ownership/Fruit (VMP, Transparent Dark Blue, #/500, Played Once) SPACEGHOSTPURRP: Mysterious Phonk: The Chronicles of SpaceGhostPurrp (VMP, Red/Black Vinyl, #/1000)
Stranger Things (A Netflix Original Series) Volume 1 (Blue with Black Splatter, played once, NM/NM) Sylk - Sylk (VMP, Magenta Galaxy, #/300) tUnE-yArDs - w h o k i l l (RSD, White w/ Black Splatter, #/3,500) tUnE-yArDs - w h o k i l l (Black, played a few times) Turnstile - Glow On (Black) twenty one pilots - Scaled & Icy (Light Blue, Webstore Exclusive)
twenty one pilots - Vessel (Clear, played multiple times, NM/NM) Tyler, The Creator - Call Me When You Get Lost (Black) Underoath - Voyeurist (Cerebellum) Underoath - Voyeurist (Egg Drop) Underoath - Voyeurist (Deluxe, Coke Bottle Green) Vein - This World Is Going To Ruin You - (Picture Disc, #/500) Vein - This World Is Going To Ruin You - (Oxblood & Silver Striped w/ Oxblood Splatter, #/500) Vitallic - OK Cowboy (RP, Blue, Corner Damage) Wye Oak - The Louder I Call, The Faster It Runs (Blue & Beige Split "Sand & Sky", played once)
submitted by bucksfan740 to VinylCollectors [link] [comments]
2 Chainz - Rap or Go To The League
Alabama Shakes - Boys & Girls (Blue and Pink Swirl, Platinum Edition) Altopalo - Farawayfromeveryoneyouknow (Blue, VMP, #/500, played once) August Burns Red - Looks Fragile After All (Tusk, #/750) August Burns Red - Looks Fragile After All (Black, #/750)
Bartees Strange - Farm to Table (Green/Brown/Tan Tricolor)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Alternate Cover, Tricolor w/ splatter)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Green)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Red/Black Splatter)
Benny The Butcher - Pyrex Picasso (Clear with Red Stripe) Black Wing - No Moon (Aqua w/ Orange/Black Splatter, Silk Screen Cover, #/???) Boy Pablo - Wachito Rico (Purple w/ Yellow Splatter, Urban Outfitters) Brejean - Feelings (VMP, Red Nebula, #/300) Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning (VMP, Red Marble, 180 gram)
Caribou - Our Love (Black) CARRTOONS - Homegrown (VMP, Terra Cotta colored #/300) Clipse - Hell Hath No Fury (VMP, 45 RPM, Dirty Green Money) Dead Kiwis - Systematic Home Run ! / Karate Karnage (Blue w/ Pink Splatter, unsealed but never played) Deem Spence - Pretty Face (VMP, Red, #/500, played once) Death Grips - No Love Deep Web (Black, small corner ding) Denzel Curry - Melt My Eyez See Your Future (VMP, Purple Marble, #2,000) Destroyer - Kaputt (Roughtrade, Green/Blue, #/300) Dinner Party - S/T (Black) Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca (VMP, Blue + Red Color In Clear) Disclosure - Energy (Multicolor Marble, unsealed but never played) Drowse - Light Mirror (Flenser Series One Membership Exclusive, SilveMilky Clear Split, #/150) Dufflebag Hottie - MAX Three (Daupe!, Black, #/100) Eyedea & Abilities - First Born (VMP, Red/Silver 2xLP) Fiddlehead - Between The Richness (Newbury Comics, Quad Color, #/500) For Your Health - In Spite Of (CleaRed Quad, Revolver Exclusive, #/100) Foxing - Draw Down The Moon (Newbury Comics, Brown in Light Blue, #/600) Freddie Gibbs & Madlib - Pinata '74 (RSD 2020) FUN - Some Nights (Silver) Gang Starr - No More Mr. Nice Guy (VMP, Red/White)
The Garden - Kiss My Superbowl Ring (Black) George Clanton & Nick Hexum - S/T (Yellow w/ Blue Splatter, #/???) Grimes - Art Angels (Black, opened, played once, NM/VG) Grimes - Visions (VMP, Purple/Grey Galaxy)
Guns N' Roses - Appetite For Destruction (Black, Repress 2015) Holy Fuck - Congrats (Black) Invisible Familiars - Disturbing Wildlife (Silver, opened & never played) iwresteledabearonce - It's All Happening (Clear w/ Rainbow Splatter, #/500) Jack White - Entering Heaven Alive (VMP, Heavenly Eclipse Colored, #/2000) James Blake - Friends That Break Your Heart (Silver, Alternate Cover) John Prine - S/T (VMP, Orange) John Williams Empire Strikes Back (VMP, Ice Planet Hoth Blue, #/1,500, 180 gram)
Killer Mike - R.A.P. Music (VMP, Clear w/ Green & Black Splatter) KOKOKO! - Fongola (Rough Trade, Yellow, #/1,200 w/ Bonus CD Remixes) Lorde - Solar Power (Blue Marble) LANNDS - Lotus Deluxe (CleaPurple/Cream Swirl, #/300) Maxim Mental - Fucking (RSD, Pink) Melody's Echo Chamber - S/T (Black) Mid-Air Thief - Gongjoong Doduk - (Gray/White Marble, OBI strip, #/1,000) Mount Eerie - A Crow Looked At Me (Black, Corner ding) My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade (Urban Outfitters, Smoke) My Morning Jacket - At Dawn (20th Anniversary ,Clear Orange Swirl, 3xLP #/500) My Morning Jacket - At Dawn (20th Anniversary ,Orange Opaquel, 3xLP #/750) Nails - Abandon All Life (White, Relolver Exclusive, #/300) Nappy Roots - Watermelon, Chicken, & Gritz (VMP, Brown) Naughty by Nature - Naughty by Nature (30th Anniversary Blue w/ Yellow Splatter) Needle Drop Compilation (Yellow/Black Split, Significant Corner Damage) Nick Hakim - Will This Make Me Good (Rough Trade, Blue w/Black Smoke, #/300) No Alarms - Deja View (Red)
Open Mike Eagle - Unapologetic Art Rap (VMP, Blue) Real Estate - Atlas (Black, played once) Red Hot Chili Peppers - Unlimited Love (Urban Outfitters, Light Blue) Red Hot Chili Peppers - Unlimited Love (Lakers Purple/Yellow) Rome Streetz X ANKHLEJOHN - Genesis 1:27 (Red/Blue, Split Cover 1, #/75) Run The Jewels - RTJ4 (Deluxe 4xLP, Gold/Magenta) Sault - 7 (Turntable Lab, Clear, #/1,500) Sharky - Love and Ownership/Fruit (VMP, Transparent Dark Blue, #/500, Played Once) SPACEGHOSTPURRP: Mysterious Phonk: The Chronicles of SpaceGhostPurrp (VMP, Red/Black Vinyl, #/1000)
Stranger Things (A Netflix Original Series) Volume 1 (Blue with Black Splatter, played once, NM/NM) Sylk - Sylk (VMP, Magenta Galaxy, #/300) tUnE-yArDs - w h o k i l l (RSD, White w/ Black Splatter, #/3,500) tUnE-yArDs - w h o k i l l (Black, played a few times) Turnstile - Glow On (Black) twenty one pilots - Scaled & Icy (Light Blue, Webstore Exclusive)
twenty one pilots - Vessel (Clear, played multiple times, NM/NM) Tyler, The Creator - Call Me When You Get Lost (Black) Underoath - Voyeurist (Cerebellum) Underoath - Voyeurist (Egg Drop) Underoath - Voyeurist (Deluxe, Coke Bottle Green) Vein - This World Is Going To Ruin You - (Picture Disc, #/500) Vein - This World Is Going To Ruin You - (Oxblood & Silver Striped w/ Oxblood Splatter, #/500) Vitallic - OK Cowboy (RP, Blue, Corner Damage) Wye Oak - The Louder I Call, The Faster It Runs (Blue & Beige Split "Sand & Sky", played once)
2023.06.03 21:03 Apollofoucard Center won't season
 | deBuyer mineral B - I've had it for a month. Did the recommended stovetop seasoning. Have cooked with it many times. Did some additional stove top seasoning. After some sticking this morning, performed some more stove top seasoning. Worked at it for over an hour. The outer inch and a half is perfect. Getting dark brown and shiny and slick. The center, however, wants to remain gray and dull. There is a noticeable difference to the touch as well where it just doesn't feel as smooth and slick. I understand it may be overheating in the center, so I tried doing it at lower heat just around the smoke point, but no luck. Ideas? submitted by Apollofoucard to carbonsteel [link] [comments] |
2023.06.03 20:36 NewRough18 Exterior Trim Wood
Hello All - I have to get my exterior painted and just got a quote from the contractor. I am going to supply the exterior paint (due to having a discount at Sherwin Williams), so the contractor asked me if I wanted to provide the wood for the trim that needs to be replaced as well. (Due to weather it’s flaking and some boards are rotting a little by the windows). What is the best wood to get from HD and / or Lowe’s for this? After doing a little research, it shows that PT wood isn’t the best? Looking for some 1” x 4” x 12’ boards as well as some 1” x 2” x 10’ boards. I was thinking about potentially doing cedar since it is more weather / rot resistant but not sure if it will look different / match existing trim which I know isn’t cedar? Thoughts, opinions, suggestions?
Also, I’m looking to stay wood and not go to the PVC / plastic trim (sorry not sure exact material similar to AZEK?)
TIA!
submitted by NewRough18 to HomeImprovement [link] [comments]
Also, I’m looking to stay wood and not go to the PVC / plastic trim (sorry not sure exact material similar to AZEK?)
TIA!
2023.06.03 20:23 Restslivesmatter White kinda sus
 | submitted by Restslivesmatter to AmongUsMemes [link] [comments] |
2023.06.03 19:26 Careful_Holiday3797 Wow. Just noticed that Alex also designed stage
 | Dude not only writes lyrics, plays and cuts paper models, but also creates a scene design submitted by Careful_Holiday3797 to arcticmonkeys [link] [comments] |
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Celeste Trippie Bri Trishyland Tru Kait Urfavbellabby Ur69baby Uwucatxoxo Valeria Vidal Vanessa.rhd Vanessa Sierra Vega Thompson Vero Gold Veronica Zolotova Vismara Martina Vyvan Le Wettmelons Whoahannahjo Whosbonnieandclyde Xailormoon Xenon Xlucy Yasmine Lopez Yololary YourSuggerBaby KVER3 Yoya Grey Yummy Kimmy Yur Aular Zayla Skye Zipoz Zusje Addison Rae Faith Ordway Emily Ratajkowsk Emma Chamberlain Dixie D'Amelio Madison Beer Erin Gilfoy danielle bregoli2023.06.03 16:59 Chazzyphant Fun with apps: Acloset AI suggestions: do they work? Let's investigate
I started a contest with my husband where every day that passes, starting on June 1, is $1--for him no YouTube and for me no clothing shopping. Whoever cracks first has to pay the other person the accumulated dollars when/if they crack. Well I cannot be the first one to crack, especially since he's so convinced it's going to be me!
Therefore it's time to find other ways to enjoy fashion and style without shopping. I downloaded a new closet app, Acloset, after watching a Youtube video (heh) about it. I've downsized my wardrobe in the recent past--about 200 items total (including special occasion wear, winter sweaters, summer linens, etc) so it only took a couple hours to upload and detail all the items.
I suspect the "AI" is a tool that works like the front end of Whering's paper doll function, where it simply loads your items on a carousel and uses tags to combine them, which is fine. It's fun to see what they come up with.
The AI outfit suggestions are amusing and inspirational (to a point), there's multiple categories:
Outfit based on occasion: I really like this. When setting up one's wardrobe, there are tags to specify the occasion (work, party, daily, etc). So the AI presumably pulls from those tags to make suggestions. The options are casual, smart casual, and formal.
How about we add a pop of [color]? This is the most amusing to me as they include white, beige, gray, and black. Is there such as thing as a "pop of beige", Acloset? At any rate, the app choses 1-2 items in that color and makes an outfit.
Just right for the weather: this is based on your location. It's typically rather bland business-casual or smart casual suggestions with either sweaters and boots or dresses and sandals type thing.
[Specific garment] outfit ideas: I like this--it basically wardrobes your one item with multiple suggestions.
Features: this I really like: you can instruct the AI not to pair certain items as mismatched categories. For example, the system kept pairing a bulky, boxy sweatshirt with a slim, narrow, lightweight coated canvas jacket. It also kept pairing a dress with a shirt (?) and a sweater or similar. It's easy to instruct the AI to cut that out. Like this this really irritates me as who is going to wear a full length dress marked formal, a dress shirt, a blazer, and sneakers. I actually love the sneakers + formal dress but come on. That's the type of thing you mark "mismatched categories".
You can save outfits and add to them (similar to other apps) or delete items.
Pros: I really like the multiple approaches--occasion, weather, wardrobing an item. I always enjoy building outfits and seeing how AI combines clothing. It gives me tons of new ideas.
Cons: The outfits feel random--much more random than OpenWardrobe.
The app does not consider weight or texture of them item or comfort--for example, it paired a snug, sheer skirt with over the knee boots (one of the single most uncomfortable outfits I've ever tried on) because the skirt is cream and black and the boots are black (or that's my guess at least). Urg.
The app seems very focused on a few items to the exclusion of others. For example, I have a single sweatshirt loaded, a "Grailed"-style item I found in a vintage store. It's a paint splattered Sherman Williams sweatshirt that I cut the cuffs off of and hardly ever wear as it's not conventionally flattering, but it's a hella cool item. For whatever reason, Acloset has made dozens of suggestions with this damn thing, to the point I'm tempted to tell the app to exclude it from suggestions. My guess is that I didn't upload many casual tops and therefore whenever the outfit calls for a casual top, that gets picked. But come ON.
The app makes outfits without shoes. It includes bags on the reg but not shoes. I mean...
Shoes are often the most difficult part of an outfit to me, so much so that I've built outfits "shoes up" rather than adding shoes last. So a full outfit with shoes is a valuable function of the app. So much so that I'm tempted to remove or forbid bags and see if the app will put in shoes instead.
Okay the best part: outfit examples:
Flatlay 01: Banana Republic silk camisole, Lilith blazer, FP pants, Donna Karan Collection bag, no shoes suggested
Result in person okay I don't hate it. The top handle bag + camisole and blazer feels a little mumsy to me, despite the funkiness of the blazer and the artsy details on the bag. These FP pants I had the hem lowered and they are still really hard to pair shoes other than sandals with. A B+ outfit.
Flatlay: the sweatshirt, By Marlene Birger skirt, Tory Burch boots an adorable idea, SUPER uncomfortable outfit. It can be styled two ways
Style option 01
Style option 02, which I prefer you can tell by the look on my face I find this a little ridiculous.
Would not wear in real life, so a fail. I will say I did put the boots on over bare legs/feet which was a very unpleasant experience, and one I wouldn't do in real life. So the idea of a shorter skirt, OTK boots and a boxy, oversized top is not misplaced. Just not for a warm, humid late spring day after a full day of work.
Flatlay 03 Universal Standard dress, Prada mules, Target clutch. Wow do I love this. The app stumbled on exactly what works about all three of these items--the sleek yet artistic / interesting minimalism of them all. I would love to find an occasion to which to wear this.
In person I just love this. I look very "over it" in the pictures but that's just my face, heh. Totally chic and interesting outfit, A+.
Flatlay 04 Madewell shoes, Target clutch, That Freaking Sweatshirt, Wit and Wisdom jeans
It's cute I mean, it's not reinventing any wheels and it's not something I wouldn't come up with on my own, but I do love the idea of a clutch with casual clothing. A- because LET IT GO on the sweatshirt, app.
Flatlay 05 Anine Bing tee, Lilith blazer, Vince pants, Donna Karan bag, no shoes suggested
It's...fine it's a business casual inoffensive outfit. I paired it with loafers because that seemed like the best bet. So the thing is...that tee shirt is not a layering piece. It's oversized and draped and it doesn't fit under the snug arms of the coated canvas jacket. B+
Unrelated to the app, I'm also questioning the Donna Karan bag, as it seems really mumsy and staid and 'St. John Knits' with these outfits? Maybe it's the pin + paracord, which I added. Maybe not? Anyhoo, it's in purgatory because it's not quite working for me and I have MANY bags.
I'm also iffy on the Vince pants, which makes me REAL sad. They're lightweight and long enough for me, which never happens. But they wrinkle so severely at the slightest touch, which makes them look cheap and sloppy. They were an outlet find so they weren't that pricey but do I need them? I dunno. I'm wary of getting rid of items during a time I can't replace them, so maybe "purgatory" while I figure it out.
Alright, so there you have it, Acloset review! Do you use Acloset or other apps? Share to us!
submitted by Chazzyphant to fashionwomens35 [link] [comments]
Therefore it's time to find other ways to enjoy fashion and style without shopping. I downloaded a new closet app, Acloset, after watching a Youtube video (heh) about it. I've downsized my wardrobe in the recent past--about 200 items total (including special occasion wear, winter sweaters, summer linens, etc) so it only took a couple hours to upload and detail all the items.
I suspect the "AI" is a tool that works like the front end of Whering's paper doll function, where it simply loads your items on a carousel and uses tags to combine them, which is fine. It's fun to see what they come up with.
The AI outfit suggestions are amusing and inspirational (to a point), there's multiple categories:
Outfit based on occasion: I really like this. When setting up one's wardrobe, there are tags to specify the occasion (work, party, daily, etc). So the AI presumably pulls from those tags to make suggestions. The options are casual, smart casual, and formal.
How about we add a pop of [color]? This is the most amusing to me as they include white, beige, gray, and black. Is there such as thing as a "pop of beige", Acloset? At any rate, the app choses 1-2 items in that color and makes an outfit.
Just right for the weather: this is based on your location. It's typically rather bland business-casual or smart casual suggestions with either sweaters and boots or dresses and sandals type thing.
[Specific garment] outfit ideas: I like this--it basically wardrobes your one item with multiple suggestions.
Features: this I really like: you can instruct the AI not to pair certain items as mismatched categories. For example, the system kept pairing a bulky, boxy sweatshirt with a slim, narrow, lightweight coated canvas jacket. It also kept pairing a dress with a shirt (?) and a sweater or similar. It's easy to instruct the AI to cut that out. Like this this really irritates me as who is going to wear a full length dress marked formal, a dress shirt, a blazer, and sneakers. I actually love the sneakers + formal dress but come on. That's the type of thing you mark "mismatched categories".
You can save outfits and add to them (similar to other apps) or delete items.
Pros: I really like the multiple approaches--occasion, weather, wardrobing an item. I always enjoy building outfits and seeing how AI combines clothing. It gives me tons of new ideas.
Cons: The outfits feel random--much more random than OpenWardrobe.
The app does not consider weight or texture of them item or comfort--for example, it paired a snug, sheer skirt with over the knee boots (one of the single most uncomfortable outfits I've ever tried on) because the skirt is cream and black and the boots are black (or that's my guess at least). Urg.
The app seems very focused on a few items to the exclusion of others. For example, I have a single sweatshirt loaded, a "Grailed"-style item I found in a vintage store. It's a paint splattered Sherman Williams sweatshirt that I cut the cuffs off of and hardly ever wear as it's not conventionally flattering, but it's a hella cool item. For whatever reason, Acloset has made dozens of suggestions with this damn thing, to the point I'm tempted to tell the app to exclude it from suggestions. My guess is that I didn't upload many casual tops and therefore whenever the outfit calls for a casual top, that gets picked. But come ON.
The app makes outfits without shoes. It includes bags on the reg but not shoes. I mean...
Shoes are often the most difficult part of an outfit to me, so much so that I've built outfits "shoes up" rather than adding shoes last. So a full outfit with shoes is a valuable function of the app. So much so that I'm tempted to remove or forbid bags and see if the app will put in shoes instead.
Okay the best part: outfit examples:
Flatlay 01: Banana Republic silk camisole, Lilith blazer, FP pants, Donna Karan Collection bag, no shoes suggested
Result in person okay I don't hate it. The top handle bag + camisole and blazer feels a little mumsy to me, despite the funkiness of the blazer and the artsy details on the bag. These FP pants I had the hem lowered and they are still really hard to pair shoes other than sandals with. A B+ outfit.
Flatlay: the sweatshirt, By Marlene Birger skirt, Tory Burch boots an adorable idea, SUPER uncomfortable outfit. It can be styled two ways
Style option 01
Style option 02, which I prefer you can tell by the look on my face I find this a little ridiculous.
Would not wear in real life, so a fail. I will say I did put the boots on over bare legs/feet which was a very unpleasant experience, and one I wouldn't do in real life. So the idea of a shorter skirt, OTK boots and a boxy, oversized top is not misplaced. Just not for a warm, humid late spring day after a full day of work.
Flatlay 03 Universal Standard dress, Prada mules, Target clutch. Wow do I love this. The app stumbled on exactly what works about all three of these items--the sleek yet artistic / interesting minimalism of them all. I would love to find an occasion to which to wear this.
In person I just love this. I look very "over it" in the pictures but that's just my face, heh. Totally chic and interesting outfit, A+.
Flatlay 04 Madewell shoes, Target clutch, That Freaking Sweatshirt, Wit and Wisdom jeans
It's cute I mean, it's not reinventing any wheels and it's not something I wouldn't come up with on my own, but I do love the idea of a clutch with casual clothing. A- because LET IT GO on the sweatshirt, app.
Flatlay 05 Anine Bing tee, Lilith blazer, Vince pants, Donna Karan bag, no shoes suggested
It's...fine it's a business casual inoffensive outfit. I paired it with loafers because that seemed like the best bet. So the thing is...that tee shirt is not a layering piece. It's oversized and draped and it doesn't fit under the snug arms of the coated canvas jacket. B+
Unrelated to the app, I'm also questioning the Donna Karan bag, as it seems really mumsy and staid and 'St. John Knits' with these outfits? Maybe it's the pin + paracord, which I added. Maybe not? Anyhoo, it's in purgatory because it's not quite working for me and I have MANY bags.
I'm also iffy on the Vince pants, which makes me REAL sad. They're lightweight and long enough for me, which never happens. But they wrinkle so severely at the slightest touch, which makes them look cheap and sloppy. They were an outlet find so they weren't that pricey but do I need them? I dunno. I'm wary of getting rid of items during a time I can't replace them, so maybe "purgatory" while I figure it out.
Alright, so there you have it, Acloset review! Do you use Acloset or other apps? Share to us!
2023.06.03 16:50 MjolnirPants Gary and the Nightmare: Part 4
Part 3
The landscape changed as Gary prowled through it. It started as the farmland he remembered so well. Small copses of trees began to appear as he moved around, hunting. Between them, individual trees began to appear. The buildings, small houses and sheds, mostly, thinned out as the trees grew thicker. The ground grew steeper and mountains rose around him.
Before long, he was prowling the slopes of a narrow wooded valley. He could see ixlets darting through the woods around him. He glanced down the slope and saw a mix of greasers and Taliban, moving through the trees.
He moved further down the valley, towards the Taliban and greasers. They ignored him, except to keep their distance. That suited Gary just fine, as he was after a different prey.
Down below the greasers, the landscape changed again. The trees thinned out and vanished, replaced by rocky, windswept tundra, dotted by small lakes. He found a ruin there, massive gray stones emerging from the ground.
He moved past the ruin. Trees appeared again, but instead of oak and ceder and ash, he found mangroves and pines and huge ceibos. They came together, getting denser and denser until he stepped out onto a large rock and could see the town of Esteli spread out before him.
He continued on, into the narrow streets. The buildings crowded together, wall to wall. There were signs everywhere; for the shops that dotted the streets, for American companies that selflessly graced the slums of Nicaragua with their business, for local brands, for strip clubs and bars.
The people crowded the streets, competing with the tiny cars and occasional donkey. Gary moved on.
The streets changed. The crowds changed, too. They had darker skin and wore less clothes. Trikes began to appear, enclosed three-wheeled ramblers built around a motorcycle frame. A sign pointed him to Clara Town in English.
This time, Gary paused. He remembered this place. Monrovia, Liberia. On the west coast of Africa. His first contract for the Agency had brought him here. The spook he was here to protect had been a stupid little shit that had ruined his own operation and gotten them into a gunfight. He'd met Drake here, as well. The younger man's bright pink hair had stood out to Gary, a massive cross-section on his gaydar.
He remembered being holed up in a run-down hovel following the fight. Everybody was injured, but nobody had died. Gary was down to two mags, one of them in his rifle and the other half-empty in a pouch on his chest. Drake had offered him a blowjob for the half-empty mag, confirming Gary's suspicions about which way he swung. Gary had handed it over without a word, but as they rode away in a beat up minivan driven by one of their assets, he'd leaned over and asked Drake to pay up, half jokingly.
Well, maybe a quarter jokingly.
That had been a bad day, but far from the worst he'd seen. And not someplace he would find the bugbear.
"Where the fuck are you, ya foggy little goblin?" Gary muttered. This place felt wrong. He remembered what Inanna had said, somewhere else.
"...They're not intelligent, though they can speak."
Gary glanced around. This place... This was not a place of fear. This was a place of a curious, entertaining memory. Frustrating, at the time, and painful as well. But not frightening. Not like those fields where he'd killed the boys.
The bugbear wasn't here, he realized. It hadn't been any of the places he'd been. Instead, it had been sending him away from it. Sending him to places where he'd hunt the thing, while it...
Gary knew where to go.
He pictured the park and began to walk.
He tried to work it out. He was in his own head. He needed to get out, to get back to the real world. He reached out with his magical senses, feeling the world around him. It felt... Delicate. As if it would fall apart at a simple touch. Experimentally, he reached out with a bit of magic. The buildings on one side of the street crumbled.
He pushed out harder, reaching out all around him, tearing the world apart with magic, until he floated in a deep void. From here, he could feel the real world. It was up. He turned his face in that direction and flew.
----
Inanna Williams, Fucking Shit Balls, Motherfucking Cock Sucker
She would not call Jerry. Or Yarm, or Sookie, or anyone else who might be awake right now. But she was getting pretty fucking disgusted with this thing. Suzanne crouched below one of the picnic tables as Inanna held her sword in her hands and kept herself between the bugbear and the girl.
Her sword blazed with fire, of course. Drawing flame from metal was one of the simplest acts of magic, an effect easily imbued into any artifact. And the weapons forged by Grandfather were works of art, pristinely forged and crafted and eager to soak up any enchantments they could. The flames were good, they helped. They weren't the problem.
Keeping magic suffused through her body was the problem.
She'd already moved around more magic today than she had in the last week. The effort had exhausted her. She barely had the strength to hoist her sword. And she was making a continuing effort to keep enough magic in her body to actually hurt the bugbear.
She didn't know how long she could keep this up.
The bugbear lunged again and she whipped her blade up, tip menacing the thing. It growled and hissed and spat, but it had already learned what pain that weapon could inflict.
Inanna glanced over to where Gary had collapsed, only to realize he was not there. His sword and shield lay on the ground, but Gary was gone. She carefully flicked her eyes from the bugbear to different areas of the park, searching for him. She saw no sign of him whatsoever. Gary had vanished.
A grin split her features.
"You are in for a world of hurt, you ugly motherfucker," she said menacingly. The bugbear ignored her, of course. It was a beast, after all.
----
Gary Johnson, Fucking Pissed
He didn't even bother with his weapons. He remembered Inanna's words, and the effect Percy's punches had on the thing. He pulled in his shield, burying it just below his skin. He poured more magic into it, thickening it, strengthening it.
He could feel the tension of the shield as he crept off into the shadows. The bugbear was menacing Inanna, who menaced it right back with her big ass sword. She looked exhausted, like she might fall over at any minute. Too much magic use, Gary thought. The rituals had each taken a toll on her, and he knew from experience how difficult teleporting someone who wasn't touching him was.
He snuck around behind the thing as Inanna said something he didn't catch. He idly wondered why she hadn't called Jerry, but the answer presented itself before the question had even been formed. It was pride, of course. She could not bring herself to ask for assistance defeating something she'd dismissed as 'not particularly tough'.
Gary got to within tackling distance and then brought his wet blanket back up and threw it over the monster. Its blurry form solidified, the pale white face and dark body coming into focus. Its limbs were long, with long claws on each finger. Its elbows and shoulders were bulbous, its chest sunken, its hips protruding. It noticed, of course. It snarled at Inanna, but before it could strike, Gary rushed it, his temper cheering at the thought of getting his hands on the thing.
It spun at the sound of his feet pounding on the grass, so Gary swung a textbook perfect punch right between its eyes. The blow clotheslined the beast, flipping its feet forward, tossing it on its own head and neck with a sickening crack that would have killed any mortal.
Razor sharp claws lashed out at him as he threw himself on top of the thrashing monster. They scratched at the top layers of his skin, but the wounds closed and they couldn't penetrate past his shield.
He used his left hand to interfere with the claws, getting his forearm onto the bugbear's and pressing down. With his right hand, he pounded at the beast's face, over and over. Each blow crunched into the thing with the force of a freight train, the unfocused magic in his body turning itself into raw physical power.
The bugbear roared in pain and rage, so Gary opened his mouth and roared right back. The beast slipped its arms free and jammed them into Gary's sides, but he ignored them and got his left hook working the thing as well.
Snarling in rage, he snatched his knife off his chest and brought it down into the thing's throat. Its roars turned into a wet, gurgling sound. Gary pulled the knife out, then thrust it into its belly and ripping up, the force of the move shattering ribs and spraying Gary with a black ichor.
He growled deep in his chest, pulling the knife back out and slamming it into the bugbear's neck again, this time from the side. He left it there and resumed punching it, slamming his fists down with enough force to shatter the bones in his hands, leaving them just enough time to heal between blows.
He struck the beast over and over and over, ignoring the pain in his hands, focused only on hurting the thing. He kept going long after it stopped fighting back, stopping only when he felt a small hand on his back. He spun, his eyes wild and angry, but it was only Inanna there.
"You got him, Yarm," she said wryly. Gary stared, uncomprehending at her for a moment. Then it clicked. He barked a short laugh out and rolled off the thing, sitting on the grass next to the unmoving body.
"Is it dead?" he asked, his chest heaving from the exertion.
Inanna held a hand out towards the bugbear. "Yeah, it's dead."
"Good," Gary said. They sat in silence for a moment.
"The girl all right?" he asked.
Inanna nodded. "Yup." She looked over her shoulder and called out, "It's okay, hun. You can come out, now." A tiny figure moved hesitatingly towards them, stopping at the dead body of the bugbear and looking down at it.
"It's dead, darlin'," Gary said. "Nothing but a bag o ectoplasm, or whatever that black stuff is."
"Ectoplasm," the girl said quietly. Gary nodded and looked back at Inanna.
"Did you just call me Yarm?" he asked. She chuckled. "You reminded me of him just then. You were fighting like him."
"Heh," Gary said. "Balls to the wall, unchecked aggression."
"Yup," Inanna agreed.
"Don't tell nobody, but I gave a bit of thought to dropping trou and squeezing out a stink pickle on the thing's face. Just for a second, mind."
Inanna laughed. "Why didn't you?" she asked. Gary shrugged. "No point. It's long past caring what I do to it."
"Now there's the Gary I know," she said. Then she looked at Suzanne and frowned. "The Washingtons are dead. She's got nowhere to go."
"I might have a lead on that," Gary said. "In the meantime, she can come stay with me."
Inanna scoffed. "You'll adopt her within a month," she said. Gary just shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, I got a lead."
----
Liam MacReady, On His Day Off
Liam answered the door to reveal an older guy standing there. He had a big, bushy beard that was mostly gray, a leathery face, and a figure that suggested a lot of time in the gym. He had a veteran's air about him, too, Liam noticed. It was in the insouciant sloop of his shoulders, the stiffness of his lower back, the way he stood with his hands on his hips.
"Can I help you?" he rumbled.
"Liam MacReady?" the man asked, his voice tinged with a backwoods twang. Liam nodded, so the man held out a leather mitt. "My name's Gary Johnson. I'm with the Divine Crisis Management Group. I have some records here that say you applied to become a foster parent about two years ago, is that right?"
Liam frowned even as he shook the man's hand. He had a firm grip, but he didn't try to crush Liam's hand. Which was good, because Liam had mastered that particular show of dominance long ago.
Still, he didn't like this. "Why you looking into me, bro?" he asked.
"There's a little girl, goes by the name of Suzanne," Johnson said. Liam's hard look evaporated at the mention of the little girl he'd tried to take in.
"I know that look," Johnson said in a softer voice. "I got a daughter of my own. Can I come in?"
Liam thought about it. A cop would ask him to step out, not ask to come in. Unless he wanted to search for something. But Liam could kick him out if he started poking around. He pushed the door open wider and stood to the side.
Johnson walked in. He didn't poke around, but went straight to the living room and waited for Liam to join him. Liam closed the door and walked into the room, taking his favorite chair and gesturing at the couch for Johnson to sit. He did.
"So what's this about Suzanne?" Liam asked.
"Can you tell me how you know her?" Johnson asked.
Liam threw up his hands. "Brother, can we just get to the point?"
"This is the point, Mister MacReady," Johnson said. "I need to ask you some questions about her."
"When'd you serve?" Liam asked.
"Eighty-seven to oh-seven," Johnson answered without hesitation. "You?"
"Oh three to twenty-ten," Liam answered. "Second Ranger Battalion."
"Fifth Group," Johnson said. Liam quirked an eyebrow. "Green berets. Choice gig, that."
"Kinda sucked, to be honest." Lian chuckled at his answer.
"So how did you meet Suzanne?"
Liam rubbed his chin, thinking. After organizing his thoughts a bit, he spoke.
"Dated a girl a couple years ago. Suzanne's mom. She was a train wreck, but it took me a while to realize it. The girl..." Liam chuckled again.
"She was scared of me at first. I got these burns," he gestured to the side of his face, "In Kandahar. Don't do a lot to make me pretty, you know? But she warmed up to me in time. Sweetest little thing, she was. I never really thought of myself as a parent, you know? Always had too much going on, what with work and the club. But I loved spending time with that girl.
"I'd have dumped her mom's druggie ass much sooner, if not for her. When I finally had enough of her shit, I called CPH. Left an anonymous tip. I put in my application to be a foster parent, knowing that they'd rather her go with someone she knows. But they denied me. The club, me being single... I guess I can't blame them."
Johnson had been carefully watching Liam's face as he spoke, and Liam felt a strange sensation in the air. The temperature had dropped, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.
"You gotta good heart, Mister MacReady," Johnson said.
"Uh, thanks, I guess," Liam responded. Johnson pointed at Liam's kutte. "What's the missing rocker?" he asked.
Liam looked down, noticing the threads still hanging out. "Master-at-arms," he said, touching it with one blunt finger. "I stepped down back when I was trying to become a foster parent. Freed up more of my time, you know?"
"Would you like to see Suzanne? Spend the afternoon with her?"
Liam leaned forward, his interest thoroughly captured. "Yeah. You can make that happen?"
Johnson raised a finger. A few seconds later, Liam heard a knock on the front door. He stood and answered it to find a bookish-looking man in a suit and bowtie standing there. He was flanked by two more figures. One was a short, brunette knockout. She had a middle-eastern cast about her, curves like a scenic railroad track and tits that could stop all conversations within a dozen yards. But she wasn't the one who caught his eye.
"Mister Liam?" Suzanne asked. Liam's face lit up in a wide grin as he knelt down and threw his arms out.
"Hey punkin!" he cried as she rushed into them. He hugged her carefully for a long moment.
"Mister MacReady," the nerdy guy said. "I know about the troubles you had applying to become a foster parent. There's nothing we can really do about that, it's a state matter. But we have lawyers in all specialties, including family law. I'm confident we can arrange a private adoption. We've already contacted her mother at the MCI women's facility, and she's agreed to relinquish custody."
Liam stood, still clinging to Suzanne, who gripped him tightly.
"Why?" he asked.
"We want her to be with someone who loves her. And Gary is quite sure that's you."
"Uh..." Liam wasn't good with this kind of stuff. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's me." Johnson stepped past him and all three of them stepped off the stoop.
"I'll be back around nine," Johnson said. He handed Liam a pair of cards, which he took and carefully examined over Suzanne's shoulder. Both were for the same company he'd mentioned earlier. One had his name on it, and the other had a woman's name.
"Call the woman, Astrid, when you're ready to move forward on the adoption," Johnson said.
"And the other?" Liam asked.
"Call me if you ever find yourself willing to give up the outlaw life and work a steady, good paying job," Johnson told him. He met Liam's eyes and then nodded.
"I missed you so much," Suzanne said as Johnson followed the other two out to a black Humvee parked by the curb. Liam grinned so wide his face hurt.
"I missed you too, punkin," he said.
The End.
submitted by MjolnirPants to JerryandtheGoddesses [link] [comments]
The landscape changed as Gary prowled through it. It started as the farmland he remembered so well. Small copses of trees began to appear as he moved around, hunting. Between them, individual trees began to appear. The buildings, small houses and sheds, mostly, thinned out as the trees grew thicker. The ground grew steeper and mountains rose around him.
Before long, he was prowling the slopes of a narrow wooded valley. He could see ixlets darting through the woods around him. He glanced down the slope and saw a mix of greasers and Taliban, moving through the trees.
He moved further down the valley, towards the Taliban and greasers. They ignored him, except to keep their distance. That suited Gary just fine, as he was after a different prey.
Down below the greasers, the landscape changed again. The trees thinned out and vanished, replaced by rocky, windswept tundra, dotted by small lakes. He found a ruin there, massive gray stones emerging from the ground.
He moved past the ruin. Trees appeared again, but instead of oak and ceder and ash, he found mangroves and pines and huge ceibos. They came together, getting denser and denser until he stepped out onto a large rock and could see the town of Esteli spread out before him.
He continued on, into the narrow streets. The buildings crowded together, wall to wall. There were signs everywhere; for the shops that dotted the streets, for American companies that selflessly graced the slums of Nicaragua with their business, for local brands, for strip clubs and bars.
The people crowded the streets, competing with the tiny cars and occasional donkey. Gary moved on.
The streets changed. The crowds changed, too. They had darker skin and wore less clothes. Trikes began to appear, enclosed three-wheeled ramblers built around a motorcycle frame. A sign pointed him to Clara Town in English.
This time, Gary paused. He remembered this place. Monrovia, Liberia. On the west coast of Africa. His first contract for the Agency had brought him here. The spook he was here to protect had been a stupid little shit that had ruined his own operation and gotten them into a gunfight. He'd met Drake here, as well. The younger man's bright pink hair had stood out to Gary, a massive cross-section on his gaydar.
He remembered being holed up in a run-down hovel following the fight. Everybody was injured, but nobody had died. Gary was down to two mags, one of them in his rifle and the other half-empty in a pouch on his chest. Drake had offered him a blowjob for the half-empty mag, confirming Gary's suspicions about which way he swung. Gary had handed it over without a word, but as they rode away in a beat up minivan driven by one of their assets, he'd leaned over and asked Drake to pay up, half jokingly.
Well, maybe a quarter jokingly.
That had been a bad day, but far from the worst he'd seen. And not someplace he would find the bugbear.
"Where the fuck are you, ya foggy little goblin?" Gary muttered. This place felt wrong. He remembered what Inanna had said, somewhere else.
"...They're not intelligent, though they can speak."
Gary glanced around. This place... This was not a place of fear. This was a place of a curious, entertaining memory. Frustrating, at the time, and painful as well. But not frightening. Not like those fields where he'd killed the boys.
The bugbear wasn't here, he realized. It hadn't been any of the places he'd been. Instead, it had been sending him away from it. Sending him to places where he'd hunt the thing, while it...
Gary knew where to go.
He pictured the park and began to walk.
He tried to work it out. He was in his own head. He needed to get out, to get back to the real world. He reached out with his magical senses, feeling the world around him. It felt... Delicate. As if it would fall apart at a simple touch. Experimentally, he reached out with a bit of magic. The buildings on one side of the street crumbled.
He pushed out harder, reaching out all around him, tearing the world apart with magic, until he floated in a deep void. From here, he could feel the real world. It was up. He turned his face in that direction and flew.
----
Inanna Williams, Fucking Shit Balls, Motherfucking Cock Sucker
She would not call Jerry. Or Yarm, or Sookie, or anyone else who might be awake right now. But she was getting pretty fucking disgusted with this thing. Suzanne crouched below one of the picnic tables as Inanna held her sword in her hands and kept herself between the bugbear and the girl.
Her sword blazed with fire, of course. Drawing flame from metal was one of the simplest acts of magic, an effect easily imbued into any artifact. And the weapons forged by Grandfather were works of art, pristinely forged and crafted and eager to soak up any enchantments they could. The flames were good, they helped. They weren't the problem.
Keeping magic suffused through her body was the problem.
She'd already moved around more magic today than she had in the last week. The effort had exhausted her. She barely had the strength to hoist her sword. And she was making a continuing effort to keep enough magic in her body to actually hurt the bugbear.
She didn't know how long she could keep this up.
The bugbear lunged again and she whipped her blade up, tip menacing the thing. It growled and hissed and spat, but it had already learned what pain that weapon could inflict.
Inanna glanced over to where Gary had collapsed, only to realize he was not there. His sword and shield lay on the ground, but Gary was gone. She carefully flicked her eyes from the bugbear to different areas of the park, searching for him. She saw no sign of him whatsoever. Gary had vanished.
A grin split her features.
"You are in for a world of hurt, you ugly motherfucker," she said menacingly. The bugbear ignored her, of course. It was a beast, after all.
----
Gary Johnson, Fucking Pissed
He didn't even bother with his weapons. He remembered Inanna's words, and the effect Percy's punches had on the thing. He pulled in his shield, burying it just below his skin. He poured more magic into it, thickening it, strengthening it.
He could feel the tension of the shield as he crept off into the shadows. The bugbear was menacing Inanna, who menaced it right back with her big ass sword. She looked exhausted, like she might fall over at any minute. Too much magic use, Gary thought. The rituals had each taken a toll on her, and he knew from experience how difficult teleporting someone who wasn't touching him was.
He snuck around behind the thing as Inanna said something he didn't catch. He idly wondered why she hadn't called Jerry, but the answer presented itself before the question had even been formed. It was pride, of course. She could not bring herself to ask for assistance defeating something she'd dismissed as 'not particularly tough'.
Gary got to within tackling distance and then brought his wet blanket back up and threw it over the monster. Its blurry form solidified, the pale white face and dark body coming into focus. Its limbs were long, with long claws on each finger. Its elbows and shoulders were bulbous, its chest sunken, its hips protruding. It noticed, of course. It snarled at Inanna, but before it could strike, Gary rushed it, his temper cheering at the thought of getting his hands on the thing.
It spun at the sound of his feet pounding on the grass, so Gary swung a textbook perfect punch right between its eyes. The blow clotheslined the beast, flipping its feet forward, tossing it on its own head and neck with a sickening crack that would have killed any mortal.
Razor sharp claws lashed out at him as he threw himself on top of the thrashing monster. They scratched at the top layers of his skin, but the wounds closed and they couldn't penetrate past his shield.
He used his left hand to interfere with the claws, getting his forearm onto the bugbear's and pressing down. With his right hand, he pounded at the beast's face, over and over. Each blow crunched into the thing with the force of a freight train, the unfocused magic in his body turning itself into raw physical power.
The bugbear roared in pain and rage, so Gary opened his mouth and roared right back. The beast slipped its arms free and jammed them into Gary's sides, but he ignored them and got his left hook working the thing as well.
Snarling in rage, he snatched his knife off his chest and brought it down into the thing's throat. Its roars turned into a wet, gurgling sound. Gary pulled the knife out, then thrust it into its belly and ripping up, the force of the move shattering ribs and spraying Gary with a black ichor.
He growled deep in his chest, pulling the knife back out and slamming it into the bugbear's neck again, this time from the side. He left it there and resumed punching it, slamming his fists down with enough force to shatter the bones in his hands, leaving them just enough time to heal between blows.
He struck the beast over and over and over, ignoring the pain in his hands, focused only on hurting the thing. He kept going long after it stopped fighting back, stopping only when he felt a small hand on his back. He spun, his eyes wild and angry, but it was only Inanna there.
"You got him, Yarm," she said wryly. Gary stared, uncomprehending at her for a moment. Then it clicked. He barked a short laugh out and rolled off the thing, sitting on the grass next to the unmoving body.
"Is it dead?" he asked, his chest heaving from the exertion.
Inanna held a hand out towards the bugbear. "Yeah, it's dead."
"Good," Gary said. They sat in silence for a moment.
"The girl all right?" he asked.
Inanna nodded. "Yup." She looked over her shoulder and called out, "It's okay, hun. You can come out, now." A tiny figure moved hesitatingly towards them, stopping at the dead body of the bugbear and looking down at it.
"It's dead, darlin'," Gary said. "Nothing but a bag o ectoplasm, or whatever that black stuff is."
"Ectoplasm," the girl said quietly. Gary nodded and looked back at Inanna.
"Did you just call me Yarm?" he asked. She chuckled. "You reminded me of him just then. You were fighting like him."
"Heh," Gary said. "Balls to the wall, unchecked aggression."
"Yup," Inanna agreed.
"Don't tell nobody, but I gave a bit of thought to dropping trou and squeezing out a stink pickle on the thing's face. Just for a second, mind."
Inanna laughed. "Why didn't you?" she asked. Gary shrugged. "No point. It's long past caring what I do to it."
"Now there's the Gary I know," she said. Then she looked at Suzanne and frowned. "The Washingtons are dead. She's got nowhere to go."
"I might have a lead on that," Gary said. "In the meantime, she can come stay with me."
Inanna scoffed. "You'll adopt her within a month," she said. Gary just shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, I got a lead."
----
Liam MacReady, On His Day Off
Liam answered the door to reveal an older guy standing there. He had a big, bushy beard that was mostly gray, a leathery face, and a figure that suggested a lot of time in the gym. He had a veteran's air about him, too, Liam noticed. It was in the insouciant sloop of his shoulders, the stiffness of his lower back, the way he stood with his hands on his hips.
"Can I help you?" he rumbled.
"Liam MacReady?" the man asked, his voice tinged with a backwoods twang. Liam nodded, so the man held out a leather mitt. "My name's Gary Johnson. I'm with the Divine Crisis Management Group. I have some records here that say you applied to become a foster parent about two years ago, is that right?"
Liam frowned even as he shook the man's hand. He had a firm grip, but he didn't try to crush Liam's hand. Which was good, because Liam had mastered that particular show of dominance long ago.
Still, he didn't like this. "Why you looking into me, bro?" he asked.
"There's a little girl, goes by the name of Suzanne," Johnson said. Liam's hard look evaporated at the mention of the little girl he'd tried to take in.
"I know that look," Johnson said in a softer voice. "I got a daughter of my own. Can I come in?"
Liam thought about it. A cop would ask him to step out, not ask to come in. Unless he wanted to search for something. But Liam could kick him out if he started poking around. He pushed the door open wider and stood to the side.
Johnson walked in. He didn't poke around, but went straight to the living room and waited for Liam to join him. Liam closed the door and walked into the room, taking his favorite chair and gesturing at the couch for Johnson to sit. He did.
"So what's this about Suzanne?" Liam asked.
"Can you tell me how you know her?" Johnson asked.
Liam threw up his hands. "Brother, can we just get to the point?"
"This is the point, Mister MacReady," Johnson said. "I need to ask you some questions about her."
"When'd you serve?" Liam asked.
"Eighty-seven to oh-seven," Johnson answered without hesitation. "You?"
"Oh three to twenty-ten," Liam answered. "Second Ranger Battalion."
"Fifth Group," Johnson said. Liam quirked an eyebrow. "Green berets. Choice gig, that."
"Kinda sucked, to be honest." Lian chuckled at his answer.
"So how did you meet Suzanne?"
Liam rubbed his chin, thinking. After organizing his thoughts a bit, he spoke.
"Dated a girl a couple years ago. Suzanne's mom. She was a train wreck, but it took me a while to realize it. The girl..." Liam chuckled again.
"She was scared of me at first. I got these burns," he gestured to the side of his face, "In Kandahar. Don't do a lot to make me pretty, you know? But she warmed up to me in time. Sweetest little thing, she was. I never really thought of myself as a parent, you know? Always had too much going on, what with work and the club. But I loved spending time with that girl.
"I'd have dumped her mom's druggie ass much sooner, if not for her. When I finally had enough of her shit, I called CPH. Left an anonymous tip. I put in my application to be a foster parent, knowing that they'd rather her go with someone she knows. But they denied me. The club, me being single... I guess I can't blame them."
Johnson had been carefully watching Liam's face as he spoke, and Liam felt a strange sensation in the air. The temperature had dropped, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.
"You gotta good heart, Mister MacReady," Johnson said.
"Uh, thanks, I guess," Liam responded. Johnson pointed at Liam's kutte. "What's the missing rocker?" he asked.
Liam looked down, noticing the threads still hanging out. "Master-at-arms," he said, touching it with one blunt finger. "I stepped down back when I was trying to become a foster parent. Freed up more of my time, you know?"
"Would you like to see Suzanne? Spend the afternoon with her?"
Liam leaned forward, his interest thoroughly captured. "Yeah. You can make that happen?"
Johnson raised a finger. A few seconds later, Liam heard a knock on the front door. He stood and answered it to find a bookish-looking man in a suit and bowtie standing there. He was flanked by two more figures. One was a short, brunette knockout. She had a middle-eastern cast about her, curves like a scenic railroad track and tits that could stop all conversations within a dozen yards. But she wasn't the one who caught his eye.
"Mister Liam?" Suzanne asked. Liam's face lit up in a wide grin as he knelt down and threw his arms out.
"Hey punkin!" he cried as she rushed into them. He hugged her carefully for a long moment.
"Mister MacReady," the nerdy guy said. "I know about the troubles you had applying to become a foster parent. There's nothing we can really do about that, it's a state matter. But we have lawyers in all specialties, including family law. I'm confident we can arrange a private adoption. We've already contacted her mother at the MCI women's facility, and she's agreed to relinquish custody."
Liam stood, still clinging to Suzanne, who gripped him tightly.
"Why?" he asked.
"We want her to be with someone who loves her. And Gary is quite sure that's you."
"Uh..." Liam wasn't good with this kind of stuff. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's me." Johnson stepped past him and all three of them stepped off the stoop.
"I'll be back around nine," Johnson said. He handed Liam a pair of cards, which he took and carefully examined over Suzanne's shoulder. Both were for the same company he'd mentioned earlier. One had his name on it, and the other had a woman's name.
"Call the woman, Astrid, when you're ready to move forward on the adoption," Johnson said.
"And the other?" Liam asked.
"Call me if you ever find yourself willing to give up the outlaw life and work a steady, good paying job," Johnson told him. He met Liam's eyes and then nodded.
"I missed you so much," Suzanne said as Johnson followed the other two out to a black Humvee parked by the curb. Liam grinned so wide his face hurt.
"I missed you too, punkin," he said.
The End.
2023.06.03 16:47 getmein-ughh [F4M] I will rp or catfish you as any celebrity you want me to be or porn star but you have to feed photo of them while we rp and I do joi ( I love deepfakes and babecocks and I am kinky and I have a list of celebs if you need it it’s down read it and come with a photo of who you want me to be ) l
What about Elui lea Jlo Shakira Mimi Keene Jennifer Anniston Rihanna Malu Camila cabello Lexi rivera cadey mercury Willa Holland Loren gray Dannielle Cohn Emma hixx Emmy rossum Melissa benoist Amber heard Emma stone Anne Hathaway Sophia turner Aj lee Paige Marisa tomie Milly Alcock Talia mar Kruzadar Cardi b Kenzie reeves Perry piper Charli d Amanda cerny Miley Cyrus Natalie lust Casey calvert Brandi love Alexis fawx Andi rose Sophia Leon Mia khalifa Rachel zegler Billie Dani Danielle Hailee stainfeild Kristen hancher Mikaila dancer Azzy land Mia MalkovA Skylar mae Baybrissa Nenasmind Veronica Perasso Emilia clark Brie Larson Natalie dormer Lauren jauregui Masie Williams aliceredlips astridwett elleBrooke dua lipa Nina dobreve demi levato faith ordway Sommer ray trish status anya Taylor joy norafathi Eva martinez Scarlett Johansson cocolovelock Melissa benoist pokimane Lana Rhodes Jane Wilde
submitted by getmein-ughh to CatfishMePlease2 [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 16:28 Useful-Moment-2537 Did the descendants of Indigenous and Scots-Irish/English settlers from the colonial period (1600-1780s) hide their mixed lineage after the Civil War?
Hi everyone. I was reading biographies and some genealogies on some early American scientists (born late 1700s) studying natural science disciplines (such as biology, botany, geology, zoology, or meteorology, usually in a philosophical "pure" science manner) and they exhibited some very peculiar and repetitive patterns.
The ones I checked typically ended up in academia of sorts, either school teacher, lecturer, tutor, or military academy. Here are some of the recurring themes in their genealogies/biographies, which were written after the 1860s, usually by their descendants:
For Redfield, I found a biography from 1900 and a family genealogy from mid-1800s that mentions all the different branches as "tribes" -- was that usual wording for this time..? They also both state that his first recorded ancestor changed names several times, Redson, Redfin, Redsyn...
Most of the above have come up so frequently that I was wondering if this was some kind of code... especially the oft mentioning of this long-hair don't care attitude + closeness to nature. What was this all about? If anyone has any information on this, I'd be keen to know.
Thank you!
submitted by Useful-Moment-2537 to AskHistorians [link] [comments]
The ones I checked typically ended up in academia of sorts, either school teacher, lecturer, tutor, or military academy. Here are some of the recurring themes in their genealogies/biographies, which were written after the 1860s, usually by their descendants:
- Either father, grandfather, or first recorded male ancestor loses land title
- Emphasis on being really from America...ironically by mentioning English heritage or something like the first ancestor being "native" to New England
- Tend to come from a line of sailors. if not a captain somewhere, then a tanner or a weaver is in their legacy
- Seem to be very mobile, free-spirited, wandering individuals who enjoy nature
- "Long-hair don't care" attitude (mentions having long, thick dark hair, towering stature, height or build, being very proud and free)
- Mentioning at some point that they were poor (either born in poverty or died in poverty)
- Either they or their fathegrandfather accused of fraud at some point, or failed business venture
For Redfield, I found a biography from 1900 and a family genealogy from mid-1800s that mentions all the different branches as "tribes" -- was that usual wording for this time..? They also both state that his first recorded ancestor changed names several times, Redson, Redfin, Redsyn...
Most of the above have come up so frequently that I was wondering if this was some kind of code... especially the oft mentioning of this long-hair don't care attitude + closeness to nature. What was this all about? If anyone has any information on this, I'd be keen to know.
Thank you!
2023.06.03 15:48 wdmcarth Daily Bullpen Usage: 06/03/23
Last updated: 06/03/23 09:48:13 EST
submitted by wdmcarth to fantasybaseball [link] [comments]
LEGEND
| Note | Description |
|---|---|
| Italics | Pitched previous day or twice in last 3 days. |
| Pitched back to back days. | |
| Bold | Recent transaction. |
| L3:## | Number of pitches thrown in last 3 days. |
| *** | SP first start. |
| ** | SP yet to reach 5.0 innings in a game. |
| * | SP yet to surpass 6.0 innings in a game. |
BULLPEN USAGE
| Team | Opp | SP | CL | SU8 | SU7 | MID | LR |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| ARI | ATL | Ryne Nelson* | Miguel CastroL3:15, Andrew Chafin | Scott McGough | Austin AdamsL3:35, Kyle NelsonL3:19, José RuizL3:23, Kevin GinkelL3:12 | Drey Jameson | |
| ATL | @ARI | Spencer Strider | Raisel IglesiasL3:6 | Nick AndersonL3:12 | Collin McHughL3:7 | A.J. MinterL3:13, Jesse ChavezL3:3, Joe Jiménez, Kirby Yates | AJ Smith-Shawver |
| BAL | @SFG | Kyle Bradish | Félix BautistaL3:16 | Yennier CanoL3:19 | Bryan BakerL3:25 | Mike BaumannL3:32, Danny CoulombeL3:27, Cionel PérezL3:23, Keegan AkinL3:25, Austin VothL3:58 | Bruce Zimmermann |
| BOS | TBR (2) | Garrett Whitlock, Kutter Crawford | Kenley JansenL3:13 | Chris MartinL3:31 | Josh WinckowskiL3:40 | Kutter CrawfordL3:24, Joely Rodríguez, Justin GarzaL3:19, Ryan Sherriff | Nick PivettaL3:28 |
| CHC | @SDP | Drew Smyly | Mark Leiter Jr.L3:27, Adbert AlzolayL3:21 | Michael FulmerL3:4 | Brandon HughesL3:13 | Jeremiah Estrada, Julian MerryweatherL3:39, Javier Assad | Hayden WesneskiL3:59 |
| CHW | DET | Dylan Cease | Kendall GravemanL3:15 | Joe KellyL3:24 | Reynaldo LópezL3:18 | Keynan MiddletonL3:9, Aaron Bummer, Liam Hendriks, Gregory Santos | Garrett CrochetL3:27 |
| CIN | MIL | Graham Ashcraft | Alexis DíazL3:13 | Buck FarmerL3:22 | Ian GibautL3:18 | Lucas SimsL3:42, Alex YoungL3:34, Fernando CruzL3:23, Eduardo Salazar | Kevin HergetL3:29 |
| CLE | @MIN | Logan Allen | Emmanuel ClaseL3:9 | James KarinchakL3:7 | Trevor StephanL3:37 | Eli MorganL3:15, Enyel De Los SantosL3:13, Sam HentgesL3:33, | Xzavion CurryL3:21 |
| COL | @KCR | Austin Gomber | Pierce JohnsonL3:21 | Jake BirdL3:37 | Brent SuterL3:44, Daniel BardL3:25, Brad HandL3:21, Matt Carasiti | Peter LambertL3:59 | |
| DET | @CHW | Michael Lorenzen | Alex LangeL3:21 | Jason FoleyL3:22 | Will VestL3:32 | José Cisnero, Chasen ShreveL3:33, Tyler Holton, Mason EnglertL3:21 | Tyler Alexander |
| HOU | LAA | Cristian Javier | Ryan PresslyL3:13 | Hector NerisL3:15 | Ryne StanekL3:10, Phil MatonL3:25, Rafael MonteroL3:18 | Seth MartinezL3:43 | |
| KCR | COL | Daniel Lynch* | Scott Barlow | Aroldis Chapman | Taylor ClarkeL3:18 | Josh Staumont, Carlos HernándezL3:28, Jose CuasL3:18, Nick WittgrenL3:30, Jackson Kowar | Mike Mayers |
| LAA | @HOU | Patrick Sandoval | Carlos Estévez | Chris Devenski | Jacob WebbL3:30 | Ben JoyceL3:10, Aaron LoupL3:22, Chase SilsethL3:39, Sam Bachman | Tucker DavidsonL3:54 |
| LAD | NYY | Michael Grove* | Evan Phillips, Brusdar GraterolL3:16, Caleb FergusonL3:14 | Yency AlmonteL3:14, Shelby Miller, Victor González, Alex VesiaL3:13, Justin Bruihl | Phil BickfordL3:37 | ||
| MIA | OAK | Eury Pérez* | Dylan Floro | Tanner ScottL3:19 | Huascar BrazobanL3:25 | Steven OkertL3:20, JT ChargoisL3:18, Andrew NardiL3:13, George Soriano | Bryan HoeingL3:34 |
| MIL | @CIN | Colin Rea* | Devin WilliamsL3:29 | Peter StrzeleckiL3:25 | Joel PayampsL3:39 | Hoby Milner, | Bryse WilsonL3:17 |
| MIN | CLE | Sonny Gray | Jhoan DuranL3:26 | Brock StewartL3:28 | Jorge LópezL3:16 | Emilio PagánL3:33, Jovani MoranL3:13, Griffin JaxL3:12, Cole Sands | José De LeónL3:16 |
| NYM | TOR | Tylor Megill* | David RobertsonL3:22, Adam OttavinoL3:6 | Brooks RaleyL3:39 | Josh Walker | ||
| NYY | @LAD | Gerrit Cole | Michael King, Clay HolmesL3:19, Wandy PeraltaL3:22 | Ron MarinaccioL3:5, Albert AbreuL3:17, Tommy KahnleL3:29, Jimmy Cordero | Ryan WeberL3:29 | ||
| OAK | @MIA | Luis Medina* | Trevor May | Shintaro FujinamiL3:19 | Sam MollL3:5 | Richard LoveladyL3:14, Lucas Erceg, Austin PruittL3:23, Sam LongL3:26 | Ken WaldichukL3:23 |
| PHI | @WSN | Matt Strahm* | Craig KimbrelL3:12 | Seranthony DomínguezL3:16 | Matt StrahmL3:41 | Gregory SotoL3:15, Connor BrogdonL3:19, Jeff HoffmanL3:23, Andrew VasquezL3:31, Yunior MarteL3:14 | Dylan Covey |
| PIT | STL | Luis L. Ortiz | David BednarL3:17 | Colin HoldermanL3:18 | Dauri MoretaL3:3 | Jose Hernandez, Rob ZastryznyL3:32, Yohan RamirezL3:20 | Cody BoltonL3:46 |
| SDP | CHC | Yu Darvish | Josh HaderL3:18 | Nick MartinezL3:15 | Steven WilsonL3:39 | Tim HillL3:14, | Drew CarltonL3:23 |
| SEA | @TEX | Bryan Woo*** | Paul SewaldL3:11 | Justin TopaL3:19 | Trevor Gott | Matt BrashL3:15, Gabe SpeierL3:9, Tayler Saucedo, Matt Festa | Chris Flexen |
| SFG | BAL | Anthony DeSclafani | Camilo DovalL3:19 | Tyler RogersL3:22 | John BrebbiaL3:11 | Taylor Rogers, Scott Alexander, Ryan WalkerL3:17, Luke JacksonL3:11, Jakob Junis | Sean Manaea |
| STL | @PIT | Jordan Montgomery | Ryan Helsley, Giovanny GallegosL3:20 | Jordan Hicks | Andre PallanteL3:17 | Génesis CabreraL3:17, Drew VerHagen, Chris Stratton | Steven Matz |
| TBR | @BOS (2) | Trevor Kelley**, Tyler Glasnow** | Jason AdamL3:24, Colin PocheL3:12, Kevin KellyL3:16, Jalen BeeksL3:13 | Jake Diekman, Calvin Faucher, Trevor Kelley | Joe La Sorsa | ||
| TEX | SEA | Andrew Heaney | Will SmithL3:7 | Grant AndersonL3:14 | Brock BurkeL3:33 | José LeclercL3:11, Jonathan HernándezL3:6, Josh Sborz, Cole Ragans | John King |
| TOR | @NYM | José Berríos | Erik SwansonL3:18 | Nate Pearson | Tim MayzaL3:25, Trevor RichardsL3:25, Adam CimberL3:19, Yimi García | Anthony BassL3:18 | |
| WSN | PHI | MacKenzie Gore | Kyle FinneganL3:58, Hunter HarveyL3:50 | Carl Edwards Jr.L3:42 | Andrés Machado, Mason ThompsonL3:11, Chad Kuhl, Erasmo Ramírez | Thaddeus Ward |
TRANSACTIONS
| Date | Team | Player | Category | Description |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 6/2 | BAL | Bruce Zimmermann | PROMOTION | Recalled from minors |
| 6/2 | KCR | Jackson Kowar | PROMOTION | Recalled from minors |
| 6/2 | MIA | George Soriano | PROMOTION | Recalled from minors |
2023.06.03 15:03 getmein-ughh [F4M] I will rp or catfish you as any celebrity you want me to be or porn star but you have to feed photo of them while we rp and I do joi ( I love deepfakes and babecocks and I am kinky and I have a list of celebs if you need it it’s down read it and come with a photo of who you want me to be ) l
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submitted by getmein-ughh to CatfishMePlease2 [link] [comments]
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TheGorillaGrip Theprivateavocado Tiffanynhoe Tiny Texie Talia Mar Triplex Celeste Trippie Bri Trishyland Tru Kait Urfavbellabby Ur69baby Uwucatxoxo Valeria Vidal Vanessa.rhd Vanessa Sierra Vega Thompson Vero Gold gasfdg2 Veronica Zolotova Vismara Martina Vyvan Le Wettmelons Whoahannahjo Whosbonnieandclyde Xailormoon Xenon Xlucy Yasmine Lopez Yololary YourSuggerBaby Yoya Grey Yummy Kimmy Yur Aular Zayla Skye Zipoz fsdf13 Zusje Addison Rae Faith Ordway Emily Ratajkowsk Emma Chamberlain Dixie D'Amelio Madison Beer Erin Gilfoy danielle bregoli2023.06.03 14:56 Individual_Hotel_184 Garrett Wilson + ? = TLaw?
12T SF PPR .5TEP
6pt passing TD
.1pt per passing 1st down
.04pts per yard
Had a manager reach out and ask me if I would be interested in giving up Olave + capital for TLaw. Ive dealt a few studs to get capital with intentions of tanking and grabbing Caleb Williams and some depth next year to compete in 2025.
Im pretty high on Olave, but im also pretty high on TLaw...and I while im higher on GW, I have grown a little skeptical about him becoming more of a Scary Terry type, never having great QB play after Rodgers retires...so I think id rather keep Olave, offer GW instead and offer up less capital...with the goal of holding my 3x 1sts to grab Marvin Harrison next year.
I currently own 3x 2024 1st (2 mid, 1 early), 2x 24' 2nds, 1x 3rd, and 1x 4th (all mid).
Current Roster:
QBs: Burrow, Purdy, Minshew, Brissett, Trask, Haener, Tune
RBs: Jaamal Williams, Pacheco, Charbonnet, Mattison, Chuba, Jerome Ford, Pierre Strong, Jordan Mason, Lew Nichols
WRs: Garrett Wilson, Olave, Kirk, Cooks, Rashee, Gage, Tank Dell, Rakim Jarrett
TEs: Engram, LaPorta, Fergusen, Gray
If you were in my position, would you hold and grab a QB + with my capital next year? What is the least capital you would start the conversation with to get things moving? GW + what = TLaw?
submitted by Individual_Hotel_184 to fantasyfootballadvice [link] [comments]
6pt passing TD
.1pt per passing 1st down
.04pts per yard
Had a manager reach out and ask me if I would be interested in giving up Olave + capital for TLaw. Ive dealt a few studs to get capital with intentions of tanking and grabbing Caleb Williams and some depth next year to compete in 2025.
Im pretty high on Olave, but im also pretty high on TLaw...and I while im higher on GW, I have grown a little skeptical about him becoming more of a Scary Terry type, never having great QB play after Rodgers retires...so I think id rather keep Olave, offer GW instead and offer up less capital...with the goal of holding my 3x 1sts to grab Marvin Harrison next year.
I currently own 3x 2024 1st (2 mid, 1 early), 2x 24' 2nds, 1x 3rd, and 1x 4th (all mid).
Current Roster:
QBs: Burrow, Purdy, Minshew, Brissett, Trask, Haener, Tune
RBs: Jaamal Williams, Pacheco, Charbonnet, Mattison, Chuba, Jerome Ford, Pierre Strong, Jordan Mason, Lew Nichols
WRs: Garrett Wilson, Olave, Kirk, Cooks, Rashee, Gage, Tank Dell, Rakim Jarrett
TEs: Engram, LaPorta, Fergusen, Gray
If you were in my position, would you hold and grab a QB + with my capital next year? What is the least capital you would start the conversation with to get things moving? GW + what = TLaw?
2023.06.03 14:56 Individual_Hotel_184 Garrett Wilson + ? = TLaw?
Dynasty 12T SF PPR .5TEP
6pt passing TD
.1pt per passing 1st down
.04pts per yard
Had a manager reach out and ask me if I would be interested in giving up Olave + capital for TLaw. Ive dealt a few studs to get capital with intentions of tanking and grabbing Caleb Williams and some depth next year to compete in 2025.
Im pretty high on Olave, but im also pretty high on TLaw...and I while im higher on GW, I have grown a little skeptical about him becoming more of a Scary Terry type, never having great QB play after Rodgers retires...so I think id rather keep Olave, offer GW instead and offer up less capital...with the goal of holding my 3x 1sts to grab Marvin Harrison next year.
I currently own 3x 2024 1st (2 mid, 1 early), 2x 24' 2nds, 1x 3rd, and 1x 4th (all mid).
Current Roster:
QBs: Burrow, Purdy, Minshew, Brissett, Trask, Haener, Tune
RBs: Jaamal Williams, Pacheco, Charbonnet, Mattison, Chuba, Jerome Ford, Pierre Strong, Jordan Mason, Lew Nichols
WRs: Garrett Wilson, Olave, Kirk, Cooks, Rashee, Gage, Tank Dell, Rakim Jarrett
TEs: Engram, LaPorta, Fergusen, Gray
If you were in my position, would you hold and grab a QB + with my capital next year? What is the least capital you would start the conversation with to get things moving? GW + what = TLaw?
submitted by Individual_Hotel_184 to Fantasy_Football [link] [comments]
6pt passing TD
.1pt per passing 1st down
.04pts per yard
Had a manager reach out and ask me if I would be interested in giving up Olave + capital for TLaw. Ive dealt a few studs to get capital with intentions of tanking and grabbing Caleb Williams and some depth next year to compete in 2025.
Im pretty high on Olave, but im also pretty high on TLaw...and I while im higher on GW, I have grown a little skeptical about him becoming more of a Scary Terry type, never having great QB play after Rodgers retires...so I think id rather keep Olave, offer GW instead and offer up less capital...with the goal of holding my 3x 1sts to grab Marvin Harrison next year.
I currently own 3x 2024 1st (2 mid, 1 early), 2x 24' 2nds, 1x 3rd, and 1x 4th (all mid).
Current Roster:
QBs: Burrow, Purdy, Minshew, Brissett, Trask, Haener, Tune
RBs: Jaamal Williams, Pacheco, Charbonnet, Mattison, Chuba, Jerome Ford, Pierre Strong, Jordan Mason, Lew Nichols
WRs: Garrett Wilson, Olave, Kirk, Cooks, Rashee, Gage, Tank Dell, Rakim Jarrett
TEs: Engram, LaPorta, Fergusen, Gray
If you were in my position, would you hold and grab a QB + with my capital next year? What is the least capital you would start the conversation with to get things moving? GW + what = TLaw?
2023.06.03 14:49 chuckhustmyre [TH] Mirror Image
By Chuck Hustmyre
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.
THE END
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William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.
THE END