jello! i’m temperance, i’m a girl, i’m 15 years old and i’m from america! i’m looking for some people to talk with around my age because summer has started and i am quite bored, as i don’t have many people to talk to! im not the greatest at starting a conversation but i can talk pretty well:) i love playing roblox, so if u play that dm me ur user and let’s play! im a huge fan of marvel, stranger things, the walking dead, and hunter x hunter! my favorite movie is forrest gump:) my favorite music genre is R&B, some of the artists that i listen to a lot are frank ocean, kendrick lamar, jhene aiko, rihanna, swv, tlc, kali uchis, the neighbourhood, bruno mars, doja cat and adele! (i know that’s a lot lol) i enjoy cooking in my spare time, cleaning (ik basic lol), spending time with my family, and taking pictures in the forest! thanks if you read all this, my DMs are open only for people around my age! (20+ please don’t dm:)

ChocoPro 314: GanPro Returns Need something to do tomorrow morning (or to check out after you wake up!)? Ichigaya has you covered! The Special Early Morning Episode features Akki teaming up with “May” Suruga once again to take on the Showa Era shooters, Mei Suruga (classic) taking on Smiling Violence Sayaka, and EGG TART welcomes Shota (teaming with Ichigaya’s Lucky Charm, Miya!) for his first official appearance on the regular show. Let’s Go, ChocoPro!
🍫 CLICK HERE FOR THE LINK! ChocoPro 314 🍫 Ken Ohka & Baliyan Akki VS Tokiko Kirihara & Cherry, Mei Suruga VS Sayaka, and EGG TART (Hagane Shinno & Chie Koishikawa) VS GanPro’s Shota & Miya Yotsuba! It airs TOMORROW at 4 am EDT / 1 am PDT / 9 am BST / 5 pm JST. Live and Free on YouTube!
This link will be updated with a direct one when available

Don't forget to Adjust Your Volume, Wrestling is Loud!

Change the stage, escape the normal! ChocoPro is built different. Find out why wrestlers like it so much: Find a new home on the bleeding edge. (This is not your regular wrestling show.) Join us for this episode, or check out the back catalog of 17 wonderful Seasons on the Gatoh Move ChocoPro YouTube channel...260+ episodes with stories and pro-wrestling like you've never seen. New to the promotion? It features a roster of skilled veterans, rising stars, and wonderful guests fighting in the ChocoPro Arena: Ichigaya Chocolate Square. Subscribe for more content than just the live matches! (AEW Watch Alongs, Discussions, Interviews, Food Challenges, etc) Even if you can't catch it live, don't sweat it! It will still be available on the channel.

Ken Ohka 🤠 (as May Suruga) & Baliyan Akki ♠️

VS

Tokiko “Otoki” Kirihara 💃 & Cherry 🍒

Best Bros?

Ken Ohka, the hero of Ganbare Pro-wrestling, is basically a regular part of ChocoPro as well at this point. When he’s not working with food at DDT’s restaurant Ebisco Sakaba with Obi or getting the crowd roaring at GanPro, he’s spearing someone out of their boots in Ichigaya! This man is enthusiastic about everything he does, even when he is occasionally pretending to be Mei Suruga. Now that “May Suruga” has been officially recognized, be careful not to be overwhelmed by his charm. Baliyan Akki & Mei, the regular Best Bros, are one of the greatest Tag Teams out there. Baliyan Akki keeps a serene attitude while dealing out some of the most devastating strike combo’s you’ll ever witness. The “Zephyr of Ichigaya” is among the best when it comes to in ring quality, but how well will he handle this replacement Mei? Ken & Akki have teamed together in the past (especially in GanPro!), but this false version of the beloved tag team is still untested. How will the Apple Substitution go? Can the Ace find that awesome synergy with a different “Mei”?
Cherry Comaneci returns!? The Showa Era Shooters Tokiko “Otoki” Kirihara & Cherry are two of a kind! Will these two show the boys the power of their physical perfection? Otoki is a very down to earth fighter for the most part, bringing a vicious realism that is a bit more visceral than a lot of the high characters of ChocoPro! Though the Iron Claw user might occasionally pull off a Comaneci Taunt or torturous twist, she's known for her ungodly kicks and throws...She was a champion Kickboxer, after all! Mischievous Fortune Teller Cherry also brings a lot of ground work and technical prowess, being able to slickly roll into pins and armbars. Cherry is one of the scariest grapplers to grace Ichigaya, considering she even gives a rough time to a lot of the power fighters! Can the False Best Bros bring down these dynamic pair?

Mei Suruga 🍎

VS

Sayaka 👗

Apple Violence

Whether you know her as the Apple Goblin or the Big Apple Girl, Mei Suruga is a vast sea of charisma. The real Red Fairy of Ichigaya tends to convert new viewers into her “dummies” quite quickly, even the coldest heart finding it hard to resist her charm and explosive wrestling ability...despite her being so utterly rotten most of the time! She is undeniably a rising star of the Joshi world...making appearances for STARDOM, TJPW, DPW, AEW, Evolution Girls, DDT, and many more! Though the Goblin tends to appear mostly in tags at Ichigaya these days, singles are a rare tasty treat for her: Mei loves getting an opportunity to be a goblin the entire match! With her 5th Anniversary in the rear view, the Apple Road continues...with a pit stop in violence city.
“I'm gonna kill you! Yayyyyy!” While she has become infamous for her unsettling quotes, “Smiling Violence” Sayaka is known more for her ungodly striking power. Those explosive forearms and pinpoint dropkicks stagger even the toughest opponents! Sayaka’s unnerving cheerfulness while she does brutal things provides her with a big presence in the square. That unattached joy will eventually be the stuff of legends! (After all, she’s “happy to beat someone”!) Don't forget, Sayaka hangs out around Minoru Suzuki and survives to tell the tale...This photogenic phenom is on the rise, keep an eye on her! After the Lucky Violence team managed to deliver some brutality during the Birthday Gauntlet, Sayaka will be delighted to bring more pain to the Apple Goblin.

EGG TART (Chie Koishikawa 🏵️ & Hagane Shinno ⚔️)

VS

GanPro’s Shota ⚾ & Miya Yotsuba 🍀

Mr. SHOWTIME

Chie Koishikawa & Hagane Shinno, the combination known as EGG TART, are a hot and cold team. Opposites definitely attract, and the polar attraction results in some of the craziest team attacks you will ever witness! “Too Much Energy” Chie brings an uncontrollable excitement wherever she goes (including to the recently rebooted GanJo), sprinting around the Square and delivering lightning quick striking...often from the air! Her tightly locked Stretch Mufflers and eye catching arm drags will have you shouting as much as she does. The Frantic Fencer is one of the most popular characters in all of ChocoPro! Her Wintery partner on the other hand is a remorseless killing machine...and the Super Asia Champion. Hagane’s icy ferocity usually brings about ugly thuds via heavy striking and brutal slams. The “Cold Killer” earned his epithet by easily dispatching some of the best the promotion has to offer. This ageless assassin only shows emotion around his chaotic partner...and together they amplify each others personalities. These two have limitless potential, and now that Hagane has the Big Blue Belt they will also have limitless enemies looking for an opportunity! Speaking of which...
Shota, GanPro’s charismatic underdog technician, finally makes his official ChocoPro Debut! He might give off some of the same vibes as “Generic Masa” from long ago, but there is nothing generic about Shota! This world traveling jump suit enthusiast impresses everywhere he goes, so expect Ichigaya to be no different. Anticipate a lot of flowing transitions and crisp technique! With an unbeatable in ring IQ and a talent for complex pinning skills, “Mr. SHOWTIME” is going to be a great support for his Rookie partner: The Avatar of the Fifth Generation, Miya Yotsuba! “Ichigaya’s Lucky Charm” Miya brings a strength empowered style that is quite flashy (especially that Miya Hammer)! Our new powerhouse has begun a series of difficult matches against her seniors (joining gangs and facing clowns, fortune tellers, drunks, cannibals, and the truly wild), in order to speed up her adjustment to Ichigaya’s strange (and vicious) world. Teaming up with guests is a common theme in ChocoPro, so this will be a great test for the Mint-Green Bruiser...especially with a guest this good! Good Luck, Miya!
Let’s Go ChocoPro, Let’s Go GanPro!
Come and see the wild creativity that produced Two of the Seven AEW Women's World Champions! (Both of which have appeared on ChocoPro!) You'll be wondering if you're seeing future champs, as well. ChocoPro is the Frontier of Pro Wrestling! Match after match of hard hitting, chaotic, fun bouts with a friendly online audience. We're quickly growing, and you're welcome to come along!
Here are some Frequently Asked Questions:

“What is this?”

ChocoPro is a free online promotion run by AEW's Emi Sakura, that takes place in the legendary Ichigaya Chocolate Square! It features a steady pace of live Episode releases, fan interaction, season long story arcs, and much more! A place where the turnbuckles are replaced with 14th floor windows, the ropes are often replaced with fans, unforgiving walls provide creative avenues for skills otherwise unthinkable, and you can take solace in knowing that the referees usually do nothing. While it might be a shocking change at first, the intensity and storytelling will leave you wanting more.

“Why are they fighting in ____?”

Short answer is that it is a cost effective, unique venue with a better availability schedule and allows the roster access for training. Emi Sakura has been using this place for a long time, and you might be surprised at some of the names that have used it (even outside of ChocoPro!). There are a few in-ring Episodes and Gatoh Move has in ring shows with crowds on the YouTube channel. Think of it like the Hart Dungeon but as a promotion, if that helps!

”What are the rules?”

While special match stipulations will usually be explained before the respective matches, the general rules of ChocoPro are simple. Pins only count on the Chocolate Mat and are not broken by the edge or Wall. Submissions usually only count on the Chocolate Mat, and ARE broken by reaching the edge or wall (sometimes ceiling...). Double pins and Double submissions are legal (and encouraged) in ChocoPro Tag matches, meaning cohesive teams will always have the advantage! Count Outs only exist if specified, since many matches stray from the comfort of the Chocolate Square into the streets (and the rest of the building itself!) There is a Time Limit for each bout (based on card placement and importance) and the Referee has discretion (even if they tend to do nothing most of the time!). Every Ref is different, some have different levels of bias and speed.

“How can I support them?”

Watch the show! Even if you can't see it live, the views matter! Like & Subscribe! You can join the Channel's membership for different tiers of perks...but also, you can buy single episode Sponsorship, Digital autographed photos, and more on their shop site as well as purchase shirts from PWTees (which features some great options!) If you'd like to donate or purchase a main wall sponsorship, you can via Paypal or Patreon...and don't forget to cheer for your favorites! (especially if you want to do a superchat!)

”How come there aren’t a lot of comments on the threads?”

ChocoPro is a YouTube show, meaning the discourse happens live...in the chat! Those that comment in the threads on here tend to do so in order to help new viewers that might be intimidated by the fast moving chat. Don’t be afraid to just dive in though, the community is friendly.

“Why are you posting this here? / Are you paid for this?”

This is a wrestling forum, and I'm trying to broaden the horizons of others! There is a lot of good wrestling out there...Plus growing the fan base means more people for me to joke around with! I honestly do believe this is what a lot of fans are looking for, even if it is too different for some! But different tastes are good. Variety is the spice of life. This is a labor of love (it really doesn't take that long) considering how much work they do to put on so many shows...for free!
If you have any other questions, feel free to ask me on here or on Twitter, where I’m everywhere! ChocoPro is going to the UK!
Season Tracker: We're 14/18 into Season 18! (Each Season is usually around 18 episodes)

TW: BODY HORROR, DISTURBING IMAGERY, BLOOD, GORE, CANNIBALISM, MURDER
Take this piece of shit while I work on a different type of Pick A POV lmao
OC 1 (Zekiel)
OC 2 (Lizzy)
OC 3 (Elixer)
-------------------------------------------
{POV 1}
OC Used: Elixer
~~~~
[8:09 AM]
[??/??/????]
[Equalia Falls Mental Institute]
~~~~~~~~~~~
You were born with the ability to see and hear things that are otherwise invisible to the naked eye. However, when you told others about it, they saw you as crazy and insane.
It eventually got to a point where you were eventually shipped off to a mental institute, and you've been there since then.
Though for some reason, you've always felt something...off...about your new home...
For instance; Once you made a new friend a few days after your arrival, only for them to go missing a few days later...
Not only that, you've also been noticing several other patients would often be found on the halls covered in blood...
You tried not to think of it too much but it still irked you a lot.
~~~
{PRESENT TIME}
~~~
Recently, a new patient had arrived at the Institute a few days ago. His name was Elixer and he originally was a homeless orphan before a police officer caught him almost trying to kill someone...
Despite his origins, he genuinely seemed like a chill person!
Right now, you and the other patients are all hanging out at the Playground and you're happily swinging on the tire swing.
That is...until you're suddenly interrupted...
"NO!!! STOP IT!!! I WON'T JOIN YOU!!!" It was Elixer...
You looked over at him and you're terrified to see a female demon standing behind Elixer as many black tentacles swarm around him, all while Elixer is on his knees crying and covering his ears as the female Demon smiles at the sight, seemingly enjoying seeing him suffer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{POV 2}
OC Used: Lizzy
~~~~
[20:00 AM]
[??/??/????]
[Equalia Falls Mental Institute]
~~~~
You're a demon. You're mainly known for having caused the suffering of many, many innocent souls with no remorse whatsoever.
You've gone through many human hosts, all of them ending up not satisfying your expectations. And in the end you grew bored of your main tasks.
One day, you were walking around your void that you resided in when you heard a shrill noise in the distance.
Crying...Was that...what you thought it was?
You walked around, trying to find the source of the noise, before eventually you came up to what looked to be a small white bean. Upon closer inspection, you came to realize it was a small baby girl wrapped in a white blanket.
For some reason, you found yourself bending down and picking up the small girl into your arms, cradling her gently to stop her crying. Your actions proved successful as she soon quieted down and looked up at you with soft and small eyes the color of coal.
You couldn't help it; You smiled, feeling rather content with the small child's presence.
You slowly and carefully removed the blanket she was bundled in, casting it aside and replacing it with a beautiful Ivory faux fur coat, a small gift from you.
You chuckled as the baby giggled happily and reached out to you while cooing.
You never wanted this moment to end...
~~~
{PRESENT TIME}
~~~
You stood over your daughter, who you learned over the years was named Lizzy, as she trembled in fear upon seeing you, hastily backing into a corner of her dorm room. Your heart ached seeing her like this, but then again, you knew she would soon grow to tolerate you and accept you as her (mothefather).
Over the years, you managed to attach yourself onto Lizzy's soul as to keep a better eye on your beloved daughter. Unfortunately, this resulted in her going crazy and being sent off to a Mental Institution..
You swore to yourself that you would help her out of that disgusting place...unfortunately, she didn't seem to remember you and was always terrified when she saw you...
You held out your arms, offering a hug as you took another step towards her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{POV 3}
OC Used: Zekiel~~~~
[20:33 AM]
[??/??/????]
[Equalia Falls Mental Institute]
~~~~~
It's been almost a year since you and your friend, Zekiel, were transferred from Voidkin Asylum to Equalia Falls Mental Institute. And though it took awhile, you both eventually got used to your new surroundings.
At first Zekiel was scared. Seeing an environment where he was possibly vulnerable for HIM was a challenge for him to get used to. But after seeing the crucifixes in the dorms and locks on the doors as well as the nurses giving him a rosary to wear, he calmed down.
As for you, at first your were severely clingy towards Zekiel for a fear that if you didn't stay near him constantly, something would bad would happen to him...
...or worse...
But soon you grew more calmer the more nights you both encountered and survived together
~~~~
{PRESENT TIME}
~~~~
One night, you and Zekiel are peacefully sleeping in the dormitory you had chosen for the night. When you suddenly wake up to a roaring noise far different than what you're used to hearing.
You slowly open your eyes and your eyes widen when you see a seeming 9'2 tall demon standing over you while a shadowy humanoid figure stood in front of Zekiel's bed. Despite the humanoid having no face, you could tell it was glaring at the demon that towered over you.
Speaking of the demon, a sinister smile crept onto its face upon seeing you awake and you heard the shadow human emit a low growl...
What does it want with you?
Does it plan to do something horrible?
Most likely...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rules+Things to Keep in mind:

1. As usual, Inhuman OCs are fine but powers are forbidden
2. Take this seriously, any jokes about this will get you ignored
3. Feel free to play as your Roblox Avatar if you wish :)
4. You do NOT need to know about Equalia Falls Mental Institute or play Roblox to participate. Anyone is welcome whether or not they know
5. For POV 2; YOUR OC MUST BE A DEMON!!! NO EXCEPTIONS!!
6. OP/MARY-SUES/IDC/IDGAF = AUTO IGNORED!!
7. INSTA-FIX/INSTA-KILL/INSTA-SOLUTION = AUTO IGNORED!!
8. No Romance, Only Platonic Relationships with the Trio. No exceptions
9. This isn't scripted. I WILL be late to reply

Can i have someone draw me? User: IHeartNYPD my avatar is a girl btw

I dont remember much but i used to play it on my laptop with my brother side by side. So multiplayer is available but on the same console. It can be controlled with WASD and arrow keys and I cant contact my brother yet so….
It had a blue menu screen and white overall buttons and style. Dont remember the title. Very simple, but yet i still cannot remember if there was a brand name like SEGA so im not sure if its a famous game. The language used for the whole game is English but i remember some Japanese dialogues as well.
I think my brother once said to me that it was an indie game, to be exact his words to my 8yo self was “my friend made this game” but i highly doubt it.
Theres a cheat code that can be put during the menu screen, dont remember the exact code, dont remember what it does either. Maybe it triggered an avatar or theres new powerups mayne i dont remember.
There are many avatars that can be chosen ranging from typically young girl/boy to old men. The artstyle is fairly good, maybe ripped off of somewhere but in the game they become tiny miniature versions of themselves and its really cute.
When the game plays theres a lot of stages to choose from, and all of the maps are simple, not other platforms that can be climbed. I specifically remember a train station? with grey bricks as the ground and the map was night time.
And sometimes items fall from the sky onto the ground and players can pick it up to use as throwable items or weapons. I can remember wooden baseball bats, maybe some type of molotov? and other long weapons. Maybe there was also an orb? players pick up and it gives the player magic abilities, sort of like an evolved version of the character.
I could be imagining all of these but i can never forget the time i spent with my brother playing this game, its a precious memory.
It sounds like a normal street fighter game, it might be, but im looking for that specific version or the actual game, if anyone can help that would be awesome, thank you.

F4M looking!
Hi!
I am a 20 year old female and have always love role playing and creating a story with other people. I’m looking for mainly romance/drama, and have a few plot ideas of my own and would love to hear yours!
I am a writer so I am pretty decent with it comes to literacy, English, and good writing structure. I am seeking for similar (I find poor English frustrating lol.) I am semi detailed when it comes to my writing and do roughly a paragraph per response once we get deeper into the roleplay. Towards the beginning though, I add a bit more detail.
I like to create my characters, giving a name, description of their personality, looks, age, gender, race, and a backstory if you would like me to give one! I also love adding a picture to show my characters physical appearance to help you visualize things a bit better!
(Some of said ideas include but are not limited to:
Fake dating
A good ole Captor x Victim
Mental Patient x Nurse/Doctor
Wrongfully Accused Inmate x Private InvestigatoPrison Guard
I'm not sure how to put this one into a short sentence, but basically there's a school for college age kids with special abilities, think abilities similar to those of Avatar. Earth, water, fire, air, etc! Can include other sort of powers too, just be creative!
Best friends to Lovers
Enemies to Lovers
Forced Proximity, aka roommates or something
Mafia Boy and Clueless Girl
And much more!)
Feel so incredibly free to tell me some of your ideas as well!
Please DM if interested!
Thanks!

I've shared fiction here before and it didn't go altogether too poorly, so I'm going to press my luck and do it again. This was written about a year ago, and I'm tired of trying to peddle it to lit magazines. Might as well share it here, know that it met a few eyeballs, and have done with it.
It's relevant to the sub insofar as it's about urban alienation and the working conditions at a small business run by IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE people. (I tried to pitch it as a story of the great resignation with a momentary flicker of cosmic horror.) It's based on a similar job I took on after getting laid off during the lockdown, and the circumstances of the main character's breakup are faintly similar to one I went through several years back (her job sucked the life out of her).
Without further ado:
* * *
It was getting close to midnight, and the temperature outside was still above 80 degrees. We’d locked up the shop at 10:15 and walked over to Twenty, the dive bar on Poplar Street, where a single wall-mounted air conditioner and four wobbly ceiling fans weren’t putting up much resistance against the July heat baking the place from the outside and the dense mass of bodies giving it a stifling fever from within.
Just now I came close to saying it was a Wednesday night, because that was usually when the cyclists descended upon Avenue Brew, the gritty-but-bougie craft beer and sandwich shop I was working at back then. Every Wednesday between March and November, about fifteen to twenty-five Gen Xers dressed in skintight polyester, all packages and camel toes and fanny packs, locked up their thousand-dollar bikes on the sidewalk and lined up for IPAs and paninis. They reliably arrived around 8:00, an hour before we closed, making it impossible to get started on the closing checklist and leave on time at 10:00. The worst of them were demanding and rude, and even the best got raucous and stubborn after a couple drinks. There were nights when bringing in the sidewalk tables couldn’t be done without arguing with them. Most were sub-par tippers, to boot.
After Wednesday came and went that week without so much as a single 40-something in Ray Bans and padded shorts stopping in to double-fist two cans of Jai Alai, we dared to hope the cyclists had chosen another spot to be their finish line from there on out. But no—they’d only postponed their weekly ride, and swarmed us on Friday night instead.
I was the last person to find out; I was clocked in as purchaser that evening. The position was something like a promotion I'd received a year earlier: for twenty hours a week, I got to retreat from the public and sit in the back room with the store laptop, reviewing sales and inventory, answering emails from brewery reps, and ordering beer, beverages, and assorted paper goods. When I put in hours as purchaser, my wage went up from $11 to $15 an hour, but I was removed from the tip pool. On most days, tips amounted to an extra two or three dollars an hour, so I usually came out ahead.
This was back in 2021. I don't know what Avenue Brew pays these days.
Anyway, at about 8:15, I stepped out to say goodbye to everyone and found the shop in chaos. Friday nights were generally pretty active, the cyclists' arrival had turned the place into a mob scene. The line extended to the front door. The phone was ringing. The Grubhub tablet dinged like an alarm clock without a snooze button. Danny was on the sandwich line and on the verge of losing his temper. Oliver was working up a sweat running food, bussing tables, and replenishing ingredients from the walk-in. The unflappable Marina was on register, and even she seemed like she was about to snap at somebody.
What else could I do? I stayed until closing to answer the phone, process Grubhub orders, hop on and off the second register, and help Danny with sandwich prep. After the tills were counted out, I stayed another hour to take care of the dishes, since nobody had a chance to do a first load. Oliver was grateful, even though he grumbled about having to make some calls and rearrange Sunday's schedule so I could come in a couple hours late. Irene and Jeremy, Avenue Brew's owners, would kick his ass if he let me go into overtime.
Danny suggested that we deserved a few drinks ourselves after managing to get through the shift without killing anyone. Not even Marina could find a reason to disagree with him.
The neighborhood had undergone enough gentrification to support an upscale brunch spot, an ice cream parlor, a gourmet burger restaurant, a coffee and bahn mi shop, and Avenue Brew (to name a few examples), but not yet quite enough that the people who staffed them couldn’t afford to live within a ten-minute walk from the main avenue where all these hep eateries stood between 24-hour corner stores with slot machines in back, late-night Chinese and Mexico-Italian takeout joints with bulletproof glass at the counters, and long-shuttered delis and shoe stores. Twenty on Poplar was the watering hole set aside for people like us. It was dim, a bit dilapidated, and inexpensive, and usually avoided by denizens of the condos popping up on the vacant lots and replacing clusters of abandoned row houses.
When we arrived, Kyle waved us over. He didn’t work at Avenue Brew anymore, but still kept up with a few of us. He was at Twenty at least four nights out of the week.
So there we all were. I sat with a brooding stranger freestyling to himself in a low mumble on the stool to my left and Oliver on my right, who tapped at his phone and nursed a bottle of Twisted Tea. To Oliver’s right sat Marina, staring at nothing in particular and trying to ignore Danny, who stood behind her, closer than she would have liked, listening to Kyle explain the crucial differences between the Invincible comic book and the Invincible web series.
I recall being startled back to something like wakefulness when it seemed to me that the ceiling had sprouted a new fan. I blinked my eyes, and it wasn’t there anymore. It reminded me of an incident from when I was still living with my folks in South Jersey and still had a car, and was driving home from a friend’s house party up in Bergen County. It was 6:30 AM, I hadn’t slept all night, and needed to get home so I could get at least little shuteye before heading to Whole Foods for my 11:00 AM shift. I imagined I passed beneath the shadows of overpasses I knew weren’t there, and realized I was dreaming at the wheel.
I was pretty thoroughly zombified at that point. Heather and I had broken up for good the night before, and I hadn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Calling out at Avenue Brew was tough. Unless you found someone willing to cover your shift on like six hours' notice, you were liable to get a writeup, a demotion, or your hours cut if you couldn't produce a doctor's note. So I loaded up on caffeine pills and Five-Hour Energy bottles at the corner store, and powered through as best I could.
I finished the last thimbleful of Blue Moon in my glass. Oliver wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a napkin and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the KiwiFarms thread he was scrolling through. Pool balls clacked; somebody swore and somebody laughed. The TouchTunes box was playing Bob Dylan’s “Rain Day Woman #12 & 35,” and enough bleary 40-something men around the bar were bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to make it impossible to determine which one of them paid two bucks to hear it. A guy by the cigarette machine who looked like a caricature of Art Carney in flannel and an old Pixies T-shirt was accosting a woman who must have been a toddler when he hit drinking age, and she momentarily made eye contact with me as she scanned the area for a way out. Danny was shouting over the bartender’s head, carrying on a conversation with the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, who was sitting on the horseshoe’s opposite arm.
I never got his name, but when Oliver first referred to him as the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, I knew exactly who he meant. Philly scene kid par excellence. Mid-20s, washed-out black denim, dyed black hair, thick bangs, and dark, gentle eyes. He was only truly alluring when he was on the job, because he seldom smiled then—and when he smiled, he broke the spell by exposing his teeth, stained a gnarly shade of mahogany from too much smoking and not enough brushing.
“How’s Best? Marcus still a joker?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah, you know Marcus. You know how he is.”
So the Hot Guy had been working at Best Burger (directly across the street from Avenue Brew) ever since Pizza Stan’s owners mismanaged the place unto insolvency. (Afterwards it was renovated and reopened as a vegan bakery—which incidentally closed down about a month ago.) Danny used to work at Best Burger, but that ended after he got into a shouting match with the owner. I happened to overhear it while I was dragging in the tables and collecting the chairs from the sidewalk the night it happened. It wasn’t any of my business, and I tried not to pay attention, but they were really tearing into each other. A month later, Oliver welcomed Danny aboard at Avenue Brew. I hadn’t known he’d been interviewed, and by then it was too late to mention the incident. But I’d have been a hypocrite to call it a red flag after the way I resigned from my position as Café Chakra's assistant manager two years earlier—not that we need to go dredging that up right now. Let's say there was some bad blood and leave it at that.
Anyway, I was thinking about giving in and buying a pack of cigarettes from the machine—and then remembered that Twenty didn’t have a cigarette machine. I looked again. The Art Carney-lookalike was still there, fingering his phone with a frown, but the girl was gone—and so was the cigarette machine.
I had only a moment to puzzle over this before Danny clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a shot glass in front of me.
“Starfish!” he said. (Danny called me Starfish. Everybody else called me Pat.) “You look like you need some juice.”
He distributed shots to everyone else. Marina declined hers, but changed her mind when Kyle offered to take it instead.
She and Kyle had stopped sleeping together after Kyle left Avenue Brew to work at the Victory taproom on the Parkway, but Marina was still concerned about his bad habits, which Danny delighted in encouraging.
We all leaned in to clink our glasses. Before I could find an appropriate moment to ask Marina if I could bum a cigarette, she got up to visit the bathroom. Danny took her seat and bowed his head for a conspiratorial word with Kyle.
I watched from the corner of my eye and tried to listen in. Like Marina, I was a little worried about Kyle. He got hired at Avenue Brew around the same time I did, just before the pandemic temporarily turned us into a takeout joint. He was a senior at Drexel then, an English major, and sometimes talked about wanting to either find work in publishing or carve out a career as a freelance writer after graduating. But first he intended to spend a year getting some life in before submitting himself to the forever grind.
He read a lot of Charles Bukowski and Hunter Thompson. He relished the gritty and sordid, and had already been good at sniffing it out around the neighborhood and in West Philly before Danny introduced him to cocaine, casinos, strip clubs, and a rogue’s gallery of shady but fascinating people. (None were really Danny’s friends; just fellow passengers who intersected with the part of his life where he sometimes went to Parx, sometimes came out ahead, sometimes spent his winnings on coke, and sometimes did bumps at titty bars.) Kyle recounted these adventures with a boyish enthusiasm for the naked reality of sleaze, like a middle schooler telling his locker room buddies about catching his older brother in flagrante and seeing so-and-so body parts doing such-and-such things.
Marina hated it. She never said as much to me, but she was afraid that the template Kyle set for his life during his “year off” was in danger of becoming locked in. The anniversary of his graduation had already passed, and now here he was trying to convince Danny to contribute a couple hundred dollars toward a sheet of acid his guy had for sale. He wasn't doing much writing lately.
I was the oldest employee at Avenue Brew (as I write this I’m 37, but fortunately I don’t look it), and when Kyle still worked with us I felt like it was my prerogative to give him some advice. The longer he waited to make inroads, I once told him, the more likely he’d be seen as damaged goods by the publishing world. He needed to jam his foot in the door while he was still young.
I could tell the conversation bored him, and didn’t bring up the subject again.
The bartender took my glass and curtly asked if I’d like another drink.
“No thanks, not yet,” I answered.
She slid me my bill.
I missed the old bartender, the one she’d replaced. I forget her name, but she was ingenuous and energetic and sweet. Pretty much everyone had some sort of crush on her. Sometimes she came into Avenue Brew for lunch, and tipped us as well as we tipped her. Maybe three months before that night—Danny witnessed it—she suddenly started crying and rushed out the door. Everyone at the bar mutely looked to each other for an explanation. (Fortunately for Twenty, the kitchen manager hadn’t left yet, and picked up the rest of her shift.)
She never came back. None of us had seen her since. But drafts still had to be poured and bottlecaps pulled off, and now here was another white woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black tank top, a pushup bra, and a scrunchie, same as before. Twenty’s regulars grew accustomed to not expecting to see the person she’d replaced, and life went on.
“How’re you doing?” I asked Oliver, just to say something to somebody, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Heather.
“Just kind of existing right now,” he answered. His phone lay face-up on the counter. He was swiping through Instagram, and I recognized the avatar of the user whose album he hate-browsed.
“And how’s Austin been?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Not even three weeks after getting over the jetlag from his trip back from the Cascades, he’s off touring Ireland.” He shook his head. “Living his best life.”
He’d hired Austin on a part-time basis in September. We needed a new associate when Emma was promoted to replace a supervisor who'd quit without even giving his two weeks. There was a whole thing. I'm having a hard time recalling the guy's name, but I liked him well enough. He was a good worker and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was—well, he was young. Naïve. One day he found Jeremy sitting in the back room with his laptop, and took advantage of the open-door policy to ask why the store manager and supervisors didn’t get health benefits or paid time off. Jeremy told him it "was being worked on," and that he couldn’t discuss it any further at that time. I understand the kid got argumentative, though I never knew precisely what was said.
Irene started visiting the shop a lot more often after that, almost always arriving when the kid was working. No matter what he was doing, she’d find a reason to intervene, to micromanage and harangue him, and effectively make his job impossible. A coincidence, surely.
It’s something I still think about. By any metric, Jeremy and Irene have done very well for themselves. They’re both a little over 40 years old. I remember hearing they met at law school. In addition to Avenue Brew, they own a bistro in Francisville and an ice cream parlor in Point Breeze. They have a house on the Blue Line, send their son to a Montessori school, and pull up to their businesses in a white Volkswagen ID.4. But whenever the subject of benefits, wages, or even free shift meals came up, they pled poverty. It simply couldn’t be done. But they liked to remind us about all they did to make Avenue Brew a fun place to work, like let the staff pick the music and allow Oliver and me to conduct a beer tasting once a day. They stuck Black Lives Matter, Believe Women, and Progress flag decals on the front door and windows, and I remember Irene wearing a Black Trans Lives Matter shirt once or twice when covering a supervisor's shift. None of the college students or recent graduates who composed most of Avenue Brew's staff could say the bosses weren't on the right team. And yet...
I'm sorry—I was talking about Austin. He was maybe 30 and already had another job, a “real” job, some sort of remote gig lucrative enough for him to make rent on a studio in the picturesque Episcopal church down the street that had been converted into upscale apartments some years back. Austin wasn’t looking for extra cash. He wanted to socialize. To have something to do and people to talk to in the outside world. He wanted to make friends, and all of us could appreciate that—but it’s hard to be fond of a coworker who irredeemably sucks at his job. Austin never acted with any urgency, was inattentive to detail, and even after repeated interventions from Oliver and the supervisors, he continued to perform basic tasks in bafflingly inefficient ways. Having Austin on your shift meant carrying his slack, and everyone was fed up after a few months. Oliver sat him down, told him he was on thin ice, and gave him a list of the areas in which he needed to improve if he didn’t want to be let go.
When Austin gave Oliver the indignant “I don’t need this job” speech, it was different from those times Danny or I told a boss to go to hell and walked out. Austin truly didn’t need it. He basically said the job was beneath him, and so was Oliver.
It got deep under Oliver’s skin. He did need the job and had to take it seriously, even when it meant being the dipshit manager chewing out a man four or five years his senior. He earned $18 an hour (plus tips when he wasn’t doing admin work), had debts to pay off, and couldn't expect to get any help from his family.
The important thing, though, the part I distinctly remember, was that Oliver was looking at a video of a wading bird Austin had recorded. An egret, maybe. White feathers, long black legs, pointy black beak. Austin must have been standing on a ledge above a creek, because he had an overhead view of the bird as it stood in the water, slowly and deliberately stretching and retracting its neck, eyeing the wriggling little shadows below. As far as the fish could know, they were swimming around a pair of reeds growing out of the silt. The predator from which they extended was of a world beyond their understanding and out of their reach.
The video ended. Oliver moved on to the next item: a photograph of the bird from the same perspective, with a fish clamped in its beak. Water droplets flung from the victim's thrashing tail caught the sunlight. And I remember now, I clearly remember, the shapes of like twelve other fish stupidly milling about the bird's feet, unperturbed and unpanicked.
Danny peered at Oliver’s phone and observed a resemblance between the bird—its shape and bearing, and the composition of the photograph—and a POV porn video shot from behind and above, and he told us so. Elaborately. He made squawking noises.
“And mom says I’m a degenerate,” Oliver sighed. “Can you practice your interspecies pickup artist shit somewhere else?” Oliver flicked his wrist, shooing Danny off, and held his phone in front of his face to signal that he was done talking.
Danny sagged a little on his stool and turned away. I sometimes felt bad for him. For all his faults, he had the heart of a puppy dog. He really did think of us as his tribe. There was nobody else who’d only ever answer “yes” when you asked him to pick up a shift, and he did it completely out of loyalty.
He was turning 29 in a week. I wondered how many people would actually turn out to celebrate with him at the Black Taxi. Kyle probably would—but even he regarded Danny more as a source of vulgar entertainment than a friend.
Then it happened again. When I turned to speak to Oliver, there’d been a pair of pool cues leaning side-by-side against the wall a few stools down. Now they were gone.
This time it might have been my imagination. Somebody passing by could have casually snatched them up and kept walking.
But a moment later I seemed to notice a second TouchTunes box protruding from the wall directly behind me. I let it be.
Marina returned from the bathroom. Danny rose and offered her back her seat with an exaggerated bow. Before she got settled, I asked if she’d like to step outside with me. She withdrew her pack of Marlboro Menthols from her canvas bag, which she left sitting on the stool to deter Danny from sitting back down.
Marina never minded letting me bum cigarettes from time to time. I couldn’t buy them for myself anymore; it’s a habit I could never keep under control, and was only getting more expensive. Like everything else in the world. About once a month I reimbursed her by buying her a pack.
The air out on the sidewalk was as hot as the air inside Twenty, but easier to breathe. After lighting up, Marina leaned against the bricks and sighed.
“I wish Oliver would fire Danny already and get it over with.”
I nodded. Marina rarely talked about anything but work.
“He sneaks drinks and doesn't think anyone notices he's buzzed,” she went on. “He steals so much shit and isn’t even a little subtle about it. He’s going to get Oliver in trouble. And he’s a creep.”
“Yeah,” I said. These were her usual complaints about Danny, and they were all true. “At least he’s better than Austin.”
“That’s a low bar.”
Three dirt bikes and an ATV roared down the lonely street, charging through stop sign after stop sign, putting our talk on hold.
“Remind me. You’ve got one semester left, right?” I asked after the noise ebbed.
“Yep.”
Marina was a marketing major at Temple. She’d had an internship during the spring semester, and her boss told her to give her a call the very minute she graduated. Her parents in central Pennsylvania couldn’t pay her rent or tuition for her, so she was a full-time student and a full-time employee at Avenue Brew. Her emotional spectrum ranged from "tired" to "over it." She’d been waiting tables and working at coffee shops since she was seventeen, had no intention of continuing for even a day longer than she had to, and feared the escape hatch would slam shut if she dallied too long after prying it open.
She’d considered majoring in English, like Kyle. She went for marketing instead. I couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been kind of off all day.”
“I’m terrible.”
“Why?”
I gave dodgy answers, but she asked precisely the right follow-up questions to get me going about what happened with Heather the night before.
It was the new job. Before the pandemic, Heather worked as a server at a Center City bar and grill. (That's where I met her; we were coworkers for about a year, and then I left to work Café Chakra because it was quieter and closer to where I lived.) When the place closed its doors and laid everyone off during the lockdown, she got a stopgap job at the Acme on Passyunk, and hated it. Then in March, she found a bar-and-lounge gig in a ritzy hotel on Broad Street. Very corporate. Excellent pay, great benefits. Definitely a step up. But her new employers made Irene and Jeremy look like Bob and Linda Belcher by comparison. It was the kind of place where someone had recently gotten herself fired for leaving work to rush to the hospital after getting the news that her grandmother was about to be taken off life support, and not finding someone to come in and cover the last two hours of her shift.
Heather seldom worked fewer than fifty-five hours a week, and her schedule was even more erratic than mine. At least once a week she left the hotel at 1:00 or 2:00 AM and returned at 9:00 the next morning. Neither of us could remember the last time she’d had two consecutive days off, and it had been over a month since one of mine overlapped with one of hers. She’d spent it drinking alone at home. All she wanted was some privacy.
I’d biked to South Philly to meet her when she got home at 1:30. The argument that killed our relationship for good began around 2:30, when I complained that we never had sex anymore. Heather accused me of only caring about that, when she was so exhausted and stressed that her hair was falling out in the shower. Quit the job? She couldn’t quit. The money was too good. She had student loans, medical bills, and credit card debt, and for the first time in her life she could imagine paying it all off before hitting menopause.
So, yeah, I was cranky about our sex life being dead in the water. Say whatever you like. But at that point, what were we to each other? We did nothing together anymore but complain about work before one or both of us fell asleep. That isn’t a relationship.
She said my hair always smelled like sandwiches, even after bathing, and she was done pretending it didn’t turn her off. I told her she was one to talk—she always reeked of liquor. As things escalated, we stopped caring if her roommates heard us. “You want to be a father?” she shouted around 4:00 AM. “Making what you make? That poor fucking kid.”
We fought until sunrise, and I left her apartment with the understanding that I wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t be calling her ever again. I biked home and sat on the steps facing the cement panel that was my house’s backyard. After my phone died and I couldn’t anaesthetize myself with dumb YouTube videos or make myself feel crazy staring at the download button for the Tinder app, I watched the sparrows hopping on and off the utility lines for a while.
At 11:40 I went inside. One of my roommates was already in the shower, so the best I could do was put on a clean Avenue Brew T-shirt before walking to the shop and clocking in at noon to help deal with the lunch rush.
“That’s a lot,” Marina finally said. “Sorry.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. She was sixteen years my junior, after all, and just a coworker. She didn’t need to hear any of this, and I definitely didn't need to be telling her. But who else was there to tell?
She’d already finished her cigarette. I still had a few puffs left. She went inside.
I decided to call it a night.
The second TouchTunes box was gone—naturally. Danny had taken my stool, and regarded my approach with a puckish you snooze you lose grin. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’d just pay my bill, give everyone a nod goodnight, and walk the five blocks back home.
And then Danny disappeared.
One second, he was there. The next—gone.
Danny didn’t just instantaneously vanish. Even when something happens in the blink of an eye, you can still put together something of a sequence. I saw him—I seemed to see him—falling into himself, collapsing to a point, and then to nothing.
You know how sometimes a sound is altogether inaudible unless you’re looking at the source—like when you don’t realize somebody’s whispering at you, and can then hear and understand them after they get your attention? I think that was the case here. I wouldn't have known to listen if I hadn't seen it happen. What I heard lingered for two, maybe three seconds, and wasn't any louder than a fly buzzing inside a lampshade. A tiny and impossibly distant scream, pitchshifted like a receding ambulance siren into a basso drone...
I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I’m certain I remember a flash of red, and I have the idea of Danny’s trunk expanding, opening up as it imploded. A crimson flower, flecked white, with spooling pink stalks—and Danny’s wide-eyed face above it, drawn twisting and shrinking into its petals.
For an instant, Twenty’s interior shimmered. Not shimmered, exactly—glitched would be a better word. If you’re old enough to remember the fragmented graphics that sometimes flashed onscreen when you turned on the Nintendo without blowing on the cartridge, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. It happened much too fast, and there was too much of it to absorb. The one clear impression I could parse was the mirage of a cash register flickering upside-down above the pool table.
Not a cash register. The shape was familiar, but the texture was wrong. I think it was ribbed, sort of like a maggot. I think it glistened. Like—camo doesn’t work anymore when the wearer stops crouching behind a bush and breaks into a run. Do you get what I’m saying?
Nobody else seemed to notice. The pool balls clacked. A New Order track was playing on the TouchTunes box. A nearby argument about about Nick Sirianni continued unabated.
Finally, there was a downward rush of air—and this at least elicited a reaction from the bartender, who slapped my bill to keep it from sailing off the counter.
“Danny,” I said.
“Danny?” Kyle asked me quietly. His face had gone pale.
“Danny?” Oliver repeated in a faraway voice.
After a pause, Kyle blinked a few times. “You heard from him?”
“God forbid,” said Marina. “When he quit I was like, great, I can keep working here after all.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Kyle. Did I ever show you those texts he sent me once at three in the morning?” The color had returned to Oliver’s face.
“No, what did he say?”
Oliver tapped at his phone and turned the screen toward Kyle.
“Oh. Oh, jeez.”
“Right? Like—if you want to ask me something, ask me. You know? Don’t be weirdly accusatory about it…”
I pulled a wad of fives and ones from my pocket, threw it all onto the counter, and beelined for the exit without consideration for the people I squeezed through and shoved past on the way.
I heard Marina saying “let him go.”
I went a second consecutive night without sleep. Fortunately I wasn’t scheduled to come in the next day.
The schedule. It’s funny. Oliver was generally great at his job, and even when he wasn’t, I cut him a lot of slack because I knew Irene and Jeremy never gave him a moment’s peace. But I could never forgive him those times he waited until the weekend to make up and distribute the schedule. This was one of those weeks he didn’t get around to it until Saturday afternoon. When I found it in my inbox, Danny’s name wasn’t anywhere on it.
As far as I know, nobody who hadn’t been at Twenty that night asked what happened to him. We were a bit overstaffed as it was, and everyone probably assumed Danny was slated for the chopping block. The part-timers were, for the most part, happy to get a few additional hours.
Oliver abruptly quit around Labor Day after a final acrimonious clash with the owners. I never found out the details, and I never saw him again. Jeremy and Irene took turns minding the store while a replacement manager was sought. None of the supervisors would be pressured into taking the job; they knew from Oliver what they could expect.
About three weeks after Oliver left, I came in for my purchasing shift and found Jeremy waiting for me in the back room. I knew it was serious when he didn’t greet me with the awkward fist-bump he ordinarily required of his male employees.
“You’ve seen the numbers,” he said. Business for the summer had fallen short of expectations, it was true, and he and Irene had decided to rein in payroll expenses. My purchaser position was being eliminated. Its responsibilities would be redistributed among the supervisors and the new manager, when one was found. In the meantime, I'd be going back to the regular $11 an hour (plus tips of course) associate position full-time.
Jeremy assured me I'd be first in the running for supervisor the next time there was an opening.
I told him it was fine, I was done, and if he’d expected the courtesy of two weeks’ notice, he shouldn’t have blindsided me like that.
“Well, that’s your choice,” he answered, trying not to look pleased. His payroll problem was solving itself.
I racked up credit card debt for a few months. Applied for entry-level museum jobs that might appreciate my art history degree. Aimed for some purchasing and administrative assistant gigs, and just for the hell of it, turned in a resume for a facilitator position at an after-school art program. Got a few interviews. All of them eventually told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. I finally got hired to bartend at Hops from Underground, a microbrewery on Fairmount.
I’m still there. The money’s okay, but it fluctuates. Hours are reasonable. I’m on their high-deductible health plan. There’s a coworker I’ve been dating. Sort of dating. You know how it goes. In this line of work you get so used to people coming and going that you learn not to get too attached. I walk past Avenue Brew a few times a week, but stopped peering in through the window when I didn't recognize the people behind the counter anymore.