Visit your local library

They will let you print things for free. They will let you leave with their books (they know where you live) And that's another nice thing: They know where you live. It's like having an older, wiser relative who can check up on you...like having a Grandma. A library is like having a Grandma...and a crazy, homeless uncle who speaks like a Dickens character. There's one of those here, too.

Bit of script. Bit of hero.

Carl: Look, Dusty, you're right. We're in a dangerous place. But I think it's also a solid place. What are they gonna do? They have to give you something.

Dusty: Did they make an offer?

Carl: Bottom line is: you were hurt. And while they may be able to make the case that-

Dusty: Did they make an offer?

Carl: (raises one finger as if to say "Let me finish speaking") You were hurt in an accident involving their equipment and although they might be able to make the case that there was some personal negligence involved...on your part, I think we can assume-

Dusty: I hate that word, Carl.

Carl: What?

Dusty: That word. Assume. Stupid word.

Carl: Im sorry.

Dusty: Did they make an offer?

Carl: They didn't.

(Dusty is silent for a moment, letting the news sink in.)

Carl: They did not make an offer...yet. Remember that. They still have time. And I suspect-

(Dusty raises one finger as if to say "Let me finish thinking." He paces for a moment while Carl looks on, mildly anxious)

Carl: When a flame gets low, what do you do?

Dusty: A flame? Like a campfire?

Carl: Oxygen. You fan the flame so it gets-

Dusty: Oxygen.

Carl: That's what we've got to do. Let this breathe. Oxygen.

Dusty: Oxygen.

Carl: Yeah.

Dusty: Oxygen? (sarcastic) Yeah. We're talking about oxygen. Air bullshit. Letting this shit breathe. I am living in a factory, you f...aint no air down there!

Carl: If you need a place to stay-

Dusty: No I don't need a place to stay. I need a place to live. And I need a representative who can do more than line up a couple of coincidences and pass them off as party favors...Paper flowers. (slams door)

Carl looks down at his papers and reorders them. He picks up the phone.

smack dab dab smack

The following is a direct transcript from an email I sent to the other two teams employed by my company and my bosses. No response yet. And below the first one is a second, follow-up email my tour partner sent to soften the blow of the first a bit. Still, no response.


Smack dab

Library? Community center? Airplane hangar? Prison? We're in Texas. Lights on
the side of the highway means staring. Anything on the side of the highway means
staring. It's dark, flat and there aint nothin' else to look at. I've taken to
voyeuring truckers. One of them gave us a hearty honk.

We're doing a lot of driving. Texas smells like gas and it's kind of sinfully
nice at first...then your eyes start to burn through your smile and you can feel
nerves somewhere deep in your safe brain dying, you turn to your partner with
crazy eyes and insist she turn right out of the dairy queen you stopped at.
"But...the...interstate's on the left", she says, worried at the overexposed
whites of your eyes.
"Turn right, dammit, right!" you scream, becoming frantic. "I wonna show you the
trailer I bought you...us. The trailer I bought for us. That nice man at the DQ
said 'hurry on back...' and I just figured 'why leave?"

Your partner takes the left and is silent for the next fifteen miles or
so...sullen even. Sullen. When she speaks again, it is only to comment on how
the smell kind of went away. And nervously.

Her discomfort is a cold, uncomfortable stare in the flip-down mirror. You let
Texas take over. You promise you'll never let it happen again and the tears run
down her face. Tears of relief. You turn the AC to recycle. Crazy must be in the
air here.


Team McDeed
"crafty enough to smuggle a penis"



And the follow-up:

Please disregard the previous message

We meant dab smack.

Team McDeed
"It's gonna leave a mark."

Due to the lack of crafty or even frightened responses, I hearby declare martial law. Martial Law. Does anyone like martial law? No? Well, then maybe you should consider how it feels to have your innermost feelings not reponded to. Maybe it feels like martial law smack dab dab smack in the middle of my roadburned heart.