2013년 11월 25일 월요일

About 'us dept clock'|US State Dept: Israel "can't be found and may have moved"







About 'us dept clock'|US State Dept: Israel "can't be found and may have moved"








               Please               let               me               hear               your               voice.

I               would               really               like               to               know               what               you               think               about               this               short               story.

Email               if               you               feel               up               to               it               after               reading               this               short               story.

This               short               story               began               as               a               5               minute               writing               exercise               while               I               was               at               Emerson               college               and               5               drafts               later               I               am               pretty               proud               of               "The               Undeliverer."               Thanks               for               reading.

               The               sun               glared               through               my               window               giving               the               impression               of               warmth;               however,               the               frost               hazing               the               panels               showed               it               was               nothing               but               a               fallacy.

The               leaves               had               finally               fallen               and               those               damn               leafers               from               Florida               or               wherever               had               finally               left.

Soon               the               winds               would               pick               up               bringing               the               strong               winter               fronts               and               then               my               job               would               become               even               more               difficult.

Each               and               every               winter,               I               told               myself               that               I               should               move               out               of               Hartford               and               the               northeast               altogether.

Of               course,               I               would               get               bogged               down               with               an               overabundance               of               life               and               gray.

The               gray               of               winter               in               the               northeast               sucks               the               life               out               of               you               and               deflates               your               dreams.
               Compromising               with               myself               that               this               would               be               the               last               winter,               I               got               up               out               of               my               bed               and               wiped               off               the               window.

What               lay               before               me               was               the               ghetto               of               Connecticut.

Every               ghetto               was               pretty               much               the               same.

There               were               project               building               that               had               satellite               dishes               attached               to               the               second               story               windows.

Those               hard               on               their               luck               individuals               that               lived               in               this               area               drove               their               Escalades               and               Mercedes.

I,               a               burden               of               the               state,               drove               a               '94               VW               Golf.
               All               the               cars               dotted               the               streets               along               with               cigarette               butts               and               pot               holes.

Recently,               a               new               park               had               been               built               to               bring               up               our               area;               however,               the               park               that               lay               across               the               street               from               my               fifth               floor               window               was               littered               with               bums               and               the               omnipresent               drug               dealer.

It               should've               been               a               great               view               for               me.

The               state               spent               $12               million               to               turn               an               old               parking               lot               into               a               beautiful               park               with               a               pond,               various               fountain               and               sprinklers,               benches               and               trees.

One               of               the               outlying               fountains               close               to               the               street               was               hit               by               a               car;               the               pond               had               been               pissed               in               so               much               it               took               a               tinge               of               yellow               and               half               of               the               park               went               up               in               flames               when               a               meth               house               on               the               park's               northeast               border               had               blown               up.

I'm               sure               the               state               would               not               dump               any               more               money               on               the               area;               it               was               a               lost               cause               and               it               wasn't               an               election               year.
               All               the               buildings               in               the               area               had               an               old,               historic               feel               to               them,               but               it               was               all               fake.

There               was               no               upkeep               in               the               area               and               the               constant               wind               blasts               from               the               police               and               paramedic               choppers               sliced               into               the               brick               and               stone.
               I               stood               looking               out               my               only               window               at               the               art               of               unsightliness               that               lay               before               me               and               with               the               sudden               glare               of               the               sun               topping               the               buildings               I               became               aware.

"Time               to               get               ready               for               work,"               I               murmured               to               myself               but               only               because               there               was               no               one               else               in               my               studio               apartment.
               I               was               involved               with               freelance               work               for               various               delivery               companies.

I               was               going               to               venture               out               to               Glastonbury,               a               20               minute               drive               from               Hartford               and               a               little               bit               of               a               nicer               area.

I               headed               to               I-84               East               and               passed               by               the               over               packed               bus               stops.

The               start               of               the               highway               was               delineated               by               passing               over               the               Connecticut               River.

As               so               as               I               crossed               the               river,               the               highway               took               me               along               the               river's               edge               the               rest               of               the               way.

It               was               something               that               I               would               have               found               beautiful               if               I               was               just               driving               but               I               was               heading               to               work.

Nothing               ever               is               quite               as               beautiful               when               you               see               it               as               a               working               drone.

I               wasn't               sure               exactly               where               the               UPS               Headquarters               was               in               Glastonbury.

I               had               only               worked               there               a               few               times.

So               I               took               it               by               feel               and               when               my               id               said               turn               left,               I               did,               and               there               it               was.

"Incredible               thing               that               subconscious,"               I               said               to               myself               again               only               because               I               was               the               only               one               there.

I               preferred               to               work               alone.
               Upon               arriving,               I               saw               a               delivery               truck               pulling               from               the               headquarters               onto               the               street               I               was               heading               down.

Being               the               nice               guy               I               am,               I               slowed               down               and               let               him               go               ahead               and               he               turned               right               even               though               he               had               a               red               light.

This               didn't               make               the               people               behind               me               happy               but               co-workers               have               to               help               each               other               out               as               much               as               possible               in               a               corporation               like               UPS.

Screwing               the               employee               is               part               of               any               huge               company's               policy.
               I               turned               on               the               radio               and               continued               to               drive.
               "Sing               it               Noel.

As               fast               as               a               cannonball..."               I               trailed               off               realizing               I               wasn't               drunk               enough               to               sing.

That               was               definitely               one               of               the               perks               of               my               job.

I               had               music.

The               pay               was               so               variable.

There               was               no               healthcare               coverage               to               speak               of               and               with               the               invariable               rate               of               pay               I               was               always               stressed,               but               I               had               tunes.
               The               driver               of               the               UPS               truck               in               front               of               me               was               obviously               a               seasoned               veteran               of               his               job.

He               drove               exuberantly               slow               and               was               headed               out               as               far               as               possible               to               do               his               first               delivery               and               made               all               the               other               delivery               stops               on               the               way               back               to               the               headquarters.

He               would               wait               at               stop               signs               to               make               sure               he               had               the               fullest               look               at               the               cute               girls'               asses               walking               along               the               crosswalk               and               earning               money               at               an               hourly               rate               to               do               so.

He               knew               what               his               job               was.

If               he               played               it               right,               he               could               spend               his               whole               day               delivering               just               10               packages.

I               hated               this               type               of               driver.

I               wanted               to               get               things               done               fast.

I               wasn't               paid               hourly               so               I               was               content               with               getting               on               with               my               job               as               fast               as               possible.

But               nevertheless               I               kept               after               the               slow               UPS               driver.
               I               always               thought               that               I               should               write               down               the               slow               drivers'               license               plate               numbers               so               that               I               could               keep               track,               but               it               was               always               a               losing               battle               to               lethargy.

I               pulled               out               a               cigarette               and               rolled               down               my               window.

The               UPS               driver               followed               suit;               his               bulking               forearm               grasping               the               butt               and               rapping               against               the               side               of               the               truck's               door.
               We               made               our               way               to               the               northern               part               of               Glastonbury               and               this               was               evident               as               the               houses               grew               in               size               and               the               trees               became               more               numerous.

Autumn               always               look               more               beautiful               in               places               these               sort               of               places.

Large               houses               of               emerald               green,               barnyard               red,               aqua               blue               and               midnight               purple               accented               the               leaves               on               their               giant               yards               and               fought               the               nothingness               of               the               gray               skies               to               come.

It               was               almost               enough               to               get               you               through               the               winter               without               realizing               life               could               be               better               pretty               much               anywhere               else               in               the               world.

I               guess               I               can't               speak               for               these               people               with               their               beautiful               houses               and               2.5               kids               and               Fido.
               But               those,               like               me,               are               the               reason               why               New               York               is               the               suicide               capital               of               the               United               States               and               why               Connecticut               houses               some               of               the               worst               drug               habits.

It               is               because               there               is               nothing               like               the               gray,               cold               winters               of               the               northeast.

Seasonal               depression,               coupled               with               those               holidays               are               enough               to               bring               the               richest               and               happiest               people               to               their               knees               and               beg               for               death.

That's               why               rich               movie               stars               lived               in               California               and               why               writers               love               to               live               in               Connecticut               and               New               Hampshire.

Writer's               love               to               be               filled               with               sorrow               and               woe.

I               would               suppose               a               writer               would               have               trouble               selling               a               book               about               everything               being               happy               and               living               the               suck               itself               makes               it               easy               to               get               ideas               to               write               about.
               In               a               rich               area,               mail               delivery               is               the               great               equalizer;               the               rich,               the               poor,               the               young,               and               the               old               all               receive               mail               from               the               same               weary,               fat,               dirty               workers               of               the               various               mail               companies.

There               are               so               many               of               mailing               companies               UPS,               FedEx,               DHL,               AirEX,               Brown,               Rose               Courier               and               the               local               companies               for               each               state               and               ...
               "All               of               these               idiots               drive               like               crap,"               I               shouted               at               my               steering               wheel               as               the               UPS               driver               ran               through               the               changing               yellow               to               red               light.

I               booked               it               to               keep               up               through               the               street               crossing.

I               thought               about               all               the               different               companies               I               freelanced               with               and               UPS               drivers               had               to               be               some               of               the               worst.

I               eyeballed               that               sign               on               the               back               of               this               UPS               truck               urging               people               with               the               question               'How               Is               My               Driving?'.

I               hoped               someone               called,               I               willed               it               every               time               someone               was               cut               off               by               one               of               these               vans.
               Finally,               the               UPS               truck               pulled               in               front               of               a               house.

It               was               a               rather               large               white               Victorian               with               pink               trim.

Bushes               full               of               now               dead,               but               once               beautiful               flowers               jostling               in               the               slight               wind.

Two               giant               sycamores               made               sure               that               the               summer               sun               never               beat               down               on               the               house's               occupants               as               they               had               small               gathering               in               their               front               yard               with               blush               wine               and               Gin               Gimlets.

I               drove               past               the               UPS               truck.

I               wondered               if               the               occupants               would               be               retired               folks               or               have               a               housewife               or               maybe               workers               that               would               not               be               home               at               this               time               of               day.

The               sun               was               nearing               the               middle               of               the               sky               and               I               guessed               it               was               around               8               but               my               internal               clock               had               lost               a               spring               years               ago.

I               looked               down               at               my               watch               to               see               it               was               already               8:48.
               About               a               half               a               mile               down               the               road               I               pulled               a               K-turn,               which               never               really               reminded               me               of               a               K-turn.

More               of               a               triangle               than               anything.

As               I               drove               back               towards               the               house,               I               got               a               glimpse               of               the               driver               as               he               pulled               away.

White               trash               with               extra               long,               curly               hair               and               a               gut               that               would               have               made               it               impossible               for               him               to               be               a               real               mailman.

I               saw               the               package               in               wait               on               the               doorstep.

I               sighed               and               pulled               my               car               up               to               the               curb               and               walked               to               the               house               with               all               the               impudent               strides               of               a               working               man               who               had               just               forgotten               something.

I               passed               over               the               beautiful               and               oddly               still               thriving               lawn.

The               lawn               looked               as               if               it               could               handle               a               few               sub               zero               nights               without               much               loss.

Arriving               at               the               doorstep,               I               pick               up               the               package               and               headed               back               to               my               car.

The               package               was               heavier               than               I               thought               it               would               have               been.

It               was               about               35               pounds               and               a               4               square               feet               in               size.
               That's               the               thing               with               delivery               companies.

Unless               someone               pays               extra               for               special               delivery,               couriers               will               just               leave               the               package               at               your               door.

They               will               knock               at               your               door,               sometimes               twice               but               that's               it.

The               package               is               on               it's               own               from               there.
               Most               people               never               realize               they               didn't               get               their               package               until               days               or               even               weeks               later.

Some               people               completely               forget               they               ordered               that               stupid               Elvis               figurine.

And               for               those               who               realize               they               have               been               screwed,               lesson               learned.

Spend               that               extra               money               to               make               sure               the               package               gets               to               its               destination               safely.
               Whenever               I               think               about               explaining               how               the               system               works               to               people,               even               though               I               haven't               yet,               I               would               say               it               was               like               a               newspaper               machine.

It's               50               cents               for               one               or               all               of               them.

Simple               and               easy,               then               sell               the               papers               for               40               cents               and               it's               all               profit.

I               would               say               that               I               wasn't               smart               and               just               a               user               of               inadequacies               and               a               minor               revolutionist               of               sorts.

Another               abuser               and               user               of               circumstances               and               an               eventual               speed               bump               along               the               way               of               change.

I               would               always               end               it               in               my               head               with               something               like               honor               systems               are               failures               or               it's               just               another               way               to               show               off               how               American               and               opportunistic               I               was.
               Soon,               my               job               will               be               obsolete               because               these               couriers               would               think               of               a               way               to               fight               against               undeliverers               like               me.

Grocery               store               carriages               were               perfect               for               the               picking               for               hobos               and               drunken               college               kids.

Eventually,               instead               of               buying               new               carriages               or               driving               around               with               a               truck               around               town               to               pick               up               the               missing               carriages,               companies               began               using               carriages               that               locked               of               after               it               left               a               certain               radius               of               a               store.

Eventually,               something               would               change               what               I               do.
               Arriving               back               at               my               car,               I               opened               the               box               with               my               trusty               exacto-knife               and               gave               the               box               a               quick               scan.

I               always               made               sure               there               were               no               animal               needs               or               contacts               because               both               were               impossible               to               resell.

The               pet               products               were               resealed               and               dropped               back               at               the               door               step               to               pay               homage               to               a               dark               time               in               my               past               and               the               contacts               were               swiftly               thrown               away.

The               utter               lack               of               embracing               one's               deficiencies               enraged               me.
               My               second               felony,               nearly               8               years               ago               now,               was               from               a               bar               fight               that               began               with               me               calling               someone               four               eyes               and               getting               my               ass               kicked               along               the               way               before               I               finally               ended               it               by               taking               a               pool               cue               to               the               guy's               face               and               breaking               his               glasses               and               causing               the               glass               to               gash               his               eyes.

I               told               him               he               should               be               who               he               is.

Prozac               made               every               human               the               same,               not               "Calvin               Kline"               underwear.

As               I               stood               over               him               as               he               lay               bleeding,               I               shouted               at               him               and               the               gathering               crowd,               "Everyone               has               some               sort               of               imbalance               and               impediment               and               drugs               make               us               a               derivative               of               who               we               are               and               have               made               us               emotionless."
               Upon               arrest,               I               sat               in               the               holding               cell,               and               returning               to               lucidity               but               all               I               could               think               about               was               that               ten               years               prior               no               one               had               ADD,               but               later               1               in               3               had               it.

I               thought               about               the               children               then               having               a               reason               to               misbehave,               they               and               the               parents               could               blame               it               on               ADD.

I               remembered               growing               up               and               being               beaten               silly               by               my               parents               if               I               misbehaved               and               that               overarching               threat               kept               me               in               line.
               Now,               I               think               about               the               overuse               of               Viagra.

Viagra               is               a               quick               and               easy               resell               and               that               just               enrages               me               even               more.

I               want               to               scream               at               my               clients,               "Our               wangular               deficiencies               make               us               better               loves               in               other               reaches               of               our               sexuality.

If               all               men               had               working               penises               than               the               rich               and               good               looking               would               only               be               getting               richer."               It's               impotence               and               alcohol               that               allow               the               average               guy               to               get               laid.
               Snapping               back               into               currently               reality,               I               pushed               through               the               bubble               wrap               of               the               inner               box.

It               was               full               of               DVDs.

And               then               I               was               on               my               way.

Next               stop               was               Joe's               Video               Emporium               which               bought,               sold               and               rented               out               DVDs.

Every               shrink               wrapped               new               release               I               got               $8               and               all               other               unopened               movies               yielded               me               $4.

Whatever               Joe               didn't               want               went               straight               onto               Amazon.com.

Today's               yield               made               $150               from               Joe's.
               As               I               arrived               home,               I               flattened               the               box               and               placed               it               on               top               of               the               pile               and               opened               my               closet               and               threw               the               bubble               wrap               in.

Tools               to               be               used               when               I               sold               products               online.

I               turned               on               my               stereo.

Even               though               I               lacked               everything               else               in               home               utilities,               I               had               an               awesome               radio               system.

I               could               never               bring               myself               to               sell               stereo               parts               when               I               began               undelivering.

I               made               a               collection.

My               parole               officer               told               me               that,               "Every               ex-con               needs               a               hobby.

A               mind               filled               with               hobbies               is               not               filled               with               rage               and               schemes."               Every               time               he               had               said               this               to               me               over               the               last               three               years               I               had               wanted               to               question               him               with,               theoretically               of               course,               what               if               my               hobby               was               smacking               around               the               mentally               disabled               or               challenged               or               whatever.

But               I               understood               what               he               was               saying               behind               that               always               red               or               brownish               tie.

I               was               a               smart               guy,               went               to               a               damn               good               college.
               Eleven               o'clock.

Still               sober               and               growing               more               sober               every               moment               thinking               about               work.

I               stopped               at               Finley's               and               ordered               two               shots               and               a               brewski.

Still               sober.

11:11,               make               a               wish.

I               peed               in               a               urinal.

Right               above               the               urinal               there               was               a               sign               in               black               ink               which               read               "Life               suck               and               then               you               die."               True               that.

Still               sober.

I               sat               down               and               repeated               my               order.

Some               game               was               on.

I               kind               of               watch               it               but               mostly               watch               people.

The               idiots               and               their               self-delusional               drivel.

Bush               did               this;               Obama               did               that,               they               would               say.

Drugs               are               bad,               they               killed               my               uncle               someone               would               say               and               pound               his               beer.

The               Yankees               have               a               really               great               chance               next               year.

It               was               all               the               same.

I               ordered               another               brewski.
               I               woke               up.

It               was               5:12               AM,               the               worst               time               to               wake               up.

I               had               to               debate               whether               I               should               go               back               to               sleep               for               the               next               48               minutes               or               get               up.

Before               I               could               debate               any               further               a               shrill               squeal               followed               by               a               loud               smash               of               metal               on               metal               gave               me               my               answer.

Car               crashes               are               the               urban               alarm               clock.
               "Hey,               you               retard.

Don't               you               know               how               to               drive,               you               moron."
               There               was               no               snooze               button               for               the               urban               alarm               clock.

I               jumped               out               of               bed               and               headed               for               my               window               and               opened               it.

I               leaned               and               gasped               at               the               cool               air               breaching               my               lungs               as               I               focused               on               the               seen               below               me.

A               large,               red               Pontiac               was               sitting               in               the               middle               of               the               intersection               with               its               front               crushed               in.

It               was               turned               45               degrees               intersecting               the               double               yellow               lines.

A               small               Ford               was               about               15               feet               away               pushed               straight               into               a               sidewalk               and               a               pole               saying,               "No               Parking               Anytime."               I               thought               the               state               would               make               an               exception               at               this               point.
               It               looked               like               the               Ford               didn't               stop               at               his               stop               sight               and               the               Pontiac,               lacking               a               stop               sign,               blew               through               the               intersection               and               t-boned               the               Ford.

The               Ford               lay               at               the               foot               of               my               building               with               a               crushed               right               side               and               tire               rolling               free               from               the               tyranny               of               all               wheel               drive.
               Within               minutes               10               black               guys               ranging               from               4               to               45               years               old               came               to               survey               the               situation               and               give               their               own               take.

The               talk               was               muffled               and               all               at               once               making               it               impossible               for               me               to               discern.

The               guy               from               the               Pontiac               was               out               of               his               car               sitting               on               the               curb               smoking               a               cigarette               and               lightly               talking               on               into               his               phone.

He               was               a               white               collared               worker.

The               other               guy               from               the               Ford               was               still               in               his               car.

I               couldn't               see               if               he               was               really               hurt               or               even               moving               other               than               the               occasional               arm               twitch               outside               his               broken               or               rolled               down               window.

A               local,               finally               convinced               about               the               situation,               went               up               to               the               possibly               messed               up               driver               and               said               with               the               most               dignity               he               could               possibly               have               mustered,               "Man,               I               saw               the               whole               thing.

You're               gonna               get               paid."               I               smiled               and               retreated               from               the               window               to               get               ready               from               work.
               The               pilot               light               was               still               out               so               I               decided               to               forgo               the               cold               shower.

Breakfast               was               Cheerios               with               only               slightly               turned               milk.
               I               got               in               my               Golf               and               sped               past               the               wreck               that               now               had               an               ambulance               on               the               scene               and               even               more               onlookers.
               It               was               a               short               day               at               work.

I               went               to               Waterbury.

I               never               tried               to               hit               the               same               area               more               than               once               a               month               to               make               sure               no               suspicions               were               raised.

All               I               got               was               some               crappy               14K               gold               necklace               from               QVC               and               that               took               me               6               stops.

I               didn't               have               time               to               stick               around               to               find               anything               better.

I               had               a               meeting               with               my               parole               officer.
               I               hated               my               parole               officer:               John               Ngi.

I               didn't               hate               him               because               of               what               he               represented,               that               sure               as               hell               made               me               dislike               him,               but               I               thoroughly               hated               this               man.

He               thought               he               was               a               priest               with               all               his               righteous               crap               about               paying               my               dues               with               God.

He               though               he               was               a               politician               and               told               me               I               had               repay               my               dept               to               society.

And,               worst               of               all,               he               thought               I               owed               him               something               because               he               was               fixing               me               as               if               I               was               a               child               in               grade               school               that               was               sent               to               time               out               for               pegging               a               little               girl               in               the               back               of               the               head               with               a               spit               ball.

He               was               hell               bent               on               making               me               better               by               knocking               me               down.
               John's               office               was               not               to               expected.

There               was               no               couch               to               lie               on               so               I               could               console               my               inner               child               or               to               just               get               comfortable.

There               was               no               desk               just               two               cheaply               made               fold-out               chairs.

He               was               us               to               see               eye               to               eye               as               if               we               were               friends.

It               was               very               minimalistic               especially               considering               his               office               was               a               floor               below               some               large               tech               firm.

The               type               where               the               CEO               is               22               years               old               and               a               billionaire.
               John               was               young               than               me,               which               I'm               sure               fueled               my               animosity.

He               was               Chinese               but               was,               for               all               intensive               purposes,               American.

No               accent               and               I               doubt               he               knew               any               Cantonese               or               Mandarin.

He               was               a               Twinkie.
               I               sat               twenty               minutes               waiting               for               John               to               get               back               from               lunch               and               we               did               the               small               talk               thing               for               about               10               minutes.

How's               life?

Angry               outbursts?
               "You               kill               anyone               this               week?"               he               asked               with               a               chuckle               but               than               stopped               and               stared               a               me               waiting               for               an               answer.

I               only               scoffed.

After               a               few               seconds               he               realized               I               was               going               to               say               anything               else               so               he               moved               on.
               "So               how's               the               job               search               going?"               the               idiot               asked               and               wrote               something               down               before               I               could               answer.

I               guess               he               finally               found               a               four-letter               word               for               'no               life'.
               "I'm               still               looking,"               I               said               with               indignity.
               "You               need               to               find               one               soon,               you               know?"
               "I'm               still               looking."
               "The               government               isn't               going               to               pay               you               to               be               alive               forever               without               giving               back."
               "I'm               still               looking,"               I               finally               said               this               one               with               enough               behind               it               to               get               his               eyes               to               rise               up               and               look               into               mine.
               "Okay...keep               up               the               good               work               Steven               and               have               a               good               day."
               I               left               with               no               handshakes               or               nods.

He               was               the               new               way               the               state               fixed               criminals.

Every               time               I               saw               him,               it               reminded               me               of               jail               and               what               I               had               done               to               land               me               there.

The               state               had               parole               officers               as               that               constant               reminder               until               convicts               blew               their               heads               off.
               My               first               felony               nearly               9               years               ago               when               I               was               23,               was               fueled               by               cocaine               and               'shrooms;               a               bad               mix.

I               was               too               uppity               to               sit               still               and               I               was               seeing               to               much               wild               crap               to               be               able               to               function               normally               while               walking.

So               I               was               venturing               though               a               park               and               I               saw               a               football.

Just               a               football               standing               on               its               end               perfectly,               propped               up               by               a               stand               and               ready               to               get               kicked.

I               eyed               it.

It               was               just               sitting               there               among               the               trees               or               people               whichever               they               were.
               I               stopped.

I               stared               down               the               temptress.

Propped               up               at               a               75               degree               angle               with               the               stripes               pointing               away               from               me.

Perfection.

And               then               I               did               it,               not               realizing               I               was               doing               it               until               I               was               10               steps               ahead               of               myself.

And               with               a               loud               squawk               the               ball               flew               and               then               it               sprouted               wings.

It               flew               even               further               than               I               could               have               imagined.

It               was               beautiful.

I               fell               to               my               knees               and               bowed               unaware               that               I               was               not               doing               it               under               my               own               power.

Then               a               swift               kick               to               my               back               and               a               face               full               of               dirt.

Punting               pigeons               was               a               felony               and               being               as               high               as               possible               didn't               help               my               case.
               I               didn't               really               like               to               think               about               my               third               felony.

It               made               me               feel               as               if               I               was               a               bad               person.

It               made               me               feel               that               if               there               were               a               heaven,               I               wouldn't               be               welcome.

I               acted               as               if               it               was               a               dream               but               mostly               I               tried               not               to               think               about               it               but               it               was               enough               to               land               me               in               jail               for               8               to               10               or               6               years               with               good               behavior               and               5               years               with               John               Ngi.
               After               taking               a               quick               nap,               I               went               to               Finley's.

It               was               going               to               be               a               good               night;               one               of               my               only               true               friends               had               just               gotten               back               from               a               trip               to               New               York.
               Jade               understood               me.

She               saw               and               liked               the               facade               I               was               trying               to               put               on               for               the               world               to               see.

She               was               one               of               the               few               people               that               understood               me               or               even               tried.
               I               arrived               before               Jade               did               but               before               our               drink               came,               I               heard               the               gentle               ticking               of               her               stick.

She               stopped               in               the               middle               of               the               bar               about               15               feet               from               me               and               concisely               and               delicately               said,               "Steven."
               I               proceeded               to               her               and               she               heard               me               coming               and               grabbed               for               my               forearms.

We               headed               back               to               our               table               and               I               pulled               the               chair               for               her,               being               as               gentlemanly               as               I               could.

It               was               great               timing.

The               waitress               came               back               with               my               BVD               and               her               Lemon               Drop.

Jade               only               drank               drinks               with               fruit               in               their               names.
               "So,"               she               said               after               sipping               her               drink,               "how               have               you               been               the               past               couple               of               weeks?"
               "Good,"               I               shot               back.
               "Just               good?"
               "Great,               now               the               you're               back.

I               missed               you."
               "Oh,               that's               sweet...yeah,               the               trip               was               good               and               it               looks               like               my               mother               might               have               another               year               but               maybe               not...

They've               said               she's               only               had               months               to               live               for               the               last               8               years               now               so               maybe               they               finally               jinxed               her,"               Jade               smiled               through               the               morbidness.
               Jade               and               I               had               been               through               quite               a               bit.

She               probably               was               the               only               one               that               got               me               because               she               spent               time               in               jail               too.

Of               course               not               in               the               same               jail,               sexual               frustration               is               the               true               loss               in               jail.

She               had               John               Ngi               as               her               parole               officer               too,               and               I               met               her               one               time               when               she               was               leaving               the               building.

It               was               my               second               time               meeting               with               John               and               I               still               thought               I               had               to               dress               up               in               a               buttoned               shirt               and               tie.

She               ran               right               into               me.

I               stood               not               realizing               that               I               should               say               something.

This               was               the               first               human               contact               I               had               had               since               I               had               gotten               out.

After               a               beat,               she               apologized               profusely               and               said               that               someone               had               stolen               her               stick.

I               remember               laughing               and               shaking               my               head               thinking               what               would               be               the               use               of               stealing               that.
               She               asked               me               if               I               worked               upstairs.

I               thought               about               those               cubicle               dwellers               at               the               tech               firm               and               I               said,               "Kind               of."
               So               through               odd               meetings               we               became               pretty               good               friends.

I               told               her               that               I               was               ex-con               and               I               remember               the               frown               on               her               face               when               I               told               her               and               I               remember               her               meekly               saying               she               was               too.

Meeting               at               Finley's               a               couple               of               times               a               week               became               our               ritual.

We               would               talk               about               nothing,               just               everything               in               our               lives               which               was               nothing               to               everyone               else.

We               would               blast               John.

We               had               a               cool               thing               going.
               Jade               and               a               friend               had               gone               to               jail               for               conning               a               Massachusetts               billionaire               into               buying               tornado               insurance.

Everything               was               great               until               a               tornado               touched               down               ruining               his               garage               and               Jaguar               inside               it.
               The               only               bad               part               of               our               friendship               was               the               other               people.

I               saw               people.

The               people               saw               her.

Some               smiled.

Those               who               saw               her               wearing               sunglasses               inside               or               at               night               and               put               two               and               two               together.

Those               people               thought               I               was               helping               her.

Others               knew               the               truth               and               I               saw               them               look               at               her               beautiful,               naive               face.

And               I               saw               them               look               at               my               ugly               face.

At               least               I               could               make               faces               at               the               righteous               without               Jade               knowing.
               We               had               a               few               drinks               and               caught               up               on               this               and               that               and               told               stories               of               our               past               crimes,               mostly               about               the               ones               where               we               weren't               caught.

It               blew               my               mind               what               she               had               done               even               with               her               disability.

She               once               robbed               a               man               at               gunpoint.

If               the               victim               knew               she               was               blind               I               wonder               if               it               would've               changed               anything.

Guns               scare               people               no               matter               what.
               Not               only               was               she               blind               but               she               was               also               far               too               attractive               to               be               in               crime.

She               could               have               settled               down               with               any               rich               man               she               wanted               but               I               guess               the               blind               do               not               know               what               they               have               and               what               they               could               get.
               I               had               always               thought               that               her               parents               were               horrible               for               giving               her               the               name               Jade.

It               was               like               naming               a               deaf               kid,               Echo.

Jade               would               never               truly               understand               the               true               beauty               of               her               name.

She               would               never               know               what               she               and               the               beautiful               crystal               had               in               common.
               I               covered               the               tab               after               we               had               our               fill               and               she               swore               that               she               would               get               next               time.

I               hoped               she'd               forget               the               promise.

We               never               asked               each               other               about               money.

As               cons,               or               ex-cons,               that               was               something               you               didn't               ask.

You               were               either               doing               something               illegal               or               worse               yet               working               as               a               bagger               at               a               grocery               store.
               "So               you               gonna               give               me               a               ride               home,               stud?"               she               said               to               me               grinning.
               "I               think               it               would               be               better               if               you               drove,               Jade.

I'm               pretty               wrecked,"               I               retorted.
               "Steven,               I'm               blind               and               drunk,"               she               said               candidly.
               "Well,               maybe               we               are               better               off."
               She               smiled               discerningly               and               off               we               went.

I               dropped               her               off               and               when               I               arrived               home               and               climbed               into               my               cot,               I               was               still               smiling.
               I               thought               about               the               next               day.

I               would               receive               my               money               from               the               state,               just               in               time               to               get               new               work               shoes.

The               $550               a               month               covered               my               rent,               electricity,               some               work               expenses               and               some               food.

The               rest               of               the               money               I               made               from               undelivering               went               for               more               food,               drinks,               smokes               and               gas.

Working               two               or               three               days               a               week               I               would               usually               make               $300.
               The               best               thing               I               ever               undelivered               was               an               Egyptian               golden               egg.

It               was               hard               to               find               a               buyer;               however,               I               ended               up               finding               a               jewelry               store               more               than               willing               to               take               it.

It               was               worth               a               cool               $1,500               to               me               and               multitudes               more               to               them.

Another               time               there               was               a               promising               heavy               box               that               I               was               sure               was               some               expensive               electronics               that               ended               up               being               floor               tiling.

I               gave               it               back               but               in               hindsight               I               think               I               should've               redone               my               bathroom.

Electronics               were               the               most               prevalent               things               to               find               and               also               the               easiest               to               sell.

A               decent               DVD               player               would               fetch               me               gas               money               for               a               month.

Every               time               I               would               go               out,               when               I               started               devising               plans               to               undeliver,               I               thought               for               sure               I               would               get               caught;               however,               after               a               year               and               a               half               the               fear               had               become               diluted.

Cops               wouldn't               think               much               of               me               picking               up               a               box.

Maybe               I               was               grabbing               the               box               to               deliver               it               somewhere               else.

I               would               always               wear               a               sort               of               deliverer               cloths.

The               only               thing               I               feared               was               a               person               opening               the               door               when               I               was               retrieving               the               package.
               I               woke               up               a               bit               late.

My               mood               had               plunged               from               the               night               before.

Alcohol               was               the               only               thing               that               could               make               a               lonely               ex-con,               living               in               the               ghetto               with               no               life               prospects,               content.

With               this               waking               moment,               as               all               others,               I               asked               myself               what               I               was               doing.

I               never               had               a               good               answer.

So               I               got               up               and               got               ready               for               work.
               I               decided               that               I               didn't               want               to               venture               out               far               and               Hartford               would               be               where               I               was               going               to               hunt.

I               drove               around               for               about               half               an               hour               in               no               real               direction,               turning               left               here               and               right               there               until               I               came               upon               a               FedEx               truck.

I               followed               the               driver               and               the               first               delivery               went               off               without               a               hitch.

The               house's               occupant               was               a               older               reclusive               type.

After               grabbing               the               package               hastily,               he               spied               to               the               right               and               left               outside               his               house               and               with               a               quick               gesture               retreated               and               slammed               his               door               shut.

The               elderly               never               really               received               anything               worth               picking               up               anyways.
               When               the               truck               made               its               next               stop,               I               parked               across               the               street               and               waited.

The               thin               FedEx               driver               got               out               of               his               truck               and               headed               towards               a               two               story               home.

FedEx               had               horrible               uniforms.

Puke               green               and               white               mixed               with               bright               purple.

I               pulled               out               a               cigarette.

The               courier               gave               the               house               two               rings               and               mechanically               placed               the               box               directly               to               the               right               of               the               door               and               he               was               off.

I               finished               my               cigarette               and               then               went               to               work.
               I               rushed               across               the               bustling               street               and               kept               walking               briskly               when               I               got               to               the               apartments               yard.

Upon               grabbing               my               pay               and               shaking               it               a               bit               to               get               a               conceptualization,               I               heard               something.

A               squeaking               sound               of               impending               doom.

The               front               door               slowly               opened               and               revealed               a               plump               elderly               woman.

I               sat               as               dumbfounded               as               a               deer               trapped               in               the               imaginary               lock               of               headlights.

My               jaw               dropped               and               the               woman               smiled.

I               placed               the               box               down.

My               eyes               never               left               hers.

She               looked               like               a               sweet               woman               that               was               getting               her               monthly               diabetes               supplies.

She               said,               "Thank               you,               young               man.

I'm               sorry               it               took               me               so               long               to               get               down               here.

Old               age               and               all."
               "Uhm,"               I               said.

"D-do               you               need               help               upstairs               with               this."               I               grasped               for               what               to               do               next.
               "That               would               be               lovely,               honey,"               said               the               sweetly               tempered               voice.
               I               did               as               I               should               and               brought               up               the               box               to               her               kitchen               where               she               proclaimed               anywhere               is               fine.
               "Tea,               sweetie,"               she               asked               with               the               most               genuine               congeniality.

Still               enamored               by               the               situation               I               accepted.
               "Make               yourself               at               home,"               she               said               as               she               went               to               her               stove.
               I               walked               into               the               living               room               and               stood               staring.

The               walls               were               darted               with               signed               Red               Sox               jerseys               behind               glass.

Signed               baseballs               were               boxed               in               clear               plastic               and               on               every               level               surface.
               "My               husband               is               a               bit               of               a               fan,               you               could               say,"               said               the               woman               as               she               popped               up               behind               me               holding               my               tea               out               to               me.
               I               sat               in               silence               in               an               older               Victorian               chair               across               from               her               as               she               sat               gently               sipping               while               sitting               on               her               leather               sofa.

Below               our               feet,               a               beautifully               remastered               Persian               rug.
               "So               do               you               like               what               you               do?"               the               woman               finally               said               breaking               the               silence.
               I               blinked               and               stared               at               my               tea               which               was               cooling               fast,               "Not               really.

I               just               do               it               to               pay               the               bills.

Do               what               I               have               to               do,               you               know."
               So               we               sat               and               drank               tea               together.

Rose               and               I.

Not               where               I               was               expecting               to               end               up               that               day,               in               a               mark's               house.

She               told               stories               about               the               years               she's               lived               and               worked               in               Hartford               when               it               was               nice.

She               had               a               few               cats               that               all               seemed               content               with               staying               in               their               corners               away               from               me               and               I               was               content               with               that.
               After               some               time,               Rose               asked               if               I               would               like               something               to               eat.
               "No,               but               thanks               very               much,"               I               said.
               "Oh,               sorry.

You               probably               have               to               get               back               to               work,               I'm               sorry               to               keep               you               hostage               up               here.

Thank               you               so               much               for               your               help,               sweetie,"               she               said               in               a               concerned               voice.
               Realizing               I               hadn't               made               any               money               today               I               abruptly               stood               up               and               handed               her               the               tea               cup               as               she               stood.

I               stayed               in               place               for               a               minute.
               "I               should               be               going.

Time               is               money               and               this               job               doesn't               pay               nearly               enough.

Not               even               close."
               She               looked               down               at               her               feet               and               smiled               through               her               loneliness               and               blurted               out,               "Well,               before               you               go               take               my               husbands               card.

He               owns               a               convenience               store               and               just               lost               a               manager               to               one               of               those               damned               big               companies."
               I               thanked               her               and               took               the               card               and               left.

I               sighed               as               I               reached               my               car               and               shook               my               head               and               sighed               again.
               I               drove               around               for               a               bit               longer               but               was               unable               to               find               another               truck               or               opportunity.

So               I               headed               home.
               After               a               shower               and               shaving,               I               went               over               to               Finley's               and               ordered               a               brewski               and               a               melon               ball               for               Jade.

The               bar               was               oddly               barren               except               for               a               few               fat               bikers               with               their               tattoos               and               sun               reddened               skin               hulking               from               their               cut               off               leather               jackets.

I               sat               and               listened               to               their               conversations               about               v-this,               horsepower-that.
               When               I               looked               down               at               my               watch               I               noticed               Jade               was               48               minutes               late.

Quite               unlike               her               I               thought               to               myself.

I               gulped               down               her               drink               and               leaned               back               in               my               chair               and               stared               out               the               bar's               window               at               the               passersby.

They               flowed               through               each               other               in               a               constant               celerity.

Unaware               and               for               all               intensive               purposes               each               just               passing               by               another               obstacle               blindly.

Constant               and               flowing.
               My               hypnotic               state               was               broken               when               one               of               the               bikers               put               some               Lynyrd               Skynyd               on               the               jut               box.

I               went               outside               to               have               a               smoke.
               Upon               arriving               in               the               parking               lot               next               to               the               bar,               I               shouted               with               firm               proclamation,               "It               finally               happened."
               My               car               had               been               stolen.

I               had               always               said               that               if               anyone               wanted               to               spend               the               time               to               steal               my               car               than               they               were               more               than               welcome               to               it.

I               put               my               head               in               my               hands               and               smiled.

"What               a               day,"               I               said               bleakly               to               myself.

I               was               done               for               the               day               mentally.
               I               pulled               out               a               cigarette               and               began               hoofing               it               home.

The               walk               wasn't               that               bad.

I               was               still               semi-warm               from               the               drinks               and               the               air               was               thin               enough.

The               gray               hadn't               overtaken               me               quite               yet               and               something               felt               oddly               fine.

I               wasn't               drunk               enough               to               be               happy;               however,               I               was               nevertheless               content.
               My               car               had               been               stolen               and               my               friend               blew               me               off.

But               something               was               different.

I               retraced               my               day               through               my               head               with               the               clip               clopping               of               my               boots               on               the               sidewalk.

I               put               my               hands               in               my               pocket               to               warm               them               up               a               bit               as               I               thought.

My               left               hand               clasped               on               a               square               piece               of               paper               and               upon               pulling               it               out               a               smile               traced               my               face.
               It               read               CEO               John               Davis               of               J               &               W               Convenience.
               I               thought               to               myself,               what               did               I               have               to               lose?
               I               smiled               and               stared               down               at               my               feet               stepping               in               perfect               unison.

It               was               weird               what               things               I               didn't               have               to               worry               about.

Breathing,               it               comes               natural               and               only               when               I               want               to               be               aware               of               it               am               I               aware               of               it.

I               thought               about               the               sweet               old               woman               that               would               have               reminded               me               of               my               grandmother               had               I               ever               met               either               of               them.

J               &               W               would               be               too               small               to               do               a               background               check               on               new               employees.
               My               thoughts               were               soon               rocked               by               a               shrill               screeching               of               tire               and               flashing               lights.

My               con               instincts               kicked               in               and               I               ran.

Not               in               any               direction               specifically.

It's               hard               to               follow               an               idiot               who               has               no               real               idea               where               he               is               going.

I               darted               along               the               street,               through               an               apartment               complex,               over               a               fence,               along               a               pool,               over               another               fence               and...wall.
               I               woke               up               several               minutes               later               in               a               daze               and               in               cuffs               in               the               back               of               a               police               car.
               "So               do               you               have               anything               to               tell               us,               Steven,"               said               the               stocky               detective               named               Abrahms.

He               was               wearing               a               vertically               stripped               shirt               with               a               horizontally               striped               tie.

I               wanted               to               tell               him               that               he               looked               like               a               freaking               optical               illusion.

Instead,               I               sat               looking               at               his               bulging               belly               that               juggled               with               each               step               he               made               as               he               circled               and               preyed               upon               me.

The               other               detective               who               never               gave               me               his               name               stood               pressed               back               up               against               one               of               the               rooms               corners               with               his               legs               crossed               and               staring               at               his               feet               and               occasionally               sighing.
               "You               know               if               you               confess               to               what               we               are               going               to               pin               you               with               anyways,               it               would               definitely               look               good               on               your               part."
               I               sat               in               silence,               trying               to               dig               my               boots               into               the               concrete               floors.

They               knew               I               was               doing               something               illegal,               every               ex-con               is,               in               one               fashion               or               another.

An               ex-con               is               only               an               ex-con               because               they               hadn't               been               caught               doing               something               wrong.

It               was               just               a               matter               of               digging.
               "We               have               Jade,"               said               the               detective               from               the               corner.

His               eyes               stayed               transfixed               to               his               toes.
               Abrahms               bent               over               the               table               and               got               into               my               face.

His               spit               ricocheting               off               my               forehead               as               he               belched,               "We               have               Jade."               He               smiled               and               I               blinked.
               The               gates               opened.

I               had               nothing               to               lose               so               I               told               him               everything.

I               told               him               about               stealing               and               the               black               market               sales,               everything.

I               wasn't               leaving               this               room               as               a               free               man.
               "Jade               had               no               part               in               what               I               do.

She               is               just               a               friend.

I               mean,               she's               blind.

How               would               she               really               be               able               to               be               part               of               what               I               do?"               I               punctuated               the               waterfall               of               information               with               slamming               my               cuffed               hands               on               the               table               in               front               of               me.
               When               I               was               done               Abrahms               and               the               other               detective               just               stared               at               me               with               their               mouths               opened               and,               peculiarly,               Abrahms               had               nothing               to               say.

His               partner               whispered               something               in               his               ear               and               his               mouth               closed               and               his               eyes               closed               for               a               beat.
               Then               Abrahms               shouted,               "What               about               the               robbery               at               the               7/11,               smartass."
               "What?"               I               said.
               "Yeah,               we               found               Jade               and               your               car               about               half               a               mile               away               wrapped               around               a               pole.

We               know               you               were               involved."
               I               just               stared               at               one               than               the               other               but               hoping               my               stares               wouldn't               be               perceived               as               guilt.
               "You               know,               Jade,               yeah,               she's               not               looking               too               good               right               now               up               in               Hartford               Hospital.

She               is               going               back               to               jail               if               she               survives               and               you               don't               think               she's               not               going               to               try               and               pin               this               on               you               too.

We'll               bargain               with               her."
               "Jade               is               blind,"               I               said               in               a               meek               but               concise               voice.
               "Yeah,               great.

Not               the               best               choice               for               a               getaway               driver               then,               huh,               numb               nuts,"               Abrahms               said               and               snorted               and               began               to               laugh.
               That               bitch.
               I               told               the               cops               I               needed               a               cigarette               and               this               was               countered               with               perturbed               stares               at               each               other.
               "Don't               you               know               how               bad               those               things               are               for               you,"               said               the               dry,               cool               detective.
               I               leaned               back               into               the               chair               and               sighed.

I               looked               around               the               room.

It               was               the               typical               examination               rooms               of               the               cop               shows.

There               were               bright,               yellow               incandescent               lights.

In               front               of               me               was               a               crappy               fold-away,               false-wood               table.

It               reminded               me               of               the               lunch               tables               in               elementary               school.

I               sat               at               the               end               exemplifying               the               last               interview.

This               was               my               last               strike.

There               was               that               dark               false               glass               to               one               side               of               the               room.

I               wondered               if               I               was               important               enough               to               have               onlookers               in               the               next               room.
               Abrahms               moved               closer               and               grasped               the               table               opposite               to               me               and               stared               into               my               eyes               that               were               not               staring               into               his.

I               looked               to               the               two-way               glass.

His               bald               spot               looked               like               a               bright               star               at               the               top               of               his               head.

He               was               like               a               human               Christmas               tree               except               a               whole               lot               less               freaking               jolly               than               would               be               expected.
               So               Jade               had               played               me               like               I               was               an               idiot.

What               did               she               think               she               was               getting               out               of               me?

Abrahms               getting               enraged               by               my               lack               of               answering               his               useless               question               picked               up               his               half               of               the               table               and               dropped               it               with               overt               celerity.

I               slowly               looked               at               him.
               "Why               do               you               smoke,               jerk               off?"               he               said               mouthing               each               syllable               as               much               as               an               ex-New               Yorker               could               do.
               I               sighed               with               mental               and               physical               exhaustion               and               with               the               tears               welling               I               said,               "I               like               being               able               to               control               how               fast               I               am               going               to               die."






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