text:
**15 December 2011 Thursday.**

Felt like walking into traffic yesterday.

I want to feel something.

But I’ve gone numb.

**15 January 2012 Sunday.**

I feel like a failure slightly.

I feel silly about everything and unmotivated.

I want to vomit.

When did this start? I’ve asked myself that question a lot. When did I start feeling like this, and why did it happen? Did it start in the fifth grade when I was wearing my favorite dress from Goodwill which betrayed me when it became see through against my pink underwear? Did it start the first time someone called me a name? Or shoved a gummy bear into my hair? Can I give it back? I don’t want it.

I don’t need it.

Why was I depressed?

Does there need to be a reason?

In the 7th grade I was depressed because I couldn’t fit into a bathing suit, is that a real reason?

**June 19, 2006 Monday**

All of these people I see in magazines are perfect. I know its not healthy
to to say that they are, because they make themselves puke - but I can’t stand it. I want to be like them. SMALL. I AM GOING TO SHRINK. I AM NOT BEAUTIFUL. Well, not my body. I like my face.

As humorous as this is, I lived with that very mindset for years. I let the idea consume me, and ultimately I let it destroy me.

When I was 18 years old I was staring at the ceiling of my apartment, I hadn’t moved from the bed in nearly a week. I hadn’t eaten, rather I thought about if it would be easier to just off myself on all the pills in the medicine cabinet.

“Listen, you’re not going to really do anything with your life, you’re fat. You’re disgusting. No one could ever love something like you. So do the world a service, and end it. It will be better for everyone, and yourself.” I sat like that for awhile, letting the thought sit in my head, wondering what the other side would be like. An endless black hole? When I finally turned over on my side to get up, and stuff my face with food I didn’t need, I noticed something sitting in front of me. It became the only source of light in my bedroom.

It was a pair of tennis shoes.

Why did that pair of tennis shoes stick out to me at that moment? I mean They’ve been sitting there for ages, with the lost hopes of actually losing weight. It went on like that for days, I’d wake up, go for breakfast and find myself staring at them. Its when I realized, that my inner monologue was no longer saying “end it,” it was screaming, “run. Be free.”

That’s exactly what I did.

It was December. It was snowing. I wasn’t wearing the proper clothing, and I hadn’t truly ever run since my attempt in high school. I was nervous, I was overweight, I was depressed. I had nothing to lose, well except for a few pesky pounds.

It was almost like a child walking for the first time, one step, another, a little faster, a littler faster. Suddenly, the cold bitter air was rushing into my lungs, my heart was pumping. I was alive, I was alive! I AM ALIVE. I AM DYING. Maybe not thirty seconds later, two minutes tops I felt my lungs on fire, I felt myself sputtering for air, and sweat already pouring from ever crevice on my body. That was horrible. But I kind of loved it, and before I knew it I was laughing.

This is life, I thought to myself.

One of the truest statements that I’ve ever heard about depression is that it doesn’t just disappear. No no no, that would be too easy.

Depression is the cancer of mental illness, it can be deadly, and it can come unexpectedly at any moment. You may be surrounded by other people, but you’re really just trapped in a bullet proof glass box, being berated by your own brain. Those who don’t understand depression, may try to help, but you’d rather pull your nails off than have to seek their advice. If you’re suffering from depression right now, let the advice through, listen, and talk to them. Answer questions, ask questions, seek help. Those who want to help a loved one with depression, listen, talk, ask questions, answer questions, be respectful.

Did it come back?

Without a doubt it came back.

What did I need to do? What did I want to do? I asked myself one day.

I bought a plane ticket to France, and a train ticket to Germany.

Three weeks later I was standing on a platform in Munich, searching for a train to Sonthofen. I was going to see my best friend. This wasn’t an all expenses paid, luxury, Eat, Pray, Love trip. I was 19. I was paid minimum wage, and I saved up $700 to pay for a plane ticket. I was limited when it came to luxury, but not when it came to life.

I realized on that platform, that I missed my train, and I was completely, and utterly lost. I ran into some German students who were traveling home for a holiday of some sort, and asked almost in tears - “where do I go? How do I get there?” One girl turned to me, her eyes deep brown, and hair a curly mess of auburn, and said “stick with us, we will get you to your destination.”

Three hours, and two cabin switches later I found myself on the platform in Sonthofen, watching several teenage boys pissing on the tracks.

“Beautiful.” I said to myself, turning to the cab driver, and pointing to an address.

“Take me here.”

In the dark of the night, I made my way to the hotel and into the company of my best friend Caitlin. In the morning, I woke and saw the Swiss Alps in the distance, I saw fields of green grass, and locals walking through the small town to a cafe at the top of a hill. Best pancakes ever. Best cheese too.

My last night in Germany, I stayed in a random stranger’s house in Munich. He wore a white turtleneck when he greeted me, was 23 years old, and was an aspiring musician. I felt for the first time that this man was attracted to me. It was odd, having hated the way I looked for years, and still struggling with my self image, for someone to be so obviously attracted to you. We had breakfast in the morning, (for clarification, this man so graciously let me stay in his apartment when I posted a message on couch surfers for a last minute room) said our goodbyes, and parted at the gate of him home. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he told me to come back to Germany.

Then it happened. Here I was. A dream that I’d hoped for, for so many years. I took French classes in high school, memorized French movies, and listened to French music. I was in France. Next stop: A girl named Lea’s home. Lea dyed her hair red, she was going to university to study French literature. She enjoyed French wines, traveling, cigarettes, and French musicians who looked at the world through distorted windows - they sang about human suffering, about their suffering. Lea was extraordinary, she was proud of her country, but yet she realized that there was room for improvement, and she wanted to be the ignition that sparked the fire of change. It pissed her off that some men of her country were selling out their precious wine vineyards to “young American pricks who don’t know how to make wine.”

“No offense,” she said. We were walking to the oldest bakery in the center of Paris Universities. A tiny hole in the wall, but completely gorgeous. Lea didn’t walk, she ran, and spoke fast. “No offense,” she said again, “but you’re American boys don’t make love to wine. Wine is an elegant woman, not some cheap whore.”

When did the world become so colorful?

Has it always looked like this?

Around me, jazz bands were playing in the streets. Street art, street performers . . . And for some reason, a lot of dog shit. New and old mixed together, celebrating life, love, wine, and cheese. I tried to take it all in.

**16 November 2012 Friday**

 What I have been exposed to is beautiful, and when I get home, I will share this beauty with others.

After Lea, I stayed with a Polish girl for three days, Klaudia. She was gorgeous, she was polish, and she loved the word fuck. “When you cuss it sounds so passionate, you know?” I would have probably fallen in love with her if I stayed any longer. She wanted to be a stage actress, so she ran away from home, learned French, and began to work at an Australian bar in the middle of Paris.

“But you can meet some rich fuckers, and they will pay for everything for you. You’re a beautiful girl! You should come!”

She was always lost. Klaudia took me to another side of France. She and I jumped from club to club, drinking, getting food from her favorite cafes. We talked about pressure from our family to lose weight, I told her about losing 70 lbs, I told her about depression. She told me about how her mother was crazy, and an alcoholic, and how she loved her father so dearly, but she wished he just wasn’t such a fucking asshole. My favorite was her story about a guy she fell in love with.

“I’ve never been in love.”

“What? Really? It’s great. Sex is great.”

“I’ve never had sex.”

“What? Actually, I’m not surprised, you don’t strike me as someone who can have sex with someone without love.”

“I thought you loved this guy.”

“I do love him. He was beautiful, he was really like, cool you know? Fuck. I miss him. He’s somewhere in London right now.”

At one point in her life, she lived as a squatter. Staying in abandoned homes, and factories with other kids her age, who’d run away from life.

It was my last night.

We’d done everything, so what was left?

Red wine, pepsi, and, “I think I have to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“Honey Boo-Boo.”

“What the fuck Honey who?”

My last night in France was spent watching Honey Boo Boo completely drunk on Red Wine and Pepsi.

When I returned home, I was happy to be home. I just wanted to keep talking, and talking. I wanted to share, I didn’t want to lose that magic, I didn’t want to lose that color. I didn’t want to go back. I couldn’t.

It felt so odd to me, all the sudden I was no longer trapped inside that glass box. I was in remission. I could still see it in the back of my head, like a storm brewing in the sea, but I chose to ignore it.

**15 April 2013 Monday.**

It is Marathon Day.

A perfect day for a marathon.

The weather was so nice.

I was going to go. Thank god I slept in . . . Until 1.

10 days later, one of the best days of my life.

**25 April 2013 Thursday**

I met someone interesting. His name is Han. He has a fantastic personality. He likes classical music, has 1 sister, and he is an engineer major. So far from me in terms of career paths. But he has made me laugh, and he seems interesting.

Han made a much bigger impact than I could have hoped for, in the best way.

**26 August 2013 Monday**

How do I describe the last 48 hours? I am at the hospital, looking at my dad’s unconscious body.

**27 August 2013 Tuesday**

“Here’s the thing, besides the Epilepsy, he doesn’t have any other health problems, and he was healthy. So this just might be the case where we just don’t know. There is a five to fifteen percent chance that people with Epilepsy can have a seizure that will take his life. We just don’t know.” The doctors says.

**28 August 28, 2013 Wednesday**

**6:31PM**

I love you dad.

You were the most amazing, and most simple man that I have met. I feel like I won’t get over it. But I made a promise to be okay, and I think, I know - I will. You were proud of me, and I want you to be proud of every decision, even if it slightly questionable.

It was so hard. Fuck, god. It was so hard. I’d lost someone so stable, so bizarre, but completely wonderful. He was a happy man, and I knew he wanted me to be happy.

So I worked. I worked off the pain, I fought the urge to cry when I saw girls with their fathers, I sang his favorite songs, I mourned him without falling back into bed and staring up at the ceiling. But there were relapses.

**7 October 2013 Monday**

I feel disgusting all the time.

All the time.

At one point I asked myself again - what did I need to do? What did I want to do?

See my boyfriend.

Be in love.

God, I wanted to just be in love, I was so fucking lonely even with everyone around me, and finally someone pried their hands into my brain and told me it was okay to love myself. It is okay to be in love.

So I bought myself a plane ticket to Seoul.

On the 28th of November I was standing in customs at Incheon airport, and there he was. Love is interesting, because you feel it all over your body. I held his hand, I played with his hair, I kissed him a thousand times. I didn’t want to leave. Here standing in front of me was a man who proved to me that I could love, and be loved. I also fell in love with Seoul, as weeks became days, and days turned into the very last hour I knew that I was going to be leaving a second home.
A place that became my place of refuge. I was actually surprised by this fact, as I wandered the streets alone one day. Han took me to places he went as a child, we sang maple story for days, “that video is a legend here!” He ate quesadillas for a week after I made him one, one night.
“Will you marry me?” He asked after he bit into it.

I laughed, “let me think about it.”

On my final day I cried. He held me tight, and kissed me goodbye.

“See you soon.”

I was asked by another redditor to talk about my struggle with depression, and my decision to kick it in the face, and face my own fears. There will be a moment in your life, when it seems like the only way out is by locking yourself away, don't. Confront yourself, ask yourself - what do I need to do? What do I want to do? And challenge yourself.

Life wasn't meant to be easy, for anyone. But if I had to describe it -

**28 July 2011 Thursday**

I jumped 30ft into the air, all the way down into a pool nearly 60ft deep. I looked down at the faces, the body of water, and nothing passed through my head at that moment except the thought, "this is what it is like to fly."

I heard music, and when I landed, the silence engulfed me, and I accepted it. I accepted the silence, I understood it. Heard its beauty, and for a moment,

I knew how to fly.

How to be free.

title: I Stumbled into Happiness - a depression success story?

question: Summarize some of the life events that happened on the narrator's way to recovery from depression.

answer:
The narrator is depressed and having suicidal thoughts. She wants to lose weight and be loved by someone. One day she picks up her tennis shoes, wears them, and begins to run. She runs and though she feels pain in her lungs and was gasping for air, she enjoyed it. She starts to laugh.
Three weeks later she buys a plane ticket to France and a train ticket to Germany. She misses her train but some German students help her reach her destination. She saw the beautiful Swiss Alps and almost falls in love with a 23-year-old German. She leaves for France and stays with a girl named Lea. Lea loves wine and shares her love with the narrator. From there the narrator stays with a Polish girl named Klaudia.
The narrator comes back home and after a few weeks loses her Dad. She is sad and lonely. She buys a ticket to Seoul and falls in love with the place. She falls in love with a boy and comes back home living and having adventures.

question: What did the narrator's mum say to her after having one of her episodes?


split: test

text:
**THIS DEAD EARTH**

*By ColdChemical*
_________________

The sun beat down on the dry land, blazing brilliantly against a perfect blue sky.  The earth was dead and flat―every weed and insect choked with death by the toxic dust that had settled over the land.  The air was hot and stagnant.

A long time passed.

Eventually a far, distant sound emerged.  This sound slowly grew until it became a muffled roar―carried from miles away across the infinite flatness.  This sound was shortly accompanied by a black speck on the horizon, a long cloud of dust billowing in its wake.
Jedediah shifted uncomfortably in his seat and flicked his cigarette butt out the window of the jeep.  His eyes, shaded from the blinding light by a pair of dark red sunglasses, drifted lazily across the wasteland before him.  There wasn’t much to see.  There never was.  After three years, Jedediah was beginning to reconsider the job offer that he had jumped at just a few short years ago.  What had promised adventure and danger had become merely one long and tedious journey after another, and they were only getting longer.  At 26, he had already seen more than most members of the commune would in their entire lives.  Not that they were missing much, as far as Jedediah was concerned.  It was just wasteland as far as you cared to go.  Still, he couldn’t deny that he treasured this freedom.  It was boring as hell, sure, but out in the wastes there wasn’t nobody to tell him what to do, none of them narrow-eyed shopkeepers or stupid old men with their stupid talk.  The wastes alone were his master.  The long empty miles gave him a sense of momentum in his life, even though he was really no freer than the rest of the commune and was doomed to die just like the rest of them.  Deep down Jedediah realized this, and unconsciously he hated himself for it.  He longed for a life that he could never imagine, a life that did not exist and had not existed for many long spans of time.
Yet it was this distant and long-forgotten past that the people of the commune were utterly and completely dependent upon.  Scattered throughout the wastes were isolated vaults buried within the earth.  Their dark steel depths betrayed little about their unknown creators, and all were identical in shape and mystery.  Upon entering, one would be overwhelmed by the staggering immensity of their age, and the power and sophistication surely wielded by their creators.

They defied the land, plunging indiscriminately into the bowels of the earth through soil and stone without any heed for the natural order.  How unlike the communes above, which clung desperately to every rock and stone and were subject to all the violent whims of earth and sky.  The survivors of the wastes, lacking any other defining feature upon which to settle, inevitably grew their towns upon the ancient relics which protruded from the surrounding plain.

 Shapaw, the easternmost commune, was where Jedediah lived. Hajiik was to the west and Guln in the north.  The two southern communes, Apette and Illicagh, were rumored to have starved or fallen to some other similarly horrific fate, as no news had reached Shapaw of either in quite some time.  Even Shapaw, the largest of the communes, contained less than five hundred residents.  Some of the others contained scarcely enough people to merit a name at all.

More than once some crazy band of fools had gone and tried to live inside one of the vaults, but the dampness and the creeping blackness inevitably drove anyone inside to madness.  Most of the vaults, however, had not been touched by human hands for a long, long time.  Their dark tomb-like caverns were usually braved by only the most fearless and curious of souls, who were invariably rewarded with a treasure-trove of strange and useful relics, the most valuable of which was a tiny blue pill.  This pill alone kept the communes alive, for without the medicine within them, the people of the wastes―should they breath so much as a mote of the toxic dust―would be writhing on the ground in minutes.  It was a violent and agonizing death.  All efforts to learn the secrets of the blue pills had failed, and the people had resigned themselves to a life dependent upon them.

As plentiful as the pills were, they would not last forever.  After a time, the supply beneath the streets of Shapaw had been exhausted, and so it became necessary to send someone out into the wastes to gather more.  These men became responsible for the resupplying of the pills by way of finding and raiding the surrounding vaults which had not already been robbed of their contents.

Jedediah checked his compass, then craned his head back to gauge the position of the sun.  Sixteen degrees southwest and just about high noon.  He scowled.  At this rate he’d have to spend the night in the back seat of the jeep.  The wastes were scorched and burned by day, but the nights were sickly cold, and the back of a beat-up old jeep wasn't Jedediah’s idea of a good night’s sleep.  He drove on.  Eventually his thoughts turned to other things: the girl at Begunn’s who was always smiling, his busted generator, the price of the replacement part to fix the damn thing, the―

Jedediah suddenly sat up and squinted.  He threw off his sunglasses and rummaged around in the sack on the passenger seat, pulling out a pair of binoculars.

 “About time.”

The grey disk that poked out above the earth could mean only one thing: a vault.  As he drew nearer, the smooth, familiar features of the structure became visible.  It looked the same as every other vault he’d ever seen, but then again, why shouldn’t it?  He decelerated to a crawl, then braked and cut the engine.  Double-checking the contents of the sack, he then slung it over his shoulder, and walked towards the embankment which descended towards the entryway.  The ground crunched beneath his boots.  Now that he wasn’t speeding along at 130mph he could smell once more the subtle sickly aroma of the poisonous dust kicked up beneath his feet.  Jedediah slid down the embankment and came to a halt just before the imposing metal hatchway.  He gripped the hot metal handle and pulled.  After several minutes of strenuous effort, a loud clunk came from within, and the lock fell open.  Jedediah braced his shoulder against the door, and pushed.  The hatchway swung inward with an eerie quietness into the dark chamber within.  Jedediah took out his torch and lit it.  He stepped inside.

Immediately he sensed that something was different; something was not right.  Although his eyes could see nothing in the darkness, he was overwhelmed by a sensation of immense space.  It was as though he had stepped into the center of a massive subterranean cave, rather than the usual maze of rectangular passageways which he had learned to navigate.

Jedediah scowled and tightened his grip on the torch.  His right hand moved cautiously to his knife-sheathe, where it stayed, tense.  Glancing out the hatchway, he set off into the dark.  His footsteps made no sound as he moved onward into the chamber.  Nothing but blackness emerged out of the dark, and eventually the open hatchway was nothing more than a pinprick of light in the distance behind him.  Jedediah stopped.

“HELLO?” he shouted.  A faint echo reverberated around him.

He waited.  Silence.

Suddenly, from above, came a tiny mechanical clinking.  After a moment, it stopped.  Jedediah stood very still.

“Hello.” cooed a soft metallic voice.

“Shit!”  Jedediah leaped backward, starring wide-eyed into the black abyss above him.  “Who's there?  Just who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“I am a Long-Term-Data-Preservation unit.  I have no name.”  Its voice was cool and friendly, yet disturbingly inhuman.  “Who are you?”

He glared at the darkness.  “Jedediah Ackerson.”

“Hello Jedediah.  I have waited a long time to meet you.  I have much to show you."

The surrounding air slowly became alive with a deep, almost inaudible humming.  Suddenly, the entire chamber exploded with blinding light, and Jedediah slammed his eyelids shut.  After several minutes, his eyes began to adjust to the throbbing brightness.  He cautiously blinked open his eyes, and the sight that met his gaze paralyzed him.  His entire body became frozen in shock, as though he had been turned to stone.  In all of Jedediah’s short life, nothing―not even his most radical fantasies―could have prepared him for this sight.
The breeze―warm and sweet―played across his cheeks.  The blue horizon sparkled in the brilliant sunlight, and seemed to breathe in and out as it leapt up the sandy stretch below his feet, only to slink back upon itself.  Jedediah blinked.  He stared and blinked and thought no thoughts: a man overcome by the most beautiful thing he would ever see.

"This," said the disembodied voice, "is an ocean."

_______________________

    Written by ColdChemical
    February 7th, 2012
    ~1,500 Words

title: "THIS DEAD EARTH" [short story] [about 1500 words]

question: What does the text say about Shapaw?

answer: Shapaw is where Jedidiah lived. It's the easternmost commune, and the largest with less than 500 residents. The residents don't seem to leave or explore much. Communes, including Shapaw, were dependent on a blue pill that kept them safe from the dry land's toxic dust. The pills existed in vaults underneath the commune, until supplies eventually ran out and people were hired to find more. In these vaults were also Long-Term-Data-Preservation units, that preserved the memory of things like the ocean.

question: Summarize everything relating to the purpose of Long-Term-Data-Preservation units?

answer: Jedidiah comes into contact with a Long-Term-Data-Preservation unit that resides within one of the vaults underneath a commune. Being that the world is now dead and flat, it seems some relics of the earth before remain in these units. The unit says it's been waiting for him for a long time and that it has much to show him. Jedediah is overwhelmed when it shows him the ocean and all the senses that come with it. The unit makes it seem as if Jedidiah is there.

question: What does the text say about Jedidiah's job?

answer: Jedidiah's job is to gather the blue pills that protect the humans in the commune from the toxic dust. To do this, he and other men have to raid the vaults throughout the wasteland. Jedidiah jumped on this job because he thought it offered adventure, freedom, and danger. However now he reconsiders it to be one long, tedious journey after another.

question: Summarize what happens when Jedidiah tells the commune about the Long-Term-Data-Preservation unit.


text:
upright=1.3|thumb|_Sewing Fisherman´s Wife_ by Anna Ancher, 1890. SEWING is the craft of fastening or attaching objects using stitches made with a needle and thread. Sewing is one of the oldest of the textile arts, arising in the Paleolithic era. Before the invention of spinning yarn or weaving fabric, archaeologists believe Stone Age people across Europe and Asia sewed fur and skin clothing using bone, antler or ivory needles and “thread” made of various animal body parts including sinew, catgut, and veins.[1][2]

For thousands of years, all sewing was done by hand. The invention of the sewing machine in the 19th century and the rise of computerization in the 20th century led to mass production and export of sewn objects, but hand sewing is still practiced around the world.[3] Fine hand sewing is a characteristic of high-quality tailoring, haute couture fashion, and custom dressmaking, and is pursued by both textile artists and hobbyists as a means of creative expression.

The first known use of the word “sewing” was in the 14th century.[4]

History

Origins

[[File:A seated woman sewing a kimono.jpg|thumb|_Seated woman sewing a kimono_, Utagawa K

uniyoshi, early 19th century. Different cultures have developed diverse sewing techniques, from methods of cutting fabric to types of stitches.]] Sewing has an ancient history estimated to begin during the Paleolithic Era.[5] Sewing was used to stitch together animal hides for clothing and for shelter. The Inuit, for example, used sinew from caribou for thread and needles made of bone;[6] the indigenous peoples of the American Plains and Canadian Prairies used sophisticated sewing methods to assemble tipi shelters.[7] Sewing was combined with the weaving of plant leaves in Africa to create baskets, such as those made by Zulu weavers, who used thin strips of palm leaf as “thread” to stitch wider strips of palm leaf that had been woven into a coil.[8] The weaving of cloth from natural fibers originated in the Middle East around 4000 BC, and perhaps earlier during the Neolithic Age, and the sewing of cloth accompanied this development.[9]

During the Middle Ages, Europeans who could afford it employed seamstresses and tailors. The vital importance of sewing was indicated by the honorific position of “Lord Sewer” at many European coronations from the Middle Ages. An example was Robert Radcliffe, 1st Earl of Sussex who was appointed Lord Sewer at the coronation of Henry VIII of England in 1509. Sewing for the most part was a woman's occupation, and most sewing before the 19th century was practical. Clothing was an expensive investment for most people, and women had an important role in extending the longevity of items of clothing. Sewing was used for mending. Clothing that was faded would be turned inside-out so that it could continue to be worn, and sometimes had to be taken apart and reassembled in order to suit this purpose. Once clothing became worn or torn, it would be taken apart and the reusable cloth sewn together into new items of clothing, made into quilts, or otherwise put to practical use. The many steps involved in making clothing from scratch (weaving, pattern making, cutting, alterations, and so forth) meant that women often bartered their expertise in a particular skill with one another.[10] Decorative needlework such as embroidery was a valued skill, and young women with the time and means would practice to build their skill in this area. From the Middle Ages to the 17th century, sewing tools such as needles, pins and pincushions were included in the trousseaus of many European brides.[11]

Decorative embroidery was valued in many cultures worldwide. Although most embroidery stitches in the Western repertoire are traditionally British, Irish or Western European in origin, stitches originating in different cultures are known throughout the world today. Some examples are the Cretan Open Filling stitch, Romanian Couching or Oriental Couching, and the Japanese stitch.[12] The stitches associated with embroidery spread by way of the trade routes that were active during the Middle Ages. The Silk Road brought Chinese embroidery techniques to Western Asia and Eastern Europe, while techniques originating in the Middle East spread to Southern and Western Europe through Morocco and Spain.[13] European imperial settlements also spread embroidery and sewing techniques worldwide. However, there are instances of sewing techniques indigenous to cultures in distant locations from one another, where cross-cultural communication would have been historically unlikely. For example, a method of reverse appliqué known to areas of South America is also known to Southeast Asia.[14]

Industrial Revolution

[Early 20th century sewing in Detroit, Michigan.] [A woman sewing as a street vendor in Bangkok, Thailand.] [Sewing with an 1894 Singer sewing machine.] The Industrial Revolution shifted the production of textiles from the household to the mills. In the early decades of the Industrial Revolution, the machinery produced whole cloth. The world's first sewing machine was patented in 1790 by Thomas Saint.[15] By the early 1840s, other early sewing machines began to appear. Barthélemy Thimonnier introduced a simple sewing machine in 1841 to produce military uniforms for France's army; shortly afterward, a mob of tailors broke into Thimonnier's shop and threw the machines out of the windows, believing the machines would put them out of work.[16] By the 1850s, Isaac Singer developed the first sewing machines that could operate quickly and accurately and surpass the productivity of a seamstress or tailor sewing by hand.

While much clothing was still produced at home by female members of the family, more and more ready-made clothes for the middle classes were being produced with sewing machines. Textile sweatshops full of poorly paid sewing machine operators grew into entire business districts in large cities like London and New York City. To further support the industry, piece work was done for little money by women living in slums. Needlework was one of the few occupations considered acceptable for women, but it did not pay a living wage. Women doing piece work from home often worked 14-hour days to earn enough to support themselves, sometimes by renting sewing machines that they could not afford to buy.[17]

Tailors became associated with higher-end clothing during this period. In London, this status grew out of the dandy trend of the early 19th century, when new tailor shops were established around Savile Row.[18] These shops acquired a reputation for sewing high-quality handmade clothing in the style of the latest British fashions, as well as more classic styles. The boutique culture of Carnaby Street was absorbed by Savile Row tailors during the late 20th century, ensuring the continued flourishing of Savile Row's businesses.

20th century onward

[Bangladeshi women sewing clothes.] Sewing underwent further developments during the 20th century. As sewing machines became more affordable to the working class, demand for sewing patterns grew. Women had become accustomed to seeing the latest fashions in periodicals during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, increasing demand for sewing patterns yet more. American tailor and manufacturer Ebenezer Butterick met the demand with paper patterns that could be traced and used by home sewers. The patterns, sold in small packets, became wildly popular. Several pattern companies soon established themselves. Women's magazines also carried sewing patterns, and continued to do so for much of the 20th century. This practice declined during the later decades of the 20th century, when ready-made clothing became a necessity as women joined the paid workforce in larger numbers, leaving them with less time to sew, if indeed they had an interest. Today, the low price of ready-made clothing in shops means that home sewing is confined largely to hobbyists in Western countries, with the exception of cottage industries in custom dressmaking and upholstery.

The spread of sewing machine technology to industrialized economies around the world meant the spread of Western-style sewing methods and clothing styles as well. In Japan, traditional clothing was sewn together with running stitch that could be removed so that the clothing could be taken apart and the assorted pieces laundered separately. The tight-locked stitches made by home sewing machines, and the use of Western clothing patterns, led to a movement towards wearing Western-style clothing during the early 20th century.[19] Western sewing and clothing styles were disseminated in sub-Saharan Africa by Christian missionaries from the 1830s onward. Indigenous cultures, such as the Zulu and Tswana, were indoctrinated in the Western way of dress as a sign of conversion to Christianity.[20] First Western hand sewing techniques, and later machine sewing, spread throughout the regions where the European colonists settled. However, a recent examination of new online learning methods demonstrated that technology can be adapted to share knowledge of a culture's traditional sewing methods. Using self-paced online tutorials, a Malay sewing class learned how to tailor and sew a traditional men's _Baju Kurung_ garment in 3 days, whereas a traditional Malay sewing class would have taken 5 days to teach the same information.[21]

Advances in industrial technology, such as the development of synthetic fibres during the early 20th century, have brought profound changes to the textile industry as a whole. Textile industries in Western countries have declined sharply as textile companies compete for cheaper labour in other parts of the world. According to the U.S. Department of Labor “employment of sewers and tailors is expected to experience little or no change, growing 1 percent from 2010 to 2020”.[22][23] It is estimated that every lost textile job in a Western country in recent years has resulted in 1.5 jobs being created in an outsourced country such as China.[24] Textile workers who perform tasks with sewing machines, or do detailed work by hand, are still a vital component of the industry, however. Small-scale sewing is also an economic standby in many developing countries, where many people, both male and female, are self-employed sewers.

Garment construction

[A tailor fitting a suit in Hong Kong.]

Patterns and fitting

Garment construction is usually guided by a pattern. A pattern can be quite simple; some patterns are nothing more than a mathematical formula that the sewer calculates based on the intended wearer's measurements. Once calculated, the sewer has the measurements needed to cut the cloth and sew the garment together. At the other end of the spectrum are haute couture fashion designs. When a couture garment is made of unusual material, or has extreme proportions, the design may challenge the sewer's engineering knowledge. Complex designs are drafted and refitted dozens of times, may take around 40 hours to develop a final pattern, and require 60 hours of cutting and sewing. It is important for a pattern to be created well because the way a completed piece fits is the reason it will either be worn or not.[25]

Most clothing today is mass-produced, and conforms to standard sizing, based on body measurements that are intended to fit the greatest proportion of the population. However, while “standard” sizing is generally a useful guideline, it is little more than that, because there is no industry standard that is “both widely accepted and strictly adhered to in all markets”.[26]

Home sewers often work from patterns purchased from companies such as Simplicity, Butterick, McCall's, Vogue, and many others. Such patterns are typically printed on large pieces of tissue paper; a sewer may simply cut out the required pattern pieces for use but may choose to transfer the pattern onto a thicker paper if repeated use is desired. A sewer may choose to alter a pattern to make it more accurately fit the intended wearer. Patterns may be changed to increase or decrease length; to add or remove fullness; to adjust the position of the waistline, shoulder line, or any other seam, or a variety of other adjustments.[27] Volume can be added with elements such as pleats, or reduced with the use of darts. Before work is started on the final garment, test garments may be made, sometimes referred to as muslins.

Tools

Sewers working on a simple project need only a few sewing tools, such as measuring tape, needle, thread, cloth, and sewing shears. More complex projects may only need a few more simple tools to get the job done, but there are an ever-growing variety of helpful sewing aids available.

In addition to sewing shears, rotary cutters may be used for cutting fabric, usually used with a cutting mat to protect other surfaces from being damaged. Seam rippers are used to remove mistaken stitches. Special marking pens and chalk are used to mark the fabric as a guide to construction.[28]

Pressing and ironing are an essential part of many sewing projects, and require additional tools. A steam iron is used to press seams and garments, and a variety of pressing aids such as a seam roll or tailor's ham are used to aid in shaping a garment. A pressing cloth may be used to protect the fabric from damage.[29]

Sewing machines are now made for a broad range of specialised sewing purposes, such as quilting machines, heavy-duty machines for sewing thicker fabrics (such as leather), computerized machines for embroidery, and sergers for finishing raw edges of fabric.[30]

A wide variety of presser foot attachments are available for many sewing machines—feet exist to help with hemming, pintucks, attaching cording, assembling patchwork, quilting, and a variety of other functions.[31] [Latest sewing machines Brother “Nexio” Direct Drive Lock Stitcher with Electronic Feeding System]

A thimble is a small hard tool used as a protective device for sewing.

Elements

[Garment construction]

Seamstresses are provided with the pattern, with the intent of using as little fabric as possible. Patterns will specify whether to cut on the grain or the bias to manipulate fabric stretch. Special placement may be required for directional, striped, or plaid fabrics.[32]

Supporting materials, such as interfacing, interlining, or lining, may be used in garment construction, to give the fabric a more rigid or durable shape.

Before or after the pattern pieces are cut, it is often necessary to mark the pieces to provide a guide during the sewing process. Marking methods may include using pens, pencils, or chalk, tailor's tacks, snips, pins, or thread tracing, among others.[33]

In addition to the normal lockstitch, construction stitches include edgestitching, understitching, staystitching and topstitching.[34] Seam types include the plain seam, zigzag seam, flat fell seam, French seam and many others.[35]

Software

[Virtual sewing machine tools in a cloth simulation software] [Digital clothing created with virtual sewing machine in a cloth simulation software] With the development of cloth simulation software such as CLO3D, Marvelous Designer and Optitex, seamsters can now draft patterns on the computer and visualize clothing designs by using the pattern creation tools and virtual sewing machines within these cloth simulation programs.[36]

[1] Anawalt (2007), pp. 80–81

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[15] http://thumbnails.visually.netdna-cdn.com/national-sewing-month-2011_50290c5a9fbfb.jpg

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title: Sewing

question: What were the unintended consequences of the industrialization of sewing?

answer:
Once sewing machines became cheap and affordable, many companies created a sweatshop environment where sewing machine operators were paid poorly and worked for long hours.

Sewing machines also made it possible for complex patterns and embroidery to be made on expensive garments which fetched lots of money.

question: What was the common sewing "technology" across cultures as far back as the 14th century?

answer: Different cultures used different fabrics and materials as clothes. However, the process of making them includes some form of the needle which is sometimes made from bone or plants, and some form of a thread that is gleaned from various animals, depending on the region.


text:
It was almost 11PM, meaning my shift at the sushi restaurant in the shopping plaza was finally almost over. I hated being on the closing shift, but I hated being in prison even more. I had spent the last six years of my life in prison for vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated. The woman I killed was also drunk and behind the wheel. Her name was Alice, she had gorgeous blonde hair, and glowing green eyes. It’s hard to forget a face like hers. She was at the same party I was at. Sometimes I think I should’ve been the one to go, instead of Alice. She actually had her future ahead of her and was going to college, unlike the then 21-year-old me, who was a college drop-out.

But things were actually starting to look up for me. I somehow managed to get a job, even if it was a dead-end one. And I didn’t even like sushi, but apparently I was good at preparing it, according to this regular customer we get, Alison. She actually reminded me a lot about Alice. Alison also had blonde hair, but with blue eyes instead of green. I was lucky enough to begin dating her, and she was graceful enough to let me move into her place recently. We’d only been dating for six months, which was one month longer than I’d been out of prison. Since today was payday, maybe tonight after work I’d go home, change my clothes, and take her to a movie.

We were closing up shop at the sushi place. There were only three of us on staff: the closing manager, a coworker, and I. My coworker had just finished cleaning his area of the store, and had headed out. I was almost done putting away my cooking utensils. After I had finished, I put all the chairs in the restaurant on top of the tables, so the morning people can mop the floors tomorrow. I was eager to clock out because I wanted to go home and see Alison. I exited the restaurant, saying “Good bye!” to my manager, while fumbling for my car keys. As I was about to open the door to my car, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone back inside the work lockers. Alison always wanted me to send her a text message when I was on my way home, so she would know that I was safe.

I headed back towards the restaurant, only to see my manager locking the front doors. I asked her if she could hold the door open for just a second, while I went to get my phone. I headed inside, opened my locker and sent a text message to Alison saying, “On my way home.” Once again, I exited the restaurant, thanking my manager for letting me back inside. We said our final goodbye’s to each other, and she got inside her car and drove off. I walked through the very empty parking lot towards my car. I pulled out my keys, and I heard a noise. It sounded like someone dropped a water bottle. It seemed very close, because I could hear the water sloshing about inside its container.

I turned around, only seeing an empty parking lot and the dozens of light poles that provide the yellow light to it. The base of each light pole was held up by a block of concrete. Perhaps someone put a water bottle on the base of the light pole, and the wind blew it over at that moment? I held onto that thought, so I wouldn’t freak myself out. I ignored the noise, put my keys into the car door, turned them, then I heard foot steps right behind me. After that, I felt two beefy arms come over me, one around my chest and the other around my face. The arm around my face had a cloth to my mouth, and I breathed whatever chemicals were inside of it. As I drifted away, all I remember hearing was the honking of a car horn.

When I woke up, my hands and feet were tied behind my back; I felt like an animal being taken to the slaughterhouse. I was in a small, dark place, I literally couldn't see anything. I tried to yell for help, but the cloth was inside my mouth, and was duct tape across my lips, as well as the circumference of my head. After a few moments of squirming around, I realized the place I was in was moving. I believed I was in the trunk of my own car! I had a million questions buzzing through my brain: Why was this happening? Who did this to me? Was I about to die?

As these questions were soaring through my head, I felt the car come to a stop, and the engine turned off also. I heard the driver take off their seatbelt, open their door and walk towards the trunk of the car with their heavy footsteps. They opened the trunk and we made eye contact. I thought I recognized this man. He was bald, tall and had a muscular build. At first I wasn’t sure if he was the man I was thinking it was, but when I looked at his green eyes, I was sure of it. His name was Cody and he was Alice’s brother… before she died. Most of my previous questions had just been answered.

___

Here I was, freezing my ass off in this shopping plaza sitting on the concrete, desperately waiting for the clock to strike 11PM. I had never done what I was about to do before, but I had been dreaming of it ever since that asshole Grant took my sister, Alice, away from this earth. I’ve been watching him the past few nights, coming back to this empty parking lot, just waiting for the perfect time. Usually, the three employees leave together, so I just had to wait for a night when he was all alone. Tonight was that night. He really should’ve been the one to die in that car accident, instead of poor Alice. If it would’ve been him, I wouldn’t have to be here trying to finish up what fate should've done to him six years ago!

I had told my roommates I was going to visit my mother instead of just plainly saying, “Hey, I’m gonna go kill Grant, I’ll be back in the morning.” At first they thought it was kind of weird, they probably thought, “Who visits their mother at such a late time in the day?” But those dimwits eventually believed me, since I was the one paying the majority of the rent. They better believe me, its gonna be my alibi. On my walk to the shopping plaza, I gave my mother a call. I hate to use her in such a way, but she was going a little senile. This was our conversation:

“Hello? Cody is this you? The caller ID said that this was you.”

“Yes, mother, its me.”

“Oh, how have you been?”

“You don’t remember, ma? I was just there with you about 10 minutes ago. We laughed, had a good time, and I fell asleep in my old room.”

“… oh. Yes, I think… Yes, I think I remember that. Yes! It was so fun!”

“See? You do remember! I’m gonna go back to sleep, okay? We will have breakfast tomorrow morning when I wake up. I know how hard it is for you to come up the stairs, you don’t have to come in my room and say goodnight. I’m saying goodnight right here, right now through the phone, ma. I love you.”

“Really? Okay I’ll see you in the morning whenever you’re ready to come down. I love you too, Cody.”

That last part wasn’t a lie actually. I was going to have breakfast with my mother after the deed had been done, making her believe I had stayed the night. If the police did ask my mother something about my location, I didn’t want her to have to lie. She would tell them what she thought was true. I did feel bad using her like that, but I know she’d be happy to see Alice’s killer dead. Alice would be 27 years old this year. She would've graduated from college with a nice bachelor’s degree, and Mother could've actually witnessed it and remembered. It was only two years ago Mother had developed severe Alzheimer’s. So many things could've happened. I knew I was doing the right thing.

At the parking lot, I was crouched behind a light post, a few yards away from the place Grant worked. I was dressed in all black, and was holding a piece of cloth, and a small, plastic container of bleach mixed with alcohol. When you mix those two things, you end up with Chloroform, and I didn’t feel like buying some and having it shipped all the way from China. I also had a bundle of rope with me, as well as some high-quality duct tape. And lastly, I was wearing some skin-tight gloves. After all, I didn’t want any fingerprints being traced back to me. I didn’t have to worry about any hair follicles, because I was bald.

I had taken every damn precaution I can think of. I made all my potentially incriminating online searches on a private web browser and deleted my search history. I tested the homemade Chloroform on some stray cats in my apartment complex. I bought all the black clothes and gloves I’m wearing now with cash, months ago. I created my alibi with my mother and roommates. I had been practicing foolproof knots to use with the type of rope I bought. I’m wearing gloves to prevent fingerprint from appearing on the body or on the car. I needed to get away with this. I wasn’t going to give up my job and its new promotion for this scumbag. I really believed I was going to get away with this.

___

I was on my way to surprise Grant, who was just about to get off work. He usually gets off at 11PM, which would give me enough time to pick him up from work and take him to the midnight screening of the movie he’s been wanting to see. I even brought an extra pair of clothes for him to change into before the movie, so he wouldn’t smell of sushi. Since I didn’t want him to see me when he walked out of the restaurant, I parked my car about 50 yards away from the store, on the street, outside of the shopping plaza’s parking lot. I obviously didn’t want to park inside the parking lot, as I’d be one of the only cars inside of it.

Right as I parked my car and looked up towards the restaurant, I noticed what I thought was a homeless man, sitting behind a light pole. He was dressed in all black, and had a backpack with him. I thought nothing of it, then I received the usual text message from Grant saying, “On my way home.” This was my queue to come and surprise him. I reached towards the backseat to retrieve Grant’s clothes, then I pulled out my phone and began to type up a response to him. As I was about to hit ‘Send’, I looked up and gasped. My eyes widened, I put my hand against my mouth, and dropped my phone from shock.

Grant was being abducted by that man dressed in all black. I didn’t know what to do, so I did the most sensible thing: I began to honk my horn to hopefully distract the man. The honking seemed to do absolutely nothing. All he did was freeze in place for just a few seconds, and continue with putting Grant in Grant’s own car. I think the kidnapper pretended not to hear me. I began searching for my cell phone so I could call the police right away. It was somewhere stuck in-between the driver seat and the console of the car. I was desperately reaching my hand as far I could down the edge of the seat. I could feel my fingers touching the corner of my phone. I finally got grip of it with my index and middle finger and pulled the phone out. I quickly dialed 9-1-1, and as I looked out my windshield, I noticed the kidnapper had just drove out of the parking lot. I told the operator on the phone what I had just witnessed, the make and model of Grant’s car, and the direction that they were headed. The operator told me to stay where I was… but I couldn’t.

I had to follow that car. I drove out of the parking lot and found myself one stoplight behind Grant. Their light turned green first, while mine was still red. I just wanted to run this red light, but couldn’t. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. They were driving farther and farther away from me, but then, they made a right turn… towards Memorial Bridge which had a big “Do Not Enter — Construction Zone” sign in front of it. Once I realized where they were headed, my mind went to the worst possible scenario: if the kidnapper wanted Grant dead, he was going to throw Grant’s tied up body off of Memorial Bridge into the river.

The streetlight that I was at finally turned green and I pressed down on the gas pedal as hard as I could. My car made a loud screech sound, but I didn’t care. As I was quickly approaching Memorial Bridge, I noticed the fallen traffic cones that Grant’s kidnapper had driven through to enter the bridge. I drove over them as well and continued down the bridge looking for Grant’s car.

After a few seconds, I finally began to see Grant’s kidnapper open the trunk, sling Grant over his shoulder, and throw him over the bridge. The next few moments seemed like it happen in one second. My eyes filled with tears, my hands gripped the steering wheel, my foot began to press all the way down on the pedal. Grant’s murderer closed the trunk of Grant’s car and began to walk towards the driver’s seat. I was approaching him and he finally saw me. My car crashed into the back of Grant’s car… with the murderer caught in-between. His upper body laid on the hood of my car, with his legs caught in-between the two cars. I didn’t know if he was dead; I didn’t care. Maybe there was still time to save Grant…

___

Everyone says when you’re about to die, you see your whole life flash right before your eyes. I think that’s a bunch of crap now. When I was falling, with my hands and feet tied behind my back, towards the river all I saw was the moon’s reflection on the river. The moment I hit the river I heard the splash of my body hitting the water at a high intensity. That’s not all I heard though. With the few seconds I was above water, making my slow descent into the river, I also heard a crash. After hearing the crash, I became completely submerged in the water.

I tried to hold my breath as long as I possibly could. I felt my body go deeper and deeper into the water. My lungs were on fire. The tape that was around my head became loose and had fallen off. I spit out the cloth and my mouth gasped for air. But only water had entered my mouth. I panicked. I began violently shaking my body. Every muscle in my arms and legs were thrashing, trying to swim, but I just kept sinking and panicking.

Then finally, my body stopped squirming around. I closed my eyes. I let my body sink. I felt at peace. Then I felt a familiar hand grab me. Perhaps the reason my life didn’t flash before my eyes, was because I actually didn’t die. Maybe you need to die for that to work.

title: [TH] The Minds of Murderers -- A Story from 3 Different POV's

question: What does the text say about Cody's revenge?

answer: He's angry at Grant for the death of his sister, Alice, in a traffic accident. He plans to kill Grant by throwing him off the Memorial Bridge to the river. Cody's alibi is prepared in advance; his housemates think he'll be visiting his mother, and he tricked his mother (who has Alzheimer's) to believe that he actually visited. He furthermore plans to have breakfast with his mother to ensure she doesn't have to lie, that her version of the truth becomes his alibi. He prepared and tested chloroform, wore skintight leather gloves, and bought heavy-duty duct tape months in advance. Cody observes Grant getting off work at night for a few nights, waiting for the opportunity where Grant leaves on his own. On the night of the story, Cody kidnaps Grant and transports him in the trunk of his car to the bridge before throwing him off to the river below. Unbeknownst to him, Grant's girlfriend Alison is on his tail. She crashes onto Grant's car after Cody throws him off, catching Cody between the vehicles.

question: What does the text say about Alison?

answer: She's a regular customer at the sushi place Grant works, and they've been dating for six months. She reminds Grant of Alice, a girl who died in a car crash with Grant when both of them were driving drunk. She wants to surprise Grant after work and to take him to a movie he wanted to see. She witnesses Cody as he kidnaps Grant and calls the police. Despite the police telling her to stay in place, she follows Cody to the Memorial Bridge. After witnessing Cody throw Grant off the bridge to the river below, she crashes into the car, sandwiching Cody between her car and Grant's. She doesn't care about Cody though, hoping that there's time to save Grant.

question: What does the story say about Alice's dreams in life?


text:
That Place Outside of Arkansas

She lived inside the fever dream that played in Kurt’s mind when he zoned out in the backseat of his mom’s SUV on rides across town. His eyes would always fix solely on the streets that scrolled past, but to him there were no street names; they were just the blurs between places. He couldn’t tell a visitor directions to the Wal-Mart in the town where he had lived all of his 14 years. It was nearing the end of the first post-middle school summer, and it stretched outwards like a single, repetitive day. He lived in a run-on sentence, punctuated only by the commas of sleep, and the uneasy anticipation for a period provided an anxiety that incubated in Kurt’s gut.

Any time that summer when Kurt sat down with nothing to occupy him she would materialize, first as a repeating snippet of film; she smiled and tussled Kurt’s hair like she had done once in George’s kid sister’s treehouse, and she and the backdrop that stemmed off of her were foggy and soft and bright. He made it through a week on that image alone, until he craved more. He rebuilt her inflections, her pitch, lower and gruffer than the carbon copy schoolgirls, lacking the exaggerated Arkansan drawl that his classmates often hid behind. He conjured a story of both them in their 20s, until they were all tattoos and piercings. They smoked cigarettes next to a graffitied underpass by a faraway 7/11. They laughed about those suckers who shopped at supermarkets for family supper. She kissed him on a stained couch on the corner of some grimy Northern street, and because he didn’t know what a kiss felt like he imagined it, cushiony and moist and sweet-smelling.

The SUV pulled up to his friend Zack’s house. Kurt got out and rang the doorbell. His mom waited outside until Zack opened the door. She yelled “Make good decisions!” to them and waved before driving away.

“Fucking bitch,” Zack said. “She’s still doing that?”

“Apparently she thinks everyone she doesn’t know is a rapist.”

Zack’s kitchen was littered with half-finished crossword puzzles and gunky dishes and flea market knick knacks. Zack’s dad Ed chain smoked by the window in his old rocking chair that was wrapped in a faded leather jacket with a stitched-on rebel flag. He looked 60 but seemed older when he started hacking. When he coughed it sounded like his lungs were filled with semi-liquified rusty nails, and the daily battle to expel bits of them from his chest was violent enough to wake up Kurt when he spent the night.

“That Kurt?” Ed said.

“Yes sir,” Zack said.

“Tell’m he ought to grow a pair,” Ed laughed.

Kurt watched him smoke the filterless Marlboro. It was more of a suck than a smoke; he economically snatched as much nicotine as he could hold in a shallow breath. It took him seven inhales before the cigarette was gone. He jabbed it into one of the several ashtrays on the counter, each filled with identically crinkled butts.

Kurt and Zack walked down to the basement. In the room next to him there were two computers and a television set up on plastic buffet tables that seemed close to buckling from the weight. Automatically they both got on a computer. Zack commandeered the newer one because it was his house.

Zack’s older brother Rick lived in other basement room. He busted through the door. “What’s up boys?” he said.

“Not shit,” Zack said.

“That little girlfriend of yours coming over today?”

“In a little bit.”

“You finger her yet? I remember when I was your age and that was the fuckin’ threshold,” Rick said.

“Not yet, but I’ll try today,” Zack said.

Zack and Kurt idolized Rick. He was 22, and sometimes Zack and Kurt could hear him having sex with his girlfriend in the next room. Sometimes he would let them see his box of condoms, and they would be in awe. Kurt was unsure of why Rick still lived there. ‘Some unsuccessful business venture,’ or something. When Kurt came over Rick would hang out with them regularly, mimicking George’s salivating problem or joking about how fat Phil was.

Before either of them started typing Kurt was already dreaming. Her name was Alex, but to him she was just the one who lived with him in his head, smoking cigarettes by the river and talking about movies that Kurt pretended to understand. Zack slapped him on the shoulder.

“Did you hear me? Alex is coming over. We’re going to the River Rapids.”

“All right,” Kurt said.

Kurt sighed and slumped down into the scoliosis-induced hunchback posture he constantly tried to hide. He had become a part of a begrudging three-person dynamic that started a month earlier at River Rapids, a rundown water park that became the City of Tweens in the summer when kids too young to drive got dropped off there. The water slides lost their appeal early on; the big draw of the park was its escape from adult supervision, its temporary illusion of autonomy. When Kurt pictured it, he saw hoards of bikini-clad preteens standing on wet concrete, cackling at a girl in a one-piece.

Kurt kept replaying the day. It was the first day after school let out, and he met Zack at the food court surrounded by the Lazy River. Zack was with Alex and two other girls, but he didn’t introduce them. He said “Ready to f------ with some lifeguards?” and they started walking. Alex’s black bikini had skulls on it. She walked next to Kurt for a minute silently. They measured their steps consciously so that they would line up. Kurt tried to recall what they said to each other, but couldn’t: she was just smiling and tussling his hair like she did in the treehouse. She was a rebel, she had small ears, she understood the things that Kurt felt cooking in his head but couldn’t explain, she lived outside of the world.

Usually he stopped his head from replaying here, but he decided to let it keep going. Some time later he and Zack were in their floral board shorts in the back of Kurt’s mom’s SUV on the way to River Rapids. Kurt felt like his fever dreams of Alex were overflowing, and he needed to release them. He started to feel sweat bead on his forehead.

“You know that girl?” Kurt said.

“What girl?” Zack said.

“Alex, I think was her name.”

“Yeah, Alex, what about her?”

“I was thinking about asking her...”

Zack perked up. “Asking her what?

“Out, on a date, or whatever.”

“You’re going to ask her out?” Zack was smirking. “You do that, tell me how it goes.”

“You think she’ll say yes?”

“Not sure, buddy, but you should definitely give it a shot.”

Kurt felt himself get closer to the picture in his head, and it made his heart palpitate. Kurt and Zack met up with several of their friends, and they all sat on a curb by the lockers.

“There’s your woman now, Kurt,” Zack said. He pointed across the sidewalk to Alex, who was sitting at a table with two other girls. “Are you going to ask her or puss out?”

Kurt stood up triumphant from the curb, walked towards her. He felt his heart beating in his eyes. He sat down at the only open chair at the table without saying anything. Ten seconds passed. Alex looked at her friends quizzically and laughed.

“Ummm. What’s up?”

“Hey, what’s up,” Kurt said. He looked over at Zack and his friends. Zack was hyperventilating, red from laughter. The rest were staring intently at Kurt.

“You’re the one that sat down,” Alex said.

“Oh, yeah. I was wondering... I was wondering if you wanted to go out or something.”

Alex’s eyebrows went up and she looked glanced at her friends. “Awww. You’re asking me out? You just asked me out. That’s so sweet of you. That’s really sweet. I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend now. Your friend Zack actually asked me out yesterday and I said yes.”

Zack was rolling on the ground.

“Oh, g-gotcha, OK,” Kurt said.

Kurt wandered out of the entrance into the parking lot in a daze, waited there for hours until his mom picked he and Zack up. “Dude,” Zack said, getting into the car. “It was a joke.”

“It’s cool,” Kurt said. And that was it.

Kurt knew that his fever dream had grown unhealthy. He had spent dozens of hours with Zack and Alex. He had almost completely separated himself from her, but he still grew closer to the her that lived in his head. He nearly ignored her when she talked. Her voice was just a template for his story, where they smoked cigarettes and stole beer from convenience stores and protested oppressive leaders.

Kurt snapped out of it. Rick was clipping his toenails.

“How are you, bud?” Rick said.

“I’m all right. You?” Kurt said.

“Well, I’m trying, you know? I’m trying.”

There was a long silence.

“Trying to do what?” Kurt said.

“That’s why I like you, bud. You ask questions. I’m...trying to get better.”

“Is it working?”

“It’s real hard, but you just gotta do it. First time in how long you’ve seen me in a shirt with sleeves?”

“That’s true.”

Zack’s phone vibrated. “Alex is here. I’ll get this out of the way.”

Zack cracked his knuckles and walked up the stairs. Rick sat down at the computer. He and Kurt sat silent for a few minutes; it was a comfortable silence, and Kurt felt no need to add to the clicks of the keyboards with unnecessary conversation. It was the first time in as long as he could remember in which he felt that occupying space with someone else was enough.

“So how do you like Zack’s girl?” Rick finally said.

“I like her.”

“Yeah? Green haired little freak, right?”

“I guess.” Kurt took a deep breath. He needed to get the story out of his head again. “I asked her to go out with me. Zack didn’t tell me they were already were.”

“And he knew you were going to ask her?” Rick sighed. “Zack’s a fucker you know that, right? How you haven’t kicked his ass once or twice yet is a constant amazement to me.”

“Yeah, I guess I know. That he’s a fucker.”

“You just need to stop being a little fruit. You know?”

“Not really.”

Zack opened the stairway door and snickered into the room. He was holding two fingers up. “I did it. I fingered her.”

Rick sighed. Kurt could feel his heart beat in his eyes again.

“Kurt, you hear me? I fingered her.” Zack slapped Kurt across the face with the hand he was holding up. Kurt put his hand to his face and could feel it, slimy and pungent.

Rick kicked back his chair so that its corner punctured the thin drywall. He yanked Zack into the air by his collar, jerked him back and forth until Zack's shirt ripped and he crumbled to the ground. Rick picked back Zack onto his feet, grabbed him by the back of the head, and threw him headfirst into the plastic buffet table. The table collapsed when Zack's skull bashed against it, and the old, bulky computer crunched Zack’s ribs. He started to wheeze.

“Fuck you,” Zack kept saying.

Rick was beat red, yelling four inches from Zack’s face, spitting worse than George does.

“Listen you fucking punk,” he screamed. “This is your friend? You’re going to treat your friends like this? You’re a fucking piece of shit, you know that? I don’t know how you turned out to be so fucking stupid, to do something like that to your friend. I don't care if he might be a little bit queer, no one deserves that. You're sure as hell not my brother, because my brother would never do something as sick as what you just did. I can't even look at you.”

Zack was crying and wheezing. “You broke my ribs,” he said through the snot and blood that ran from his nose to his mouth and bubbled when he talked.

Rick put his head in his hands for a long take. He stared at Kurt for what seemed like a minute. Kurt stared back, unfazed, then nodded at Rick.

Rick nodded back, and Kurt heard Rick's boots calmly clack against the wood stairs as he left without a word before gingerly shutting the upstairs door.

“Please call someone,” Zack said.

Kurt looked at Zack. He was back in his fever dream again, but there was no girl in it. He was still pierced and covered in tattoos. He came back to the same 7/11 and shattered its window with a brick. The quick-stop caught fire. He stood in front of it, watching it burn, and it all meant something, it all meant something that was bigger than Kurt, something that he could write down and read to a coalition of freaks in a rundown warehouse.

Kurt got up from the computer and stood next to Zack, who was a pile of mucous and oversized clothes. Kurt grabbed the windowsill for leverage and looked out the window at the old man in the yard over drinking a 40 on a beach towel, holding foil up to tan his leathered face. Kurt raised his foot and let it drop into Zack's gut. Zack started hacking like his dad did, but more violent, and kept saying “fuck you,” over and over. Kurt kicked him again, harder, and began to like the difference between his hard sole and Zack's soft stomach. He stomped on it repeatedly. Kurt wanted to tell Zack that Zack shouldn't have done what he did, but he figured Zack knew that by what was happening. Kurt liked that he didn't have to say anything.

Kurt felt like he was crying but there were no tears. He walked up the stairs, ignored Zack’s yelping. The house was empty, except for Alex. She was sitting in Ed's rocking chair, staring vacantly at the old neighbor.

“You all right?” Kurt said.

“I'll be fine.”

They sat for a long take, bathed in the pink-orange hue of dusk that made the kitchen glow.

“So, you really like Zack?”

“Not that much, really. I haven't found anything here worth liking that much."

Kurt took two cigarettes out of Ed's mint pack of Reds. He handed one to Alex, and she took it without hesitation. He sparked a match on his shoe and lit both in one motion. Silent, they watched the last silvery sliver of sun descend past the neighboring cul-de-sac's edge. Kurt let his cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth like Clint Eastwood and told Alex about some movies he'd seen that could take them somewhere new.

title: That Place Outside of Arkansas

question: Explain why Rick attacked his brother, Zack.

answer: Zack treated his friends poorly and in one instance, he convinced his friend Kurt to ask out a girl he had just started dating. The awkward situation embarrassed Kurt but Rick, Zack's brother, caught onto Zack's mischief. One day Zack brags about the girl he is dating and slaps Kurt around, upsetting Rick. This was no way to treat friends, Rick thought, which ensued in teaching Zack a lesson by attacking and hurting him physically.


text:
CEBES OF THEBES (, _gen_.: Κέβητος; _c_. 430 – 350 BC[1]) was an Ancient Greek philosopher from Thebes remembered as a disciple of Socrates. One work, known as the _Pinax_ (Πίναξ) or _Tabula_, attributed to Cebes still survives, but it is believed to be a composition by a pseudonymous author of the 1st or 2nd century AD.

Life

Cebes was a disciple of Socrates and Philolaus, and a friend of Simmias of Thebes. He is one of the speakers in the _Phaedo_ of Plato, in which he is represented as an earnest seeker after virtue and truth, keen in argument and cautious in decision. Xenophon says he was a member of Socrates' inner circle, and a frequent visitor to the hetaera, Theodote, in Athens.[2] He is also mentioned by Plato in the _Crito_ and _Epistle_ _XIII_.

Three dialogues, the _Hebdome_, the _Phrynichus_, and the _Pinax_ or _Tabula_, are attributed to him by the _Suda_ and Diogenes Laërtius. The two former are lost, and most scholars deny the authenticity of the _Tabula_ on the ground of material and verbal anachronisms.[3]

The _Tablet of Cebes_

[Title page with the Tablet of Cebes, by Hans Holbein the Younger, 1521. Metalcut by Jacob Faber.]

The _Tablet of Cebes_ is probably by a pseudonymous author of the 1st or 2nd century.[4][5] The work professes to be an interpretation of an allegorical picture of a tablet on which the whole of human life with its dangers and temptations was symbolically represented, and which is said to have been dedicated by someone in the temple of Cronus at Athens or Thebes.[6] The author introduces some youths contemplating the tablet, and an old man who steps among them undertakes to explain its meaning.[7] It is intended to show that only the proper development of our mind and the possession of real virtues can make us truly happy.[8] The author develops the Platonic theory of pre-existence, and shows that true education consists not in mere erudition, but rather in the formation of character.[9] Parallels are often drawn between this work and John Bunyan's _The Pilgrim's Progress_.[10]

The _Tabula_ has been widely translated both into European languages and into Arabic (the latter version published with the Greek text and Latin translation by Claudius Salmasius in 1640). It has often been printed together with the _Enchiridion of Epictetus_. Separate editions have been issued by CS Jerram (with introduction and notes, 1878), Karl Praechter (1893), and many others.[11][12] An English translation and commentary by John T. Fitzgerald and L. Michael White was published in 1983.

[1] Debra Nails, (2002), _The people of Plato: a prosopography of Plato and other Socratics_, page 82.

[2]

[3]

[4] “The date of the _Pinax_ is uncertain. The Teubner editor gives reason for thinking that it is later than Dio Chrysostom, and as we know it to be earlier than Lucian the first half of the second century seems the best conjecture.” Donald R. Dudley, _A History of Cynicism - From Diogenes to the 6th Century A.D._, page 198

[5] A philosopher called CEBES OF CYZICUS is mentioned by Athenaeus (iv. 156 D) in a fictional _Banquet of the Cynics_, but there is no evidence that Cebes of Cyzicus was a real person. Cf. Bracht Branham, Marie-Odile Goulet-Cazé, (2000), _The Cynics: The Cynic Movement in Antiquity and Its Legacy_. page 411

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12] See Eduard Zeller's _History of Greek Philosophy_; F Klopfer, _De Cebetis Tabula_ (1818–1822); C Prachter, _Cebetis Tabula quanam aetate conscripta esse videatur_ (1885).

title: Cebes

question: How many works of Cebes of Thebes do we know about?

answer: Diogenes Laertius attributes three dialogues to Cebes. These are the Hebdome, the Phrynichus and the Pinax or Tabula. The first two of these are lost, but the Tabula has survived. Some scholars believe that it was not actually written by Cebes, but only attributed to him, and the author is pseudonymous.

question: What is the Tablet of Cebes about?

answer: The book is a narrative about a group of youths contemplating a tablet, and an old man who intervenes to inform them that only by contemplating virtues can they be happy. The nature of the narrative is Platonist, and it stresses the importance of education as not just being about erudition, but about building character. The book has been compared to Bunyan's "The Pilgrim's Progress."

question: Who was Cebes historically?

answer: Cebes was a disciple of Socrates and Philolaus, and appears in the Phaedo of Plato as a speaker. Xenophon claims he was a member of Socrates' inner circle and frequent visitor to the hetaera, Theodote in Athens. He is also mentioned by Plato in the Crio and the Epistle XIII.


text:
WANSTEAD () is a district of east London, England, which is part of the London Borough of Redbridge and in the Leytonstone postal district (E11). It is located 8 miles east of Charing Cross.

The main road going through Wanstead is the A12 and was the site of a Roman villa, whilst Wanstead Manor was a Saxon and Norman manor. It formed part of the Municipal Borough of Wanstead and Woodford in Essex from 1937 until 1965, when Greater London was created. The area has a largely suburban feel, containing open grasslands such as Wanstead Flats, and the woodland of Wanstead Park, part of Epping Forest. The park, with artificial lakes, was formerly part of the estate of a large stately home Wanstead House, built by Richard Child, 1st Earl Tylney, one of the finest Palladian mansions in Britain and the architectural inspiration for Mansion House, London. It was subsequently demolished to pay the gambling debts of a relation of the Duke of Wellington.

Name

The place name is probably of Saxon origin and is first recorded in a charter of 1065 as Wenstede. The first element appears to mean “wain” or “wagon”, but the meaning of the full compound is not clear.[1] An alternative explanation by the English Place-Names Society is that it derives from the Anglo-Saxon words _Wen_, signifying a hill or mound, and _Stead_, a place or settlement.

History

Astronomy

In 1707 the astronomer James Pound became rector of Wanstead. In 1717 the Royal Society lent Pound Huygens's 123-foot focal length object-glass, which he set up in Wanstead Park. Pound's observations with it of the five known satellites of Saturn enabled Halley to correct their movements; and Newton employed, in the third edition of the _Principia_, his micrometrical measures of Jupiter's disc, of Saturn's disc and ring, and of the elongations of their satellites; and obtained from him data for correcting the places of the comet of 1680. Laplace also used Pound's observations of Jupiter's satellites for the determination of the planet's mass; and Pound himself compiled in 1719 a set of tables for the first satellite, into which he introduced an equation for the transmission of light.

Pound trained his sister's son, James Bradley, and many of their observations were made together, including the opposition of Mars in 1719, and the transit of Mercury on 29 October 1723. Their measurement of γ Virginis in 1718 was the first made of the components of a double star and was directed towards the determination of stellar parallax.

In 1727, Bradley embarked upon a series of observations using a telescope of his own, erected at the rectory in Wanstead, now the site of Wanstead High School. This instrument had the advantage of a large field of view and he was able to obtain precise positions of a large number of stars that transited close to the zenith over the course of about two years. Combined with observations from his friend Samuel Molyneux's house at Kew in Surrey, this established the existence of the phenomenon of aberration of light, and also allowed Bradley to formulate a set of rules that would allow the calculation of the effect on any given star at a specified date.

The George public house

[The plaque on the side of The George pub, commemorating a cherry pie] Although The George is not a particularly old building, there has been a pub on that site for hundreds of years. Set in to the side of the pub is a plaque dating from 1752 which was formerly part of an older pub building. The plaque is inscribed with the eccentrically spelled verse:

    _In Memory of_
    _Ye Cherry Pey_
    _As cost 1/2 a Guiney_
    _Ye 17 of July_
    _That day we had good cheer_
    _I hope to so do maney a Year_
    _R C 1752 D Jerry_[2]

There are various local legends explaining this curious plaque, including a tale of the theft of a cherry pie by local workmen who were caught and fined half a guinea (52.5p). However the most likely explanation is that it was placed there by the landlord of 1752, David Jersey (corrupted by centuries of repainting and re-cutting the inscription to D Jerry on the plaque), commemorating a feast which included a huge cherry pie. Monstrous pies were a feature of 18th-century Essex rural festivals; the Galmpton Gooseberry Pie Fair in Devon is still in existence, and other inns around the edge of Epping Forest were famed for pies (rabbit pie at The Reindeer, Loughton, now Warren House, and pigeon pie at The King's Head, Chigwell). Wanstead was well known for its cherry orchards as late as the 1830s, when they were mentioned by poet Thomas Hood, who lived in Wanstead 1832–5.

Schools and education

The Royal Commercial Travellers Schools were sited in Wanstead from their foundation in 1845 by John Robert Cuffley until their move to Pinner in 1855. The schools at Wanstead provided housing, food, clothing and education for up to 130 children of commercial travellers who had died or became unable to earn their livelihood.[3]

The Royal Merchant Navy School was founded in St George in the East, London in 1827 before moving to Hermon Hill, Wanstead in 1862. The new building provided for 300 orphans of Merchant Navy seamen. It moved again to Bearwood House near Wokingham in 1921.[4] The building then became a convent refuge for women and girls and later Wanstead Hospital.[5]

The Royal Wanstead School was by the Eagle Pond, Snaresbrook up to about 1970. It subsequently became the site of a Crown Court.

Wanstead is home to a large comprehensive school, Wanstead High School. Primary schools in Wanstead include Wanstead Church School, Our Lady of Lourdes, Aldersbrook, and St. Joseph's Convent School which is an all-girls private school.

Places of worship

[St Mary the Virgin church] The church of St Mary the Virgin, Wanstead was completed in 1790. It is now a Grade I listed building, and contains a large monument to Josiah Child.[6] It was followed in the 1860s by both the Anglican church of Christ Church and Wanstead Congregational Church. Our Lady of Lourdes, Wanstead the local Catholic Church in Cambridge Park was opened in 1928.

Local flora and fauna

An area near the A12 beside the section from Blake Hall Road to Selsdon Road was preserved in 2008 by local residents as a Wild-Flower Meadow with a year-round display of wild and naturalised plants, shrubs and trees; starting in spring with oxlip (_P. elatoir_), cowslip (_Primula veris_), primrose (_P. vulgaris_), and meadow buttercup (_Ranunculus acris_), followed by many species including the grass vetchling (_Lathyrus nissolia_). The meadow is listed as one of the main Primula species meadows in Greater London. The fauna of the area includes birds, foxes, muntjac deer, and squirrels.

Politics

Winston Churchill represented Wanstead as MP when Wanstead was part of the Epping Constituency (1924-1945) and also, when it was part of Wanstead and Woodford, from 1945 to 1964. During this period he was Prime Minister during much of the Second World War (1940-1945) and again, in Peace Time from 1951 to 1955. There is a bust of him in Wanstead High Street.

Transport innovation

The road from Wanstead to Southend was developed between the two World Wars. It has been said that its design influenced the development of the German Autobahn and American motorways.

Military activity

During the Second World War the tunnels of the as-yet-to-be-commercially used Wanstead underground station were utilised for aircraft production.

Wanstead Flats was used for Anti-Aircraft batteries protecting London, Barracks for Pre-D-Day troops and a Prisoner-of-War Camp subsequently. Due to terminal moraine (left by glaciers) the soil was relatively infertile.

Transport and locale

[Wanstead London Underground station]

Nearest places

-   Snaresbrook
-   Redbridge
-   South Woodford
-   Walthamstow
-   Leyton
-   Manor Park
-   Leytonstone
-   Woodford Green
-   Woodford Wells
-   Woodford Bridge
-   Forest Gate

Underground stations

The nearest London Underground stations are Snaresbrook and Wanstead on the Central line.

-   Leytonstone tube station
-   Woodford tube station

Nearest railway stations

-   Forest Gate railway station
-   Leytonstone High Road railway station
-   Wood Street railway station for London Liverpool Street station on the Lea Valley Lines route.

Notable residents

-   Clive Burr, drummer (ex-Samson/Iron Maiden)
-   Charles Bressey, civil engineer
-   Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester and favourite of Elizabeth I, had a house here, in which he died, much to Elizabeth's intense sorrow, on 4 September 1588, three days before the Queen's 55th birthday.
-   Thomas Hood, poet.
-   Peter Goddard, physicist and journalist.
-   Rodney Gordon, architect
-   William Penn, Quaker, founder of the Province of Pennsylvania.
-   James Pound, astronomer.
-   Max Raison (1901–1988), cricketer
-   Harry Roberts, criminal
-   Richard Sheridan, dramatist, lived in the right-hand house of the Georgian Terrace in the High Street near to the George.
-   Mark Stephens (solicitor), lawyer, mediator, writer and broadcaster
-   Colin Ward, social historian, writer and anarchist
-   Jessie Wallace, actress, lived in Wanstead.
-   Paul Hollins, Radio Presenter for Capital, Heart & Smooth
-   Tom Watt, actor
-   Joseph Wilton, sculptor
-   Bilal Zafar, comedian and actor

[1] The Concise Oxford Dictionary of English Place Names, 4th edition. Eilert Ekwall 1990

[2] Plaque details accessed 24 April 2007.

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

title: Wanstead

question: What does the text say about Wanstead's name?

answer: Wanstead's name is possibly of Saxon origin. It is first recorded in a charter of 1065 as Wenstede. The first part of the name seems to mean "wain" or "wagon", but its full meaning isn't clear. An alternative explanation by the English Place-Names Society is that the name derives from the Anglo-Saxon words "Wen" (hill or mound) and "Stead" (place or settlement).

question: Summarize the aesthetics of Wanstead.

answer: Wanstead is home to several manors. The area has a largely suburban feel and has open grasslands, such as Wanstead Flats. It also has the woodland of Wanstead Park, part of Epping Forest. The park has several artificial lakes. In 2008, a section near the A12 was preserved by local residents as a Wild-Flower Meadow with a year-round display of wild and naturalized plants, shrubs, and trees. This meadow is listed as one of the main Primula species meadows in Greater London.

question: Summarize what happened in the 1720s.

answer: James Pound and his sister's son, James Bradley, made oberservations of the transit of Mercury on October 29, 1723. In 1727, Bradley went on a series of observations using a telescope erected in Wanstead. He was able to obtain precise positions of a large number of stars that transited close to the zenith over the course of two years. During this time, he was able to establish the existence of aberration of light and formulate a set of rules that would allow the calculation of the effect on any given star at a specified date.

question: Summarize everything relating to military activity in Wanstead.

answer: In Wanstead during the Second World War, the not yet commercially used Wanstead underground station was utilized for aircraft production. Wanstead Flats was used for Anti-Aircraft batteries protecting London, Barracks for Pre-D-Day troops and a Prisoner-of-War Camp.

question: Summarize what the text says about the current prime minister.


text:
GRAY COUNTY is a county located in the U.S. state of Texas. As of the 2010 census, its population was 22,535.[1] The county seat is Pampa.[2] The county was created in 1876 and later organized in 1902.[3] is named for Peter W. Gray,[4] a Confederate lawyer and soldier in the American Civil War.

Gray County comprises the Pampa, TX micropolitan statistical area.

Gray County was the center of the White Deer Lands Management Company, which ceased operations in 1957. The history of the company is the theme of the White Deer Land Museum in Pampa, but company archives are at the Panhandle-Plains Historical Museum in Canyon. Timothy Dwight Hobart, the White Deer land agent from 1903 to 1924, was elected mayor of Pampa in 1927.

The Clinton-Oklahoma-Western Railroad Company of Texas served Gray County with service to Hemphill County at the Oklahoma border. Another line then connected eastward to Clinton, Oklahoma. An 11-mile extension of the COW-T ran from rural Heaton to the former oil camp of Coltexo in Gray County.[5] Originally a Frank Kell property, the COW-T was acquired in 1928 by the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway, which then leased it in 1931 to the former Panhandle and Santa Fe Railway.[6]

Geography

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the county has a total area of , of which are land and (0.4%) are covered by water.[7]

Major highways

-   [] Interstate 40
-   [] U.S. Highway 60
-   [] State Highway 70
-   [] State Highway 152
-   [] State Highway 273

Adjacent counties

-   Roberts County (north)
-   Wheeler County (east)
-   Donley County (south)
-   Carson County (west)
-   Hemphill County (northeast)
-   Hutchinson County (northwest)
-   Collingsworth County (southeast)

National protected area

-   McClellan Creek National Grassland

Demographics

As of the census[8] of 2000, 22,744 people, 8,793 households, and 6,049 families were residing in the county. The population density was 24 people per square mile (9/km²). The 10,567 housing units averaged 11 per mi² (4/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 82.15% White, 5.85% African American, 0.94% Native American, 0.39% Asian, 8.25% from other races, and 2.42% from two or more races. About 13.01% of the population was Hispanic or Latino of any race.

Of the 8,793 households, 30.00% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 57.00% were married couples living together, 9.00% had a female householder with no husband present, and 31.20% were not families. About 28.70% of all households were made up of individuals, and 15.30% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.39, and the average family size was 2.93.

In the county, the age distribution was 24.00% under 18, 8.40% from 18 to 24, 27.20% from 25 to 44, 22.30% from 45 to 64, and 18.10% who were 65 or older. The median age was 39 years. For every 100 females, there were 104.00 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 103.70 males.

The median income for a household in the county was $31,368, and for a family was $40,019. Males had a median income of $32,401 versus $20,158 for females. The per capita income for the county was $16,702. About 11.20% of families and 13.80% of the population were below the poverty line, including 17.60% of those under age 18 and 9.60% of those age 65 or over.

Communities

City

-   Pampa (county seat)

Town

-   Lefors
-   McLean

Unincorporated community

-   Alanreed

Politics

Prior to 1952, Gray County was primarily Democratic similar to most of Texas and the Solid South. The county only gave a Republican presidential candidate a majority before 1952 in 1928, when Herbert Hoover won the county due to anti-Catholic sentiment towards Al Smith. Starting with the 1952 election, the county has become a Republican stronghold along with the rest of the Texas Panhandle. This level of Republican dominance has increased in recent years, as every Republican presidential candidate in the second millennium has racked up 80% of the county's vote. Additionally, in the two most recent presidential elections, Democrats Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton have failed to win even 1,000 votes total in the county.

  Year                               Republican                                  Democratic                                  Third parties
  ---------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
  style=“text-align:center;” |2020   style=“text-align:center;” |87.9% _6,812_   style=“text-align:center;” |10.6% _820_     1.5% _113_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2016   style=“text-align:center;” |87.8% _6,500_   style=“text-align:center;” |9.5% _701_      2.8% _204_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2012   style=“text-align:center;” |87.2% _6,443_   style=“text-align:center;” |12.0% _886_     0.8% _60_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2008   style=“text-align:center;” |85.1% _6,924_   style=“text-align:center;” |14.2% _1,153_   0.7% _56_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2004   style=“text-align:center;” |84.7% _7,260_   style=“text-align:center;” |15.0% _1,289_   0.3% _23_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2000   style=“text-align:center;” |82.3% _6,732_   style=“text-align:center;” |16.8% _1,376_   0.9% _77_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1996   style=“text-align:center;” |69.2% _6,102_   style=“text-align:center;” |24.0% _2,114_   6.9% _608_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1992   style=“text-align:center;” |58.9% _6,105_   style=“text-align:center;” |23.4% _2,426_   17.8% _1,841_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1988   style=“text-align:center;” |74.2% _7,259_   style=“text-align:center;” |25.2% _2,460_   0.6% _62_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1984   style=“text-align:center;” |81.5% _8,955_   style=“text-align:center;” |18.2% _2,003_   0.3% _30_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1980   style=“text-align:center;” |70.8% _7,187_   style=“text-align:center;” |27.5% _2,786_   1.7% _176_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1976   style=“text-align:center;” |60.3% _6,010_   style=“text-align:center;” |38.9% _3,872_   0.8% _80_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1972   style=“text-align:center;” |84.4% _7,968_   style=“text-align:center;” |14.5% _1,367_   1.2% _109_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1968   style=“text-align:center;” |55.5% _5,994_   style=“text-align:center;” |22.0% _2,374_   22.5% _2,427_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1964   style=“text-align:center;” |57.9% _5,011_   style=“text-align:center;” |42.0% _3,633_   0.1% _6_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1960   style=“text-align:center;” |68.8% _6,197_   style=“text-align:center;” |31.1% _2,802_   0.2% _14_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1956   style=“text-align:center;” |61.9% _5,047_   style=“text-align:center;” |37.2% _3,034_   0.9% _72_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1952   style=“text-align:center;” |61.7% _5,467_   style=“text-align:center;” |38.0% _3,367_   0.3% _23_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1948   style=“text-align:center;” |28.0% _1,594_   style=“text-align:center;” |64.9% _3,699_   7.1% _403_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1944   style=“text-align:center;” |34.9% _1,739_   style=“text-align:center;” |61.5% _3,067_   3.7% _183_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1940   style=“text-align:center;” |22.0% _1,217_   style=“text-align:center;” |77.9% _4,315_   0.1% _8_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1936   style=“text-align:center;” |9.6% _464_      style=“text-align:center;” |89.8% _4,347_   0.6% _28_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1932   style=“text-align:center;” |12.7% _505_     style=“text-align:center;” |86.7% _3,446_   0.6% _24_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1928   style=“text-align:center;” |65.4% _1,871_   style=“text-align:center;” |34.4% _986_     0.2% _6_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1924   style=“text-align:center;” |48.9% _581_     style=“text-align:center;” |51.1% _608_     style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1920   style=“text-align:center;” |31.0% _251_     style=“text-align:center;” |65.2% _529_     3.8% _31_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1916   style=“text-align:center;” |11.7% _69_      style=“text-align:center;” |82.0% _482_     6.3% _37_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1912   style=“text-align:center;” |3.1% _13_       style=“text-align:center;” |64.6% _272_     32.3% _136_

  : PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS RESULTS[9]

Notable people

-   Phil Cates, state representative from 1971 to 1979, was born in Pampa in 1947.[10]
-   Tom Mechler, state Republican Party chairman since 2015, is a former Gray County Republican chairman.
-   Kae T. Patrick, a native of Gray County, served in the Texas House of Representatives from San Antonio from 1981 to 1988.

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

title: Gray County, Texas

question: What is the political persuasion of most of the Gray County population?

answer: Prior to 1952, Gray County was primarily Democratic. From 1952, the county has become a Republican stronghold. The level of Republican dominance has increased in recent years, as every Republican presidential candidate in the second millennium has racked up 80% of the county's vote. In the two most recent presidential elections, Democrats Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton failed to win even 1,000 votes in the county.