text:
**In this broken city, all children are born thieves.**

*My feet hurt.*

Bolt zips down the street passed the ragged shops funneling all the traffic through the middle. There are no lanes, only a horde of people pushing past each other, running through this horde is no small feat. The smell of fish and vegetables linger in the air as Bolt pushes his way passed more people. He is twelve, dark skinned and short for his age. Behind him a group of three teenagers scramble through the crowd of people chasing him down.

“I see him!” one says. “Right ahead!” The crowd grumbles as they get pushed aside for the chase. The crowd slowly parts for them. They are given just a single glance before people go back to their daily lives. Some don’t even bother looking at the commotion, they just continue shopping.

“He’s cutting the corner!” another teenager screams. “Cut him off!” Bolt turns a corner into an alley. He skips down the alley careful to avoid the broken glass on the floor. The most common injury in his trade is caused by rubble on the ground. Not very many children can afford shoes. Behind him his teenage pursuers are catching up. There is no crowd in the alley so the longer strides of the teenagers allow them to start catching up.

Bolt weaves through the maze of alleyways. He knows exactly where he is going, but the problem is, so do the teenagers. They grew up in these streets just as he did and they knew all the secret corners in the alleys. But Bolt is small, he is still young, and the teenagers have long ago grown out of their childish bodies. Bolt dips to the side and crawls through a broken window with shards of glass still clinging onto its sides. His arms scrape against the triangular shards, he barely even feels it.

Cold sweat drips down his forehead as he jumps into the dusty room below. He lands on a table that creaks under his weight. He stumbles off of it and staggers his way forward. The room is so filled with dust that it is dangerous to breathe, so he doesn’t. With his breath held he pushes his way towards the door, he reaches it and pushes it forward. It doesn’t budge. His eyes widen in panic as he applies his entire body to the weight of the door, but nothing happens.

“You think we don’t know about the Old Shack?” says a teenager from the other side of the door. “I believe you have something of ours.”

*Fucking Hawks.*

On the other side of the shack the other two teenagers have reached the window. They are too big to fit through the window. “Hey,” one of the teenagers says to the other one. “Bring some trash, I have a lighter, we’ll smoke him out.” The other teenager rushes off to collect trash off the streets.

Bolt struggles to keep his breath held. He reaches into his pocket to feel the Ziploc bag that he has kept hidden there. What he had is literally worth somebody’s life. “If you go back out the window, I promise we won’t kill you.” The teenager at the door sneers. “You can’t stay in here forever either. Give us what’s ours.”

Bolt’s body shakes as he strains against the feeling of suffocation. He curls up into a little ball on the ground as he feels his lungs start to whither. *Somebody help me! Please. God help me!* Out of the corner of his eye he spots a small stream of sunlight. As rapidly as he can he crawls towards it. There is a small hole where the wood has rotted away, but it is plugged up by dust. He puts his mouth over the hole and with the last of his oxygen, puffs as hard as he can. The dust blows out. He clenches the rotting wood and greedily sucks oxygen from the hole.

He feels the immediate relief of exhaling, but now it is replaced with a dire feeling of need. He is not getting enough oxygen from this hole. Still, there is no alternative, so he keeps sucking air. He is light-headed and dizzy, his legs are shaking and he is having trouble clenching the wood. He feels sleepy, but if he goes to sleep now, it is all over. Plus, he still had a job.

*God help me!*

title: This Broken City (Chapter 1)

question: Summarize the path Bolt takes as he flees from the Hawks.

answer: Bolt zips down the street past ragged shops. He turns a corner into an alley and skips down the alley. He weaves through a maze of alleyways and crawls through a broken window. Once inside, he jumps into the dusty room below.

question: Summarize the Hawks' interactions with Bolt.

answer: The Hawks chase Bolt through the streets and to the Old Shack. They demand that he give them back what's theirs. They try to smoke him out of the shack.

question: What does the story say abut the reason Bolt has stolen the Ziploc bag and its contents?

question: Summarize the physical sensations Bolt feels.

answer: His arms scrape against shards of glass when he crawls through a window, but he barely feels it. Cold sweat drips down his forehead as he jumps into the room below. He panics when the door won't open. His body shakes as he strains against the feeling of suffocation inside the shack. He feels immediate relief when he breathes through the hole in the wood. As he sucks air, he grows light-headed and dizzy, and his legs shake.


split: train

text:
TREVOR ROBERTS (25 February 1942 – June 1972) was a Welsh professional footballer who played as a Goalkeeper. He made a total of 207 appearances in the Football League for Southend United and Cambridge United before dying of a brain tumour at the age of 30.

Career

Trevor began his career as a youth player at Liverpool, combining his playing there with studying for a degree in geography at Liverpool University,[1] He then played in the Football League for Southend United and Cambridge United between 1965 and 1972, making 207 appearances.[2]

Death

In 1968 Roberts successfully battled lung cancer.[3] In February 1972 he was admitted to hospital with a brain tumour and died in June 1972 in a nursing home, at the age of 30.[4][5]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

title: Trevor Roberts

question: Where did Trevor begin his football career?

answer: Trevor began his football career as a youth player at Liverpool.

question: Which clubs has Trevor played for?

answer: Trevor has played for Southend United and Cambridge United.

question: What was Trevor's educational qualification?

answer: Trevor had a degree in geography from Liverpool University.

question: How did Roberts die?

answer: Roberts died of a brain tumor at the age of 30.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer:
Trevor Roberts was a Welsh footballer. He played as a Goalkeeper.

Trevor began his career as a youth player at Liverpool while studying for his degree in Geography at Liverpool University. He then went on to play for Southend United and Cambridge United, making 207 appearances.

Roberts successfully battled lung cancer but died of a brain tumor at the age of 30.


text:
[Crouch End Hippodrome on a c.1900 postcard.] The CROUCH END HIPPODROME, originally the QUEEN'S OPERA HOUSE, was a theatre that once stood in Tottenham Lane, Crouch End, London.

[Poster for the Crouch End Hippodrome, 1907.] The theatre opened in 1897 as the Queen's Opera House, a reconstruction of the former Crouch End Athenaeum. It later became the Crouch End Hippodrome and subsequently a cinema. It was damaged by bombing during the Second World War and subsequently demolished apart from the front, which still stands in Topsfield Parade.[1][2]

[1]

[2] The Crouch End Hippodrome, Tottenham Lane, Crouch End. arthurlloyd.co.uk Retrieved 25 December 2016.

title: Crouch End Hippodrome

question: What is left of the Crouch End Hippodrome?

answer: Its front still stands.

question: What was the purpose of the building?

answer: It was originally a theatre. It became a hippodrome and then a cinema.

question: Why was the building destroyed?

answer: It was bombed during the Second World War.

question: Where is the building located?

answer: It's in Tottenham Lane, Crouch End, London.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The Crouch End Hippodrome, originally the Queen's Opera House, was a theatre before it was bombed during the Second World War. It became a hippodrome and a theater before it was bombed. Its front still stands in Topsfield Parade.


text:
UPON REQUEST:

The Occupant Beneath the Shed

by LatinBeef

The story you are about to hear is true. The names and identities of the people involved have not been changed in order to provide no protection to the innocent.

Many days ago, somewhere around the 3rd of July of this year. Wait! Let me first give a disclaimer. If you are an animal rights activist, please stop reading this right now. The rights of a certain animal in this story were breached. You may be, hopefully, offended by this account. Where was I? Many days ago, while I was living at my home in Indiana, there arose a problem of grand proportion. In our backyard, which is fairly large with a few mature trees and fenced in on all sides, there stands a shed. Beside the shed, to the left, is a fire pit, and of course as next to most fire pits is a stack of wood to be used in the fire pit. The shed, fire pit, and pile of wood as you may have begun to think, were not the problem. The problem was what was living underneath that shed and next to that fire pit and pile of wood. For a few weeks a large, furry, mean looking groundhog had been claiming stake to the area beneath our shed. Normally this wouldn't bother a kind hearted young fellow like myself, but this groundhog seemed to be fond of sticking his nose in other people’s dirt and creating as many tunnels as he possibly could throughout our yard.

For weeks I waited patiently for the right opportunity to approach this groundhog and discuss this problem face to face.

It was a sunny afternoon. I had decided I did not want to work that day because I was sick of working all the time and when I get sick of working I usually take a holiday. I spent my holiday in front of the TV watching various shows about this or that and a rattle a tat. While watching the television, my little brother became parched and got up to get himself a drink of water. The sink faces towards a window which gives way to the back yard. My brother lifted his eyes out that window and noticed something peculiar sun bathing atop our wood pile. He began to look closer straining his eyes to make out exactly what it was he saw. He then gasped, and loudly whispered, "LatinBeef! The ground hog is on our wood pile!" Immediately I ordered him to silence and posted him near the living room window as my "eyes on the objective" and warned him of the consequences for treason. This was the moment I had been waiting for.

Once my little brother was in place, I then contemplated my options. Normally on an occasion like this my weapon of choice would be my Marlin tube fed semi-auto .22 Long Rifle with a 20x zoom scope. Earlier in the day I had heard children playing in the woods behind the shed and I had also removed my scope prior to this day to clean the weapon, so I decided this would not be the best method. I moved into the garage and began looking around. I noticed a long, old, forgotten, metal baseball bat hiding in the corner. I picked it up and gave it the proper inspection, making sure it was worthy of battle. Once I was prepared to engage the enemy I went back inside to remind my little brother of his duties, and that insubordination was punishable by death. So the hunt began.

I exited my garage along the side of my house making sure to be as quiet and sneaky as possible. Groundhogs have terrible eyesight, but a very keen sense of hearing. There the groundhog lay basking in the son atop my wood pile as if he were better than me. I was at this time approximately 30 meters from the objective. I slowly crept my way toward the groundhog keeping my eyes fixed on his location. Occasionally I would have to stop as the groundhog pointed his nose in the air as if sensing danger. Eventually he would go back to a relaxed state; once he felt the coast was clear. Slowly I tiptoed my way towards the shed. My goal was to get on the opposite side of the shed as the groundhog, and use the shed as a means of blocking my self from sight of the groundhog, then pouncing on him. Finally I reached the other side of the shed; my heart began to pound with anticipation. I then connected eyes with my little brother who had been keeping watch making sure the groundhog hadn’t shifted positions. To my surprise he gave me the signal that the groundhog had left the wood pile and begun movement towards the corner of the yard away from the shed. I took this opportunity to sneak to a tree that stood in between the groundhog and the wood pile. All I could do was wait, for now I was in the perfect position. The groundhog would have to pass by me in order to return to his home. The groundhog made his way towards the corner of the yard where a big pine tree of sorts grows tall. For some unknown reason the groundhog was spooked and began movement back towards the shed and of course straight past the tree I was hiding behind. I locked and loaded my baseball bat, ready to pounce as soon as he was within pouncing distance. Time slowed.

It was as if it had been scripted. I couldn't have planned it any better. Without the slightest clue of what hit him, the groundhog sprung into the air. My baseball bat had landed straight across the back of his skull. Thud. The groundhogs body smashed into the ground, then, whether a natural reaction of the groundhog or simply a law of physics, the groundhogs body became airborne. Before the body hit the ground, a second blow landed, this time splattering blood across the lawn. I paused. Now imagine scratching the belly of a dog, try to picture the kind of shivering and twitching that dog does while you scratch his belly, this is what the groundhog began to do. The only difference was I wasn't scratching his belly. To end his suffering, I applied yet another blow, ending his pain and ultimately his life. As I stood there looking down upon this poor lowly animal, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little fellow. He had put up a good fight for the past few weeks, but it was not his fate to come out the victor.

After proper burial of the beast, my little brother and I thought it would be fitting to send the groundhog off with a proper 21 bottle rocket salute. We respectfully lit one bottle rocket at a time in honor of the groundhog who previously occupied the space beneath our shed. Once all 21 bottle rockets hit the sky, we each rendered a hand salute toward the grave of our foe. The war was over, the troops could return home.

title: In honor of my real life cake day, and currently being deployed to Iraq...I'd like to share with you all a true war story from the home front: The Occupant Beneath the Shed

question: Summarize the theme of this story.

answer: It is not clear, but one theme could be that "boys will be boys". The narrator and their little brother are set on hunting and killing their prey, who has committed no crime save for being a groundhog. There's really no profound insight into their motivations beyond a thirst for adventure to quell their boredom. They also point out they are seeking to offend the reader, in slightly different but no less certain terms.

question: Describe the life trajectory the narrator might have based on their wording and proclivity for the activity described in the passage.

question: Summarize the narrator's feelings throughout the story.

answer: In the beginning, the narrator experiences relaxation, as they are off work because they did not want to work. Then they are curious when their little brother spots a groundhog the narrator has been concerned about for some time. Next the narrator has an adrenaline rush as they and their brother put together a plan to hunt and murder the creature. Finally, they feel self-satisfied as they have accomplished their mission of ending the creature's life. There's a tinge of pride in there as well for having executed their plan.

question: Describe the source of tension in the story and explain how it gets resolved.

answer: The narrator had been concerned about a groundhog's burrowing and created tunnels in their backyard for some time. One day when the narrator happens to be home, their little brother spots a ground hog out back. He alerts the narrator. The two quickly hatch and enact a plan to catch the ground hog by surprise and end its life. They use the element of surprise to land a blow to the ground hog with a bat. The narrator then has to strike the creature again in order to ensure its death. They bury it and salute it in a proper funerarial rite.


text:
I can’t remember the first time I saw the sun.  Memories only go back to when I was about three years old, and by then I was about four feet tall.  I lived on the corner of two streets, but they were never that busy.   Always the same people going back and forth all day long.  My home was on the smaller side; a one story with beige siding.  I’d look into the windows just to see what was going on, and sometimes, looking back at me, would be a little boy.

I had grown by the time the boy finally approached me. He looked up at me and studied me, but I was too tall for us to play together.  His dad mowed the lawn a lot, kept it pretty short.  The boy would ride on his dad’s lap, and he’d scream when his dad would go in circles around me.  On sunny days, him and his parents would be outside playing and eating.  They would play tag, and would let the boy win.  He was far too small to keep up with them, so I guess it makes sense just to let him feel good.

The year goes by fast until it hits winter.  Everything seems to slow down then.  I’m always tired, and piece-by-piece I fall a part.  The wind would pick up, and these pieces of me would blow away down the street and out of sight.  The boy didn’t come out to see me often when it was winter.

The first day of spring is my favorite day of the year; when the sunlight hits me, and I feel the warmth on my back.  The boy was taller now, and so was I.  Now, he was no longer the only one.  There was another much smaller boy.  When I would look into the windows, the smaller boy would be looking back at me.  I had come to know the taller boy by David, as that is what everyone seemed to call him.  He would come outside and climb my arms, and we would sit together and watch the sun go down.  Once the light disappeared behind the horizon, he would jump down, look at me for a second, and then go back inside.

It seems every boy loves football when they hit a certain age.  David and his brother and their father would always be outside when the weather permitted, tossing around the ball and chasing after one another.  They would go around me, dodging each other, and using my arms to try to jump over the other.  I never saw myself as a football player, but it definitely was never a bad time.  David and his brother would sit on my arms and watch the sun go down.  When it went behind the horizon, both would jump down, look at me for a second, and then go back inside.

Yelling coming from the house was more common now.  Every few days the boys’ father would slam the door and drive away in his truck.  At first the brothers would run out together and yell at him to come back.  Eventually they stopped running out after him, and eventually I stopped seeing their father anymore.

I saw less and less of David and his brother.  They’d leave home early in their cars, and then come back very late.  I was always alone in the yard now.  I would look into the windows, but I never saw much.  The grass was longer than usual, the neighborhood older than it was, and I taller.

The boys were gone by next summer, and their mother put the house up for sale.  Everyday I just stood in the yard, watching cars go by and watching the lawn service poorly cut the grass.  The boys’ mother started coming out to see me.  At first she would just walk around me or sit by me.  One day at sunset, she came out of the house.  She climbed up my arms, and watched the sun go out of sight.  She got down and looked at me, nodded, and went inside.

The house had been empty for some time.  Months passed, seasons changed, my leaves fell off.  It’s funny, for standing here so long you’d think I had my fill of this world, its people.  You’d think it would be all right to be alone.  You’d think I wouldn’t feel the years go by.
_______________________________________________________

Spring had started not too long ago when a moving truck showed up in front of my home.  A young couple got out, holding their young daughter.  The grass was mowed again, and lights were on in the house at night.  I’d look into the windows just to see what was going on, and sometimes, looking back at me, would be a little girl.

title: [MF] The Tree

question: Summarize how David's family and the tree changed over time.

answer: When David was a little boy, he became familiar with the tree in their yard when it was young and about four feet tall. The tree noticed that sometimes David and his father would play around it, and on sunny days they'd sit outside and play a game. As time went by, things changed; the tree got taller, and David now had a little brother. Sometimes, David would climb the tree and watch the sunset. He'd also play football with his younger brother. However, over time, the once happy family became unhappy. David's father left them, and the tree got fewer visits from the family. David and his brother got older and were no longer around their home, and the only companion the tree had was the boys' mother, who'd come out to stay with the tree from time to time before they sold the house.


text:
The music blared out of the car stereo, Leroy was doing his best to shout over it, but she could only hear him during the bridge.  “So I said to ‘im, ‘I don’t give a fuck what your company policy is, I’m’-” the chorus kicked in, she continued to nod whenever his lips stopped flapping– he needed to get this off his chest.  The song reached its climax, and began to fade as London’s jagged skyline revealed itself on the dusky horizon.  Gemma reached for the stop button, sticky with the coke that ‘exploded in his hand’ last week.  It would be nice to have a moment’s peace.  “Don’t you like them?” he asked – she had almost forgotten what he sounded like at a civilised volume.  “They’re okay.  A bit loud for me though.”  He rolled his eyes, and took them off the road for a moment to smile at her.  She ignored it, nodding ahead, and obediently he turned his gaze back to the ever nearing city, tapping his fingers nervously on the wheel.
“Do you want to listen to James Blunt instead?”

“Yeah, actually. That’d be nice” she replied, sinking into her chair.  It had been a long night.  Leroy felt around his seat.  His searching fingers waded through the Stella cans and moulding sandwich crusts, hoping to find the disc.  “Aha!” he shouted, pulling it from its stupor and proudly waving it in front of her face.  She threw a brief smile in his direction, which was enough for him.  Still grinning, he jammed it unsuccessfully into the CD player.  “Shit, forgot there’s one in already” Gemma had already nodded off.

“Gem. Gemma! I need a piss”.

“If I had a quid for every time I’ve been woken up by your bladder”

“You’d probably have about 2 or 3 quid. I won’t be long.”  They had stopped outside a grotty roadside café.  It looked as though nothing about it had changed since the 70’s, the grimy “open” sign hung in the smeared window, like an abandoned corpse swinging in the gallows.  “What about *him*” she asked.  It was unfair of him not to acknowledge it; she thought. He was forcing her to ask.  “What *about* him? He’s fine, aren’t you John?” A muffled yell came from the boot of the car.  “See?” Leroy smiled at her, as though she were a fool for even asking.  He was so patronising, sometimes.  The door closed with a thud behind him, sentencing the car to a stiff, nervous silence.  A few moments passed.

The car reeked of damp residue and stale beer.  Sporadic droplets of rain spattered her arm and face through the stubborn, slightly ajar window.  A few more moments passed.  With a tired sigh, she turned in her seat and looked at the boot.  It remained still, silent. Suddenly, she reeled around.  The dashboard was reverberating violently, crudely piercing the silence.  It was his phone.  John’s phone.  Shit shit shit.  She looked at the screen, it was his Mum. Shit shit shit.  The boot began to stir, a suppressed moan acknowledging the commotion. Adding to the commotion.  Shit shit shit.  The café door remained still, Leroy was taking his time.  She resolved to pick up the phone, doing her best to absorb its desperate vibrations with her sweaty palm, willing it to stop.  And it did.

The café door creaked, and out of it stepped a satisfied looking Leroy, grinning stupidly at her.  Immediately, he noticed something was wrong.

“What’s up with you?” he asked, blindly stabbing the car keys into the engine with familiar precision.  James Blunt continued his melancholic whining.

“I knew it would kick off as soon as you got out.”

“What ‘appened Gem?”

“His Mum rang him.”

“And?”

“And, he started moaning again.” She gestured behind her, somewhat unnecessarily.  Leroy let out a slight chuckle, much to her annoyance.

“Who gives a shit? You’re still breathing, he’s still breathing.  I, my girl, am still breathing.  No harm done.”  The phone buzzed again, it was punchier this time.  Startled, Gemma looked down at the device, Leroy continued to act unfazed.

“She’s sent him a text now. Should I read it?”

“I don’t see why not, it could be a laugh. Oi, John?” He shouted, laughing into the rear view mirror. “You’re Mum wants to know what you want for dinner!”

“On their way”, said Gemma, reading from the screen as though the words were written in a foreign tongue.

“Pardon?” asked Leroy, still chuckling to himself.

“It just says ‘On. Their. Way’”.  Gemma looked at him, her eyes stretched.  His relaxed façade began to reveal hidden concern.

“Well check ‘is sent items then” resolved Leroy.  Gemma leaned closer to the tiny screen, her pointed nose within inches of the black and white display.

“The last one he sent was to his Mum!” Gemma shouted, as though the revelation should come as a surprise.

“Shhh!” John glanced over at the boot. “We don’t want him thinking there’s anything wrong.”  He turned James Blunt up.

“JC08 1ET”, Gemma whispered. “What the fuck does that mean?   Do you think it’s a code or something?  Maybe it’s a postcode? I don’t recognise it. What do you reckon?”  She looked up at Leroy.  He was frozen.  His mouth slightly open.  His nostrils pulsing with heavy breath.  His glazed eyes staring at the phone.  “When was it sent?” he asked, doing his upmost to refrain from panic.  Gemma clicked a few more buttons with a slight tremor.  “03:37. So about 2 hours ago.”  Gemma began to bite her lip, searching her memory for clues. “Hang on, that’s when-”

“I know. That was about 3 minutes before we took him.”

The young couple look at each other.  Their faces awash with fear, glowing rhythmically from blue to red, blue to red. Both gulp in chorus.  A muffled cry comes from the boot, loud enough to be heard over James Blunt.  Behind them, a singular police van beams its headlights through the rusting car, turning them both to silhouette.   “JC08 1ET” reads the policeman sat in the passenger seat, staring at the illuminated number plate in front of him.  “Let’s check it out.”

title: Road Trip

question: Where are Gemma and Leroy heading?

answer: It may be implied that Gemma and Leroy were heading to a safe house in London after kidnapping John.

question: Who is John?

answer: John is someone who is kidnapped by Gemma and Leroy.

question: What is "JC08 1ET"?

answer: "JC08 1ET" is Gemma and Leroy's car's number plate.

question: Do Gemma and Leroy get caught?

answer: It may be implied that the police van that pulled over finds out what Gemma and Leroy and up to and catch them.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer:
Gemma and Leroy are heading to London after kidnapping John.

After a few beers, Leroy stops outside a roadside cafe to relieve himself. While Gemma and John are still in the car, John's phone buzzes. It's a text from his mother saying "On their way". Gemma freaks out and shows the text to Leroy once he's back.

Just then the police van comes from behind and flashes at their car.


text:
“I told you, I’m not going to kill myself, I just want to see some goddamn-,” he stopped short as he bounded up the last flight of stairs and took in the scene before him.

“You seem, crestfallen, Alex.”

“This is my spot,” he murmured, a tinge of annoyance making a rare debut in his typically even-keeled demeanor.

The spot actually belonged to Jacob D. Flores, a real estate developer specializing in parking garage properties, as he owned the building whose roof deck was now populated by fifty shades of the neighborhood, all jockeying for the best spot to watch the fireworks over the concrete heat-sink of downtown.

“So you aren’t going to jump, then?”

He turned to the girl. “Sam, I hate falling. I don’t even ride roller coasters. If I was going to kill myself I really wouldn’t jump off of a parking garage and splat in somebody’s alley on the Fourth of July. That is uncool. I am not uncool. We’ve been through this.”

“Bad grammar is uncool. Double negatives are super-uncool.”

“Oh my god, you are the antichrist.”

“Rude people are uncool-”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m jumping,” he broke away in long strides towards the dozen-or-so spectators.

A large bald man squatted over a comically large camera and tripod. Four college kids passed a bowl conspicuously, expressions evaporating as they exhaled in symphony. A chubby twenty-something thumbed his blackberry with the grace of an ape. Two hipsters made out on top of a mini-cooper.

Sam huffed, exasperated that she couldn’t trump threats of suicide. She was a gangly girl with an eccentric beauty that seemed lost on many, most notably Alex Decker, the boy whose violent death would send her into a state of psychiatric breakdown and must therefore be prevented at all costs.

She turned, walked three paces, and stopped. A dozen towns’ fireworks displays littered the horizon at various scales, belligerent displays of light and fire reduced to blips in the sky. Sluggish thuds of their far-away relevance only added to the ever present din of the city at night. It was all so nonchalant. The world seemed to groan under the sheer weight of itself in the soggy summer night heat.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night. By the time she caught up with him his eyes were red and he seemed distant. They situated themselves on a high wall overlooking the trickle of visitors still filing in to join the block party. The new arrivals were predictably more inebriated.

“HEY-” bellowed a shirtless teen in cargo shorts to nobody in particular, “THIS IS AMERICA.”

The crowd erupted. Somebody had just begun broadcasting the Black Eyed Peas from their late model Jeep Cherokee when the first rocket sailed overhead and splintered across the sky in elegant, symmetrical geometries.

They watched in silence as the glass skyline dazzled as if it was ablaze.

Sam placed her hand on top of his. It was warm. Her heart beat in her throat as she felt him turn to meet her gaze, but a stranger looked back. She recoiled in surprise, breath short as her eyes scanned the crowd for a blonde shock of hair.

Her stomach plummeted as her eyes locked on the back of his head. His outstretched arms sprawled in mock flight as his body fell, resigned to the whims of gravity. It was the last she would ever see of Alex Decker. Overhead, an explosion rocked the world to its core.

She awoke in a cold sweat with Beethoven’s ninth symphony stuck in her head. Her terrarium collection still thrived.

She allowed herself to indulge in the waves of relief washing over her. “Tomorrow”, she whispered to herself, “is going to count for something.”

title: Fireworks [624 words]

question: What does the story say about what Alex is talking about with his mother and Sam?

answer: Alex's mother and Sam, a girl, are worried that Alex would commit suicide, and his mother tells him he looks sad. Alex replies that he is not going to kill himself. Later, Sam asks him if he is going to jump, and he says no. She implies that he is rude, and he suddenly says that he will jump.

question: What does the story say about why Alex commits suicide?


text:
[]

This weekend the writer and presenter _June Sarpong_ has released her book _Diversity_ for Harper Collins. Containing the tagline “because the world is separate enough” I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on this.

In an article for Elle Sarpong discusses how she, as someone of Ghanaian heritage (where age brings with it a certain reverence where older women are valued for their wisdom and experience ) finds the Western distain for aging perplexing saying:

_Older women who have experienced life have so much to offer us in terms of balancing work and family life, thriving in male-dominated environments and pioneering different approaches to challenges, whether that be inflexible hours for working mothers or pay barriers._

Its timely to be reading all this as I have also been thinking about this subject for quite a while. Why are attitudes towards women over thirty so problematic? not least by women as they approach certain age milestones.

I am forever reading how “hard” aging is for women. Daily we are encouraged to invest in “anti-aging” remedies. The subtext being that for a woman to look anything other than twenty-two is to somehow fail one of the invisible tests of femininity.

The patriarchy suggests in its whiney little Nigel Farage voice, that to have currency, women must appear youthful, juicy, fertile. Don’t let the bloom fall off the rose.

Depressing statistics regularly suggest the socio-economic landscape favours men, and that women leaving the workplace to have children struggle to play catch up upon their return but is that the only reason women so often bemoan the privilege of getting older? Could it be that we have allowed our eyes to be averted from the glorious power that women in their forties, and onwards possess?

When I see women in their early thirties freaking out about “getting older” discounting other women because they are “past it” I feel a reinforcement of a distorted mythology around women and aging.

I can totally see why they are conditioned to feel that way but also feel unable to indulge such short-sighted views on the most inevitable aspects of the human condition- we all get older.

 Isn’t it time we stopped talking in a baby voice? Shouldn’t we stop wanting to be infantilised? When we post memes about not wanting to “adult” are we maybe just being really fucking lame?

Being an adult isn’t just about paying bills and having responsibilities, it’s about having enough experience to compare and contrast. It’s about knowing more than the narrow prescribed curriculum you studied at school because you have actually had time to fall in and out of love with different people, music, books, art.

Growing older means you can have had an _Egon Schiele_ and a _Lempicka_ phase and know why you no longer need to hang up art prints to prove you are smart. Growing older means you own your likes and dislikes and are no longer ashamed to admit that _The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole _ is still one of favourite books but feel confident to bring up _The Yellow wallpaper_ even if it is a bit obscure and involves ideas around madness and toxic interior design.

The question we need to ask ourselves is whether appearing young and sweet and attractive is more valuable to us than possessing wisdom? If knowledge is power surely increasing in years should be the goal. And yes, that includes looking older.

Perhaps part of our resistance to aging are the options we feel are on offer.

Are the only choices we have as women _Maiden, Mother, Crone?_  A bright young thing, a caregiver  and then someone waiting to be pushed out to sea on a boat made of poor pension pay-outs? Could there not be a fourth way?

Feminists like Jennifer Baumgardner have argued  since 2008 for a fourth wave of feminism, a movement with an  increased focus on intersectionality, including the repudiation of trans-exclusionary radical feminism and a focus on solidarity with other social justice movements.

Perhaps we also need to identify a new status that transcends ideas of women either being girls or mamas or matriarchs and, instead identifies us as wisdom gatherers and policy creators. Not yet crone but crone in waiting?

I’m not a young woman, I’ve been a young woman. I’ve moved onto a new life stage which is more varied and complex and rich than ever before and its intoxicating.

Ignore the bogeyman of ageing  He (and it is patriarchal thinking that encourages this mind-set) is too distracting. There is much work to do to create equality in the workforce especially for WOC and for our sisters in other countries, still struggling to access rights we take for granted.

There are real things for us to worry about but the physical appearance of growing older is not one of them.

As Le Tigre sing in Hot Topic

_Carol Rama and Eleanor Antin_

_Yoko Ono and Carolee Schneeman_

_You're getting old, that's what they'll say, but_

_Don't give a damn I'm listening anyway_

Our tents dont need to be red but we do need to start openly revering the process of ageing. Not respecting in some patronising head patting way but actually acknowledging how time more than anything else gives us the opportunity to become more educated and more empathetic.

Don't give a damn to what society tells you, I'm listening anyway.

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question: What does the article say about the way society views older women?

answer: Sarpong finds the Western distain for aging perplexing, stating that older women who have experienced life have so much to offer. She wonders why attitudes towards women over thirty are so problematic. Women are encouraged to invest in "anti-aging" remedies, the subtext being that for a woman to look anything other than twenty-two is to fail a test of femininity. The patriarchy suggests that for women to have currency, they must appear youthful, juicy, and fertile. Sarpon suggests we need to identify a new status that transcends the idea of women as either girls or mamas or matriarchs.

question: What does the article say about the matriarchy?


text:
I feel it might be a bit cumbersome, anyway- any advice/critiques would be greatly appreciated.

———-He would then make his journey, wearing a shirt that featured a sloppy graphic of Paris, Texas’s own Eiffel Tower front and center.  This Eiffel Tower was crowned with a fucking cowboy hat.

Speaking of-

I should tell you about those two-brothers, they were identical twins- one of which went by the moniker Cowboy, who in a very cowboy-esque manner heroically busted into our protagonist’s house at 3 a.m. and used brazen force to grab a sofa that was engulfed in flames to toss it out into the front-yard with a grunt. Apparently, cushion serves as no buffer to an old MGM limp-wristed ashing out of a cigarette.  Our protagonist thanked him with hare-like murmurs once he awoke from the kitchen-floor that red wine and continually shouting ‘I am no senator’s son’ had lulled him to sleep on.  He would always tell me that Cowboy had certain vigilant inclinations that usurped the mental disorder that made him dependent on the state of Texas and it’s few victuals of financial empathy. “If he didn’t get those checks, well, I would have probably burned alive.” Our protagonist would gleefully say over bites of the singular nougat-heavy candy bars that used to provide his only source of nutrition for the day outside of what he got when he traveled to Hunt county, which was wet and eager to trade it’s poison for quarters and the tawdry idioms thrown into over-the-counter service to feign something fetchingly personal.

I was force-fed too much iconography to be concerned with finding out the other brother’s name.

The two-brothers would watch the same recorded episodes of Wheel of Fortune on VHS so that they could consistently be correct with their answers.  Pat Sajak had become an administration of consistent validation.  The two-brothers would pepper in caveats of convoluted logic to the neighborhood kids “Don’t count your toes in spring-time, just don’t do it” before offering them a tuna sandwich or licorice that lost all malleability to time.  They would go the local donut-shop and offer up arm wrestling contests in which the prize was a Spudnut with coconut shavings; rumor has it that they never lost, so the forfeiture to come of their hypothetical defeat was never addressed.  I always wondered.

Everyone saw a litany of misdirected allegory, bicycle baskets and matching pique polos from the thrift-store on Booker road.  They saw a life without the dregs.  Life without rancor towards the swath of simple southern fate.  Everyone responded to them with subtle indifference.  They were patronizers, but they did it out of envy.  He swore it.  Our protagonist saw the enchanting whiteness and front-faced conscious that the (what social arbiters have deemed as the-) ‘mentally-challenged’ bared.  More times than not, he was certain that they were only people within the ‘low-end’ part of town that weren’t nauseated by the smell of sulfur.  He’d invite them over to play on his impromptu front yard golf-course, which was comprised of holes that he’d stuck old coffee tins in and a croquet set he got for fifty cents.  He’d conceptualized it on a raucous Tuesday night.  I think he genuinely loved the two-brothers.  In retrospect, we all should have.

The protagonist, my father, attended their funeral in the spring of 1999.  He wore the only suit he had.  It was an awful onyx grey.  It had masted a decade of convival and powder.  It had seen its fair share.  The pant hems provided slightly splayed pedals of fabric, relics of either dancing or running in The Big D (Our protagonist would say they are actions that operate in tandem.)  He counted his toes for what seemed like decades. We didn’t watch Wheel of Fortune that night.

title: Two brothers: a snippet from a book I'm working on.

question: Summarize the relationship between the father and the brothers.

answer: It appears that the Father treated the brothers better than most of the people did. Enough to get to know the brothers to a point of knowing about their love for Wheel of Fortune. While the


text:
“You can’t hit that!” says Tommy.
	“Sure I can” Billy claims, loading his slingshot, a small can of Bush’s beans sits atop a junkyard car about thirty yards away.
	Billy has always been the best shot in the neighborhood, but this time he may have overestimated himself. He stuck his tongue out, and pulled the stiff elastic back, a marble sized rock awaited blastoff.
 He was ready when “Billy Ray!” came  from their trailer down the road. “coming mom!” he stood up, flimsily letting the rock go. Flying nowhere near the can.
	“Told ya’ so” Tommy smirks.
	“Didn’t count” Billy whines.
	Running side by side back to their trailer these two brothers have the iconic “Did not”, “did too” argument.
	Billy and Tommy sit in the back of the trailer where a limestone table is surrounded by a blue stained booth. Rust peppers the sides of the oversized van, the steps are sharp and dirty, lockjaw waiting to happen. The cabinets hang off their hinges, the sink is full of small insects and dirty dishes. It has a back bed room where the mother and whomever else she brings home stays. The two bunk-beds outside the room are for the boys, but the mom doesn’t want the boys to stay there. The mom tricks for a living, so she bought them a tent the boys set up a couple hundred yards into the forest.
	“Meatloaf and corn on the cob, Tommy’s favorite!” she exclaims. She is a good mother, just dealt a bad hand. She does what she can for the boys, but in rural Tennessee prostitution in the trailer parks is her only bargaining chip. Billy is big for his age, at 11 he towers at 5’6 and weighs 130 pounds. He is a pale boy with greasy blonde hair always molded under a Boston Bruins baseball cap. He can’t even tell ya’ where Boston is, but he found the hat in the trunk of an old Mustang in the Junkyard. He tells his friends it stands for Billy and with his temper, no one ever questions it.
Tommy is thirteen years old and stands 5’3 108 pounds. The mother tells the boys they have the same father and that he was off fighting in the war. Tommy knows his father was black but never brings  it up to his mom, he knows there is a reason she won’t tell him.
 Billy and Tommy race to wash their plastic plates in the sink. “Race ya’ to the tent!” Tommy pants as he grabs his knapsack and runs out the door.
	“No fair. Mom I wasn’t ready.” Billy cries.
	“Tommy get back here and brush your teeth.” She says as she holds onto the handrail and leans out the door.
	“Mauuuuum.” Billy says walking head down towards the trailer.
	“Smack” Tommy hit Billy in the arm the second he got into range. Tommy might have been the runt but Billy had a severe case of little brother syndrome.
	“Now I am going into town tonight. If you need anything go down to Buck’s and you can each spend five dollars. I don’t want y’all coming back to the trailer until the flag is out the window in the morning. Okay?”
	“Okay mom.” the boys say in haunting monotone unison.
	The boys are so used to this routine, they run out to Buck’s mini-mart and each grabbed a root-beer and a myriad of snack foods. Back in the tent, Billy says “what does mom do every night?”
	Tommy of course knows how their mom makes her money but wasn’t about the be the one who breaks the “good ole’ mommy illusion” to an eleven year old.
	“She has friends over. Ever since dad went to war, she needs people to talk to.”
	“What about us?”
	“Adults are different, adults talk about things that we haven’t learned yet.”
	“Like what?”
	“I don’t know, shut up and go to sleep.”
The soundtrack of birds and crickets put the boys into a deep sleep. One giant Spider-man sleeping back carpeted the tent. Under blankets and starlight the boys were never bothered.
Until later that morning “ERRRRRRRRRR–VROOOOOM” woke up the boys. Billy and Tommy peeked out of their tent and saw a black Ford Expedition peel out of their drive way.
	“Can we go home?” Billy asks.
	“We have to wait for the flag first.”
	“But her friends are gone.”
	“Still momma needs to rest some from hanging out all night.”
But that old Coffee stained American flag, never flew again.

title: [16M] Be gentle. "Memoirs of a Trailer Park"

question: What is the significance of the bargaining chip?

answer: Billy's mother sees prostitution as her only bargaining chip in the sense that it is the only way she is able to earn money.

question: What is Billy's last name?

answer: It's possible that his last name is Ray, but it's more likely that Ray is his middle name.

question: What's inside the tent?

answer: The tent is where Billy and Tommy live, since their mother is a prostitute and doesn't want them staying in the trailer.

question: What war is Tommy's father fighting in?

answer: This information can't be found.

question: What city does Billy live in?

answer: Billy lives in Tennessee.

question: Why won't Tommy's mom tell him about his father?

answer: This information can't be found.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Billy (11) and Tommy (13) live in a trailer park with their mother. Since their mother works as a prostitute for a living, she has the boys stay in a tent outside the trailer. Tommy is aware of what their mother does for a living, but doesn't want to break it to Billy. Their mother usually gives them a signal that it's okay to come into the trailer after she's entertained one of her guests. But one day, the signal never comes.


text:
	When I first came across the box of tapes, I didn't even think twice. I placed it in the front room, the sun room, where we toss everything we don't need, but don't want to leave in the leaky basement. It wasn't until the following Christmas it even became an issue.

	My wife wanted to set up the Christmas tree in that front room, which meant I had some cleaning up to do. So, I began moving things around. Coming across the box of tapes, I asked her where she wanted them. This triggered a bit of an argument, since she had never seen the box, and I had always assumed that it was hers. The first idea that was thought out loud, once it was established these tapes didn't belong to either of us, was the old owners left them. I reasonable thought. Unfortunately, two years ago when we moved into the house, it was totally empty. I don't mean there was no furniture, no dishes, no bed sheets. I mean empty. Nothing.

	Firstly, all the walls had been painted white. The same white as the ceiling. All the light fixtures had been removed, and besides the three wires poking out of the openings around the junction box, you wouldn't even know the house had ever had them hooked up. Further, there were no sinks, bathtubs, shower stalls, toilets. Nothing. The house was a total decorative blank slate. Now, normally, this house would have been a fixer upper. We looked at it more as a modular opportunity. With the money we saved from buying such an empty space, we were able to afford all the items to simply bring in and install. We never gave a second thought to why the house was so empty, and as soon as I pointed out just how empty the house was, I could tell I wasn't alone in the sinking feeling I got, looking at the box of tapes.

	The second issue we immediately had was all the tapes were in different formats. Different qualities. Some I had never even seen. Everything from old beta max recordings, to hi 8, to CD+R's to bluray discs. None of them marked. None of them dated. No reason to think they were related, besides being stored together, until we watched them.

	It took me the better part of two months to assemble all the video equipment to view everything. I was able to play most of the newer formats on my laptop, or DVD player in the house. Some creative flea market shopping procured me some player I required for most of the rest. Unfortunately there are still some tapes that I am unfamiliar with. And not just me. To be exact, I have four tapes remaining that I haven't viewed, that I have never been able to nail down what type of media they are. Nobody can give me an answer. The worst part is, after viewing all these videos, and sorting through the incredible story that unfolds on them, those four tapes seem to contain the ending. Which means that they were filmed last. On some format nobody has ever seen. And then placed into this box that has somehow made it into my home.

	None of this struck me as a warning. It should have. If I had just thrown the box away, or sent it to someone else to look through it, I might still have my wife, my home, my life. But instead I am sitting in a tent, typing this up on a stolen laptop, powered by those portable solar panels that you never thought you needed. I've learned how to hunt, build shelter, and grow my own crops. I'm approximately seven hours north of the closest major city. Nobody knows I'm here. Which might be the only reason I'm still alive.

title: [HR][SF]Videos

question: What does the story say about the family that used to live in the narrator's house?

question: What does the story say about the house?

answer: The house was totally empty when the narrator and his wife moved in. There was nothing, not even old dishes, bed sheets, or furniture of any kind. All the surfaces, from the walls to the ceiling, were painted white. All the light fixtures had been removed, as well as the junction box, and only the wires remained. There were no kitchen, toilet, and bathroom fixtures (sinks, bathtubs, etc.). The house was a total decorative blank slate - normally a fixer-upper - but the couple viewed it as a modular opportunity.

question: What does the story say about the box of tapes?

answer: At first, the couple thought that the box of tapes belonged to the former owners of the house. However, they remembered that the house was totally empty, devoid of even lighting and bathroom fixtures when they bought it. The box of tapes that seemingly materialized out of thin air had several tapes in different formats and qualities - from old Beta Max recordings, to hi 8, to CD+R's, to BluRay discs, and some formats the narrator hasn't seen before. They managed to watch all the tapes using a laptop, DVD player, and old video players bought in flea markets (for the other formats), except for four tapes of an unknown format. The tapes were all related, contained an incredible story and the ending seems to have been recorded on the last four tapes, but the narrator wished they never watched them in the first place because it (presumably) contained something that they weren't meant to see. Soon after, something terrible happened to his wife, home, and life; now he lives off the grid and no one knows where he is, which is why he is probably still alive.

question: What should the narrator have done with the box of tapes when he first found them?

answer: The narrator should never have watched what was in the tapes. He should have thrown the box of tapes away when he realized they didn't belong to his wife because the house was completely empty when they moved in. If he was really curious about the contents of the tapes, he should have paid someone else to look through them. The fact that the box materialized out of nowhere and the last four tapes couldn't be viewed should have struck him as a warning not to watch the tapes.


text:
Sep 21, 2018

-   []

    Ian BegleyESPN Staff Writer

    Close

    -   Covers the New York Knicks for ESPNNewYork.com

NEW YORK -- Some have wondered why the NBA didn't suspend Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban after an investigation found that male members of the organization harassed female employees.

Commissioner Adam Silver said Friday he decided against suspending Cuban, in part, because an investigation concluded that the owner wasn't directly implicated in the conduct.

"That was an important factor for me in making that decision," Silver said Friday after the league's board of governors meetings in Manhattan. "Should he have known in many cases? Absolutely. But again, from the 215 witness interviews, the over a million pages [of documents in the report], the clear picture that was presented was Mark was absentee from the business side of the organization. So that was a critically important factor."

Cuban agreed to contribute $10 million to women's organizations, but he will not face any additional punishment stemming from allegations that male members of the Mavericks organization committed harassment and violence toward female franchise employees.

The NBA launched an investigation seven months ago into the matter following a Sports Illustrated report in February that described "a corporate culture rife with misogyny and predatory sexual behavior" that spanned decades in the Mavericks organization, including numerous allegations against former CEO and president Terdema Ussery, who left the Mavericks in 2015.

The investigation -- conducted by an outside law firm which spoke to 215 current and former Mavericks employees and examined more than 1.6 million documents, emails and text messages -- found there was "improper workplace conduct" toward 15 female employees by Ussery, including inappropriate comments, touching, and forcible kissing. It also found improper workplace conduct by former ticket-sales employee Chris Hyde, including inappropriate comments to women of a sexual nature and the viewing and sharing of pornographic images and videos.

It concluded that Cuban was not personally involved in any of the incidents of sexual harassment and improper workplace conduct within the Mavericks organization.

Cuban told ESPN that he takes accountability for not knowing that women in the organization felt unsafe coming to work.

"In hindsight, it was staring me right in the face and I missed it," Cuban told The Jump. "You know ... I wasn't as focused on the business as I should've been."

Cuban's $10 million donation, which the NBA said in its release is "in recognition of the institutional and other failures set forth in the report," will be earmarked for organizations that promote women's leadership and development in sports as well as those that combat domestic violence, the team said. The maximum fine the NBA office can levy is $2.5 million.

Silver said Friday he decided against suspending Cuban, in part, due to his transparency during the investigation and due to the degree with which Cuban and the Mavericks implemented changes in the wake of the allegations and investigation.

"That to me is an example that I don't see in any other industry, where someone is willing to put themselves out that way and be that forthcoming and act and be that responsive," Silver said. "So given the totality of those circumstances, I ultimately decided that a suspension was not appropriate." On Friday, Silver said in a memo to all teams that the NBA would like them to implement some of the mandates the Mavericks must adhere to in the wake of the investigation. The memo also encouraged teams to hire more women, particularly in leadership and supervisory positions.

Silver asked teams to thoroughly review the report about the Mavericks. The league stopped short of flatly ordering the 29 other clubs to institute new policies, though Silver's wishes were clear.

Silver addressed the issues with team owners at the annual board of governors meeting earlier in the day.

"The No. 1 recommendation, not surprisingly, in the investigator's report is that you need women in the workplace," Silver said, "in order to have a diverse point of view, in order to ensure that ultimately that women are heard in the workplace."

The league asked clubs to have what it is calling "Community Conversations" with their own employees within the next two weeks about the investigation and subsequent report about the Mavericks.

"These are traumatic moments for people and there needs to be an opportunity to be heard and to have a full discussion about how people are feeling emotionally in these moments," Silver said.

The league urged teams to consider making more than a dozen changes, including:

-   Increasing the number of female staff, including in leadership and supervisory positions.

-   Better harassment-reporting procedures for victims of misconduct.

-   Additional commitments to ensuring that harassment is eliminated and diversity is improved.

-   Anonymous workplace-culture surveys of employees.

-   Stronger human-resource departments.

-   Sexual harassment training, with special training for managers and supervisors.

-   Having general counsel employed in-house.

The NBA established a leaguewide "Respect in the Workplace" hotline after the Mavs story broke last winter.

"All the teams in the room were very receptive to those kinds of programs and I think it was a sobering moment," Silver said. "People are looking through those lists saying, can something like this happen in my workplace? Whether it's the NBA or any other businesses they operate, what are the best practices preventing those things going forward?

"I can only say, we will redouble our efforts at the league and working with our teams to try to ensure that the kind of events that happened at the Mavericks never happen again."

_Information from The Associated Press was used in this report._

question: Why didn't NBA suspend Mark Cuban after an investigation found that male members harassed female employees?

answer: He wasn't suspended because an investigation concluded that he wasn't directly implicated in the conduct.

question: Summarize everything about the allegations against former Mavericks CEO and president Terdema Ussery.

answer: After the investigation interviewed 215 witnesses and examined more than 1.6 million documents, emails, and text messages, it was found that Terdema Ussery harassed 15 female employees, including inappropriate comments, touching, and forcible kissing.

question: What did Cuban do after knowing about the improper workplace conduct among some of Mavericks' male members?

answer: He took accountability for not knowing about it, implemented changes in the organization, and contributed $10 million to women's organizations.

question: Why didn't Cuban know about the harassment?

answer: He said he wasn't as focused on the business as he should have been.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: An investigation found that male members of Dallas Mavericks harassed female employees. This included former CEO and president Terdema Ussery, who harassed 15 female employees. Owner Mark Cuban was not suspended as he wasn't directly implicated in the conduct. Still, he donated $10 million to women's organizations to promote women's leadership and development in sports and to combat domestic violence.


text:
Monday-Saturday 12-7
Walkins Welcome

2165 Wrightsville Ave,
Wilmington, NC 28403
910-343-5233

Follow us!

Click to Download Printable Directions

Traveling from the North:

Hwy. 40 East towards Martin Luther King Bypass. Take a right onto the MLK Bypass towards downtown Wilmington. Stay straight on the bypass heading into downtown Wilmington, this will turn into 3rd St. Take 3rd St. through downtown heading towards Dawson St. Take a left on Dawson St. Follow Dawson St. until it dead ends into Wrightsville Ave. Take a left onto Wrightsville Ave. We are the second building on the right after the light.

Traveling from the West:

Hwy. 74 East. Cross over bridge into Wilmington. Continue straight onto Dawson Street after crossing the bridge. Follow Dawson St. until it dead ends into Wrightsville Ave. Take a left onto Wrightsville Ave. We are the second building on the right after the light.

Traveling from the South:

Take 421 North towards downtown Wilmington. Take a right onto Dawson Street. Follow Dawson St. until it dead ends into Wrightsville Ave. Take a left onto Wrightsville Ave. We are the second building on the right after the light.

Traveling from the East:

Take the Martin Luther King Bypass towards downtown Wilmington. Stay straight on the bypass heading into downtown Wilmington, this will turn into 3rd St. Take 3rd St. through downtown heading towards Dawson St. Take a left on Dawson St. Follow Dawson St. until it dead ends into Wrightsville Ave. Take a left onto Wrightsville Ave. We are the second building on the right after the light.

question: Which location's navigation directions are provided?

answer: The location is 2165 Wrightsville Ave.

question: How do you travel from the North?

answer: Take the highway 40 east towards Martin Luther King Bypass. Take a right onto the MLK Bypass towards downtown Wilmington. Stay straight on the bypass heading into downtown, this would turn into 3rd St. Take through downtown heading towards Dawson St. Take a left on Dawson St. FOllow the street until it dead-ends into Wrightsville Ave. Take a left onto Wrightsville Ave, we are the second building not the right after the light.

question: How do you navigate after reaching Dawson St. while traveling from the West?

answer: After reaching Dawson Street, follow the street until it dead-ends into Wrightsville Ave. Take a left onto Wrightsville Ave. We are the second building on the right after the light.

question: Which bypass should you take while traveling from the East?

answer: Take the Martin Luther King Bypass.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: A description of navigating to 2165 Wrightsville Ave, Wilmington, NC 28403.


text:
It was my first visit to this dentist. I noticed that the office was just a tad off. There were a number of teenagers, who seemed too young to be working in a dentist’s office. Rock and roll music was playing, I believe Led Zeppelin, and it gave the place and air of a club house.

The dentist would see me shortly, but I was pretty sure I was seeing him at the reception area sniffing like mad. It could have been a cold, but with my extreme paranoia, coupled with the music and the teenage kids, I assumed he was a coke addict. I may or may not have been on cocaine at the time. I can’t remember. It gets fuzzy at this age.

One does not come to such an assumption (that a dentist is a coke fiend) lightly, but it was a new dentist and no one likes the dentist and the mind wonders with nothing but a Time magazine and a Keurig coffee.

Finally, the time approached and I was called in to receive my cleaning. I was approached by a beautiful blond who instructed me to lie still while she began my cleaning.

I couldn’t help but notice all the women in the office were beautiful blonds. My theory on coke use soon was compounded by a theory of wanton women cleaning teeth and giving happy endings.

But no happy ending was given. I was left alone after the cleaning to talk to the dentist. Most dentists and orthodontists will leave the cleaning and maintenance work to staff and just come by to just look at your mouth and make the extreme decisions that make their PhDs worthwhile and notable.

The dentist approached me and commented on my shoes. He liked them. In my mind, I formed an idea of a swinging dentist who ran a brothel, snorted cocaine, and occasionally dabbled in same sex couplings. There’s nothing wrong with the latter, but I was in no mood to shoot down a PhD. I don’t think I would have it in me. Heterosexual or not, there is something about doctors orders – you take them.

He began talking and I volunteered the information that I was a smoker. I wanted him braced for any staining and bad breath. Dirty smokers do have some nerve coming to see dentists when they have no care for not only their teeth, but there lungs, heart, etc. I felt bad for the man and his being forced to look down the barrel of a tobacco’d maw.

He didn’t seem to mind the admission, however, and he related to me that his friend had tried to quit smoking and told him that it was tougher than giving up cocaine.

For those that thought the paranoia was just paranoia – AH HA!

“Really?” I said.

He went on to tell me about the friend and then began asking me about work. I explained my job the best I could. Having little or no interest in one’s own job makes it a hard conversational piece.

But he nodded in all the right parts and continued sniffing. He could have had a cold or he could have been smuggling smack out the back on donkeys, anything was possible.

He then began talking about some of the dumb things he did as a kid. I laughed along until he got to a part where he was explaining his carefree youth. He started the story on the end of another story about toilet papering houses. His mood was jovial and with each word you heard a laugh at the back of his throat, like he was explaining some elaborate joke. He began:

“Then there was this one time. Me and my buddy, well we decided to get all dressed up in Mormon garb and go biking around town.”

It came out as the beginning of a joke. And with my idea of a coke-addled polygamist bisexual I was ready to assume the worst: that this man had dressed up as a Mormon missionary with a buddy as a joke. It was at this point I decided to not return. But to just take the tension out of his admission of mean-spirited religious joking, I:

“You mean as a goof?”

His face turned sour. He then “No. I was a missionary in the Mormon church.”

My reality from coming into the office to that moment was shattered. This was not a coke sniffing polygamist bisexual, but an upstanding Mormon of the utmost decency.

I felt like a royal bastard. The man had to have thought I decided the only reason you would dress up in Mormon gear was as a goof. I began back peddling. I began explaining how much I admired the Mormon religion. I pledged allegiance to Mitt Romney…

The man had his hands in my mouth – what else could I do?

The moral of the story is never assume a dentist is a coked out polygamist bisexual who runs a brothel and makes light of other religions – because you would be wrong.

Most of the time.

title: New Dentist

question: What does the story say about the narrator's first impression of their new dentist?

answer: The narrator notices that their new dentist is sniffing and assumes he is a coke addict. Then the dentist says he likes the narrator's shoes, and the narrator assumes he might be a bisexual. Later, the dentist tells the story of how he and his friend decided to get dressed up in Mormon garb and go biking around town, and the narrator assumes he did that as a joke. The narrator's first impression of their new dentist was totally wrong as it turns that the dentist is an upstanding Mormon of the utmost decency.

question: What does the story say about Mormon religious rules?


text:
Wow, this is fun. Running around in the woods with my best friends in the world, laughing, giggling, and pretending to be wizards from Harry Potter. I weave and dodge through the trees when I spot Gia coming towards me. I yell an expelliarmus and duck behind a bush. Crawling backwards, I find a pile of leaves and partially cover myself, trying to blend in. Unfortunately, she sees me. She screeches out a Petrificus Totalus and scampers off. I can’t chase her, because she froze me. Man, I’m having fun. Unfortunately, Mason isn’t.

	“Hey Gardner, let’s get out of here,” he rambles as he pulls me out of the leaves. I try to object but he keeps talking. “I can’t believe I agreed to this, it’s so lame and nerdy. Why don’t we go to my house? I’ve got this huge TV and a DVR full of George Lopez.”

	“Mason, what are you doing?” I hear John yell, moments before he hops out from behind a tree about twenty yards away from where we are now. “This is fun!”

	“No, it’s really not,” objects Mason. I groan.

	“It’s fun for us. If you don’t like it, why did you come?”

	“Because I wanted to be with my friends, but I’m sorry. This sucks.”

	“Hey, what are you doing? I froze him!” Gia exclaims as she sprints towards us. “Do you even know the spell to unbind him?”

	“Look, I’m out of here,” Mason says, firmly.

	“How about this. You can leave here if you beat me in a duel,” John suggests.

	“...A duel? A Harry Potter duel?” Mason sounds incredulous. “Fine. Whatever.”

	Gia and I watch as the two idiots get ready. John makes a big show of twirling his “wand” around and drops it. Mason just stands and waits. John is telling Mason the rules when Gia sees that she dropped her wallet behind where Mason is standing. As she is picking up, John yells for the duel to start. He lifts his wand and screams “Avada Kedavra,” an unforgivable curse that kills anyone who it is cast on. A green light shoots out of the twig in his hand, and Mason jumps out of the way in terror. Unfortunately, Gia doesn’t see it coming.

	“What the…?” Is all I can say as I stumble over to where Gia is laying.

	“What happened?” Mason asks, looking concerned.

	“John just like...frickin...shot Gia. I think she’s dead.”

	“John, why would you do that?”

	“What do you mean ‘Why would you do that?’” John asks, incredulous. “I thought that we were just messing around. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose!”

	“Then why did you do it?” Mason asks, accusingly.

	“Look, I didn’t expect you to know any spells, so I figured this would be an easy way to shut you up. I didn’t expect real freaking magic to happen!”

	“Guys,” I say. “Calm down, let’s think about this. We need to figure out what to do with the body. We can’t just leave it.”

	“Yeah we can!” Says John. “I am not going to let anyone find out that I killed somebody!”

	“No one is actually going to believe it was you. I mean, come on. Magic? No one would buy that!”

	“I think we should leave her,” says Mason. “I mean, she was kinda annoying.”

	“What?” I ask, flabbergasted.

	“Yeah. I don’t want to be seen with that corpse. She has on like eighteen bracelets. Totally ratchet.”

	“...Ratchet?”

	“Ratchet. I didn’t even like her that much when she was alive. I always asked her to buy me chicken fingers, and she never, ever would.”

	“You’re going to leave her out here over chicken fingers?” Interjects John. “At least I have a good reason.”

	“No,” I say. “Neither have you have a good reason.” I look down at my deceased friend, and I’m rendered speechless. Her mouth is actually moving. “Oh, my god! Guys, check this out! She’s actually alive!”

	“What?” Cries John as he lifts his wand again. “Avada Kedavra!”

	“What was that for?” I scream, furious. “She wasn’t dead! What was your line of thinking there?”

	“Dead people should stay dead.”

	“He’s right,” adds Mason.

	“Shut up, shut up both of you!” I say, taking control of the situation. “What are we going to do now that we know she’s definitely dead.”

	“I have a cousin in Chicago. This happens all the time there, I’ll ask him for advice.”

	“Exactly,” says Mason. “We’re not that far from the hood. I’m sure we could get some good advice there.”

	“Mason,” I say. “It was a ten minute drive here from the suburbs.”

	“I’m just saying,” Mason says, indignant.

	“Look, this was John’s fault. Because of John I’m going to miss NCIS tonight.”

	“Yeah, John. This is messed up. I have to go to VBS next week and because of you I can’t start my George Lopez re-watch until August.”

	We’re just standing here, totally at a loss for what to do. Then, out of nowhere, it hits me. “Check her pockets!”

	“Why?” Mason asks, obviously not following my train of thought.

	“Her keys! Look, I found them!”

	“All right, George Lopez!”

	“Wait!” John yells out. We look at him, curious that he may have had a change of heart. “How about we all go to my house and have a Call of Duty tournament?”

	“Yeah!” Mason and I call out in unison. Keys in hand, we walk to her car, load up and head out. I feel like this is going to be a good week.

title: "Whoops." Harry Potter LARPing goes wrong.

question: What is the narrator doing in the woods?

answer: He is pretending to be wizards from Harry Potter with his best friends.

question: How many times is George Lopez mentioned?

answer: 3

question: Why did John shoot Gia?

answer: John and Mason were in a duel when Gia picks up her wallet behind Mason. John yells "Avada Kedavra", causing a green light to shoot out of the twig and accidentally hit Gia. The second time John shoots Gia with the spell because he believes dead people should stay dead.

question: Who says "I didn't even like her that much when she was alive"

answer: Mason

question: Why is Mason happy that Gia is dead?

answer: Mason isn't necessarily happy, but he seems unaffected by her death. At most, he is annoyed by her death because now he can't watch George Lopez.

question: How does the story end?

answer: John, Mason, and the narrator take Gia's keys, load her car up, and head out of the woods. The narrator feels it will be a good week.

question: How old are the main characters in this story?

answer: That isn't mentioned in the story, but since they can drive they are probably in their later teen years.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator, John, Mason, and Gia are pretending to be wizards from Harry Potter in the woods. When John challenges Mason to a duel, John accidentally ends up killing Gia with the Avada Kedavra spell. The group feels mostly indifferent towards her death, reasoning that she was annoying. When Gia seems to wake up, John kills her with the spell again. After arguing about how to take care of her body and missing TV shows, the crew decides to take Gia's car keys and head out of the woods.


text:
Gord Downie, the late Tragically Hip frontman, was chosen for the second consecutive year in a Canadian Press survey of news editors and broadcasters across the country.

It puts him among a short list of prime ministers and athletes who have been selected more than once.

Downie only appeared in public a handful of times in 2017, but his calls for a more inclusive Canada resonated even in his absence.

Whether it was the poignant lyrics flowing through his recent albums or the heartfelt words he delivered in public, the Tragically Hip singer used every opportunity in his final months to speak out in support of Indigenous people in Canada.

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Even after he died of brain cancer in October at age 53, Downie’s push for reconciliation continued to reverberate across the country.

WATCH: HOW GORD DOWNIE FOUGHT FOR THE RIGHTS OF INDIGENOUS CANADIANS

 [Click to play video 'How Gord Downie fought for the rights of Indigenous Canadians'] 4:09 How Gord Downie fought for the rights of Indigenous Canadians

How Gord Downie fought for the rights of Indigenous Canadians – Oct 19, 2017

His hope for a better Canada is one of the reasons editors and broadcasters say they selected him as Canada’s Newsmaker of the Year for the second straight time.

Downie collected 47 votes (53 per cent) in the annual Canadian Press survey of newsrooms across the country. The musician remains the only entertainer to receive the title in its 71-year history.

He’s also now among a select group of Canadians to be voted top newsmaker more than once. Others include former prime ministers Lester Pearson and Pierre Trudeau and activist athletes Terry Fox and Rick Hansen.

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Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was second in this year’s poll with 11 votes (13 per cent), while new NDP Leader Jagmeet Singh finished third with 10 votes (11 per cent).

“Most Canadians don’t really care about politicians – but Gord Downie seems to have touched so many hearts,” wrote Christina Spencer, editor of the Ottawa Citizen’s editorial pages.

WATCH: LIFE AND LEGACY OF GORD DOWNIE

 [Click to play video 'Life and legacy of Gord Downie'] 4:59 Life and legacy of Gord Downie

Life and legacy of Gord Downie – Oct 19, 2017

“Rarely have we mixed our tears of sadness and gratitude as we did for Gord Downie,” added Danny Kingsbury, national rock format director at Rogers Radio in Ottawa.

  “His music and legacy and work with Indigenous communities will live on.”

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Even though Canadians knew it was coming, news that Downie had succumb to an incurable form of brain cancer on Oct. 17 left many stunned.

It almost seemed at times like he could do the impossible – somehow defy science to overcome his terminal diagnosis.

He surprised doctors and fans alike with his boundless determination during the 2016 Hip tour. At the rousing last concert in Kingston, Ont., Downie offered hints of his next vision. Speaking to the audience, he expressed the urgency of drawing more attention to the inequities faced by Indigenous people. He called on the prime minister to lead by example.

Downie’s “Secret Path” multimedia project, which was completed before his cancer diagnosis, became the guidebook in his last year as he delicately recounted the tragic final hours of Chanie Wenjack.

For many Canadians, it was the first time hearing the story of the 12-year-old Ojibway boy who died of starvation and exposure after escaping a residential school in 1966.

“His spirit touched Chanie Wenjack’s spirit,” said Assembly of First Nations National Chief Perry Bellegarde.

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“Even though they never physically met each other, I think in a spiritual way they knew and really bonded together.”

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Alvin Fiddler, the Grand Chief of the Nishnawbe Aski Nation, worked closely with the Downie family over the past year and a half. He said it was impossible to predict how “Secret Path” would affect the wider conversation.

WATCH: STARS REMEMBER GORD DOWNIE

“None of us really could envision the impact,” he said. “To see it spread across the country was something … pretty meaningful.”

Fiddler credits Downie for shining a spotlight on some Indigenous issues, which he said led to progress in certain areas.

“We have more and more communities coming off the boiled water advisory list next month in Slave Falls,” he offered as one example.”I would like to believe that Gord had a hand in those things.”

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Exploring the injustices inflicted upon Indigenous people in Canadian history led the singer on a personal journey of reflection, said his brother Mike Downie.

“Gord said several times that the only thing that mattered to him was getting Canadians to become aware of Indigenous lives, start to right the wrongs and move in the direction of reconciliation,” he said.

  “It was what he wanted to get done before his time was up.”

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As the year stretched on, the reality of Downie’s mortality was harder to ignore. His appearances became increasingly rare.

He surprised Blue Rodeo concertgoers in February by walking on stage to sing “Lost Together” alongside Jim Cuddy and other close friends. The emotional moment would be Downie’s final public stage performance.

In June, he was appointed a member of the Order of Canada for his work in raising awareness of Indigenous issues.

WATCH: TRAGICALLY HIP FRONT MAN GORD DOWNIE AWARDED ONE OF CANADA’S TOP HONOURS

 [Click to play video 'Tragically Hip front man Gord Downie awarded one of Canada’s top honours'] 1:07 Tragically Hip front man Gord Downie awarded one of Canada’s top honours

Tragically Hip front man Gord Downie awarded one of Canada’s top honours – Jun 20, 2017

On Canada Day weekend, Downie stood on a stage at Parliament Hill and encouraged a young crowd of We Day participants to ask questions about the history of residential schools. He emphasized that Indigenous children in some parts of Canada continue to travel great distances each day for school, likening it to “the pain, the torture and the death” in residential schools.

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His comments stood to elevate concerns Indigenous leaders have expressed over the lack of education and health resources for young people in remote communities.

“It is still happening even though the residential school has gone away,” the ailing performer said. “It’s time to listen to the stories of the Indigenous. To hear stories about now.”

He left the audience with an optimistic final thought as he looked to the next 150 years for the country.

  “Yours is the first generation in the new and real Canada. I love you,” he said to applause.

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“You and yours, the Indigenous, together will make this a true country now, one true to your word. The new 150 years, not the old one. The new one. Exciting and true.”

A few months later, he was gone.

On the streets of Kingston that sombre October day, the hometown boy’s voice was everywhere. Restaurants cranked up playlists of only Hip songs, while some fans blared their car stereos to drown out the pain of the loss.

Many talked about how Downie offered solace amid their family’s own cancer fights. Others reflected on how their perspectives of Canadian history were reshaped by his ardent support of Indigenous rights.

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Those sentiments stretched across the country as local musicians covered Hip favourites and viewers watched a broadcast of “Long Time Running,” a documentary recounting the band’s final tour.

More Downie tributes are still in the works. A public memorial is being considered by the Hip’s members and their management, though no official date has been set.

And in Ontario, an opposition NDP member recently introduced a bill to create a poet laureate program in the province and name the legislation after Downie.

WATCH: CANADIANS REACT TO PASSING OF THE TRAGICALLY HIP FRONT MAN AND CANADIAN ICON GORD DOWNIE

 [Click to play video 'Canadians react to passing of The Tragically Hip front man and Canadian icon Gord Downie'] 2:44 Canadians react to passing of The Tragically Hip front man and Canadian icon Gord Downie

Canadians react to passing of The Tragically Hip front man and Canadian icon Gord Downie – Oct 18, 2017

Carrying Downie’s message into the future now lies with his friends and the millions of Canadians he called on to make a difference.

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The late singer established the Gord Downie and Chanie Wenjack Fund to serve as a catalyst in the movement towards reconciliation. Next year, the organization plans to escalate its approval of small grants that would unite Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities and promote education in schools.

It’s a project Downie considered essential for the longer term. He’d witnessed slivers of progress while he was still alive, his brother Mike said, and he considered each of them a reason for hope.

“He could see that he had some impact,” Mike Downie said.

“I know Gord felt really good that he had maybe managed to move the needle a little bit.”

© 2017 The Canadian Press

question: Who is Gord Downie?

answer: Gord Downie was a singer.

question: How did he die?

answer: Downie died of brain cancer.

question: How old was Downie?

answer: He was 53 years old.

question: Why was he chosen to be?

answer: He was chosen as Canada's Newsmaker of the Year.

question: Write a ~8 sentence summary.

answer:
Gord Downie is chosen as Canada's Newsmaker of the Year for the second consecutive year in a Canadian Press survey. Downie fought for the Indigenous Canadians. The singer died of brain cancer at the age of 53.

His death has left many stunned. Gord surprised his doctors and fans with his determination during the 2016 Hip tour. During the concert, he expressed the urgency of drawing more attention to the inequities faced by Indigenous people.

The singer's brother says that exploring the injustice inflicted upon Indigenous people in Canadian history led the singer to reflect on his own journey.

The late singer had started the Gord Downie and Chanie Wenjack Fund to serve as a catalyst in the movement towards reconciliation.


text:
Christ Mass. Even as an adult it sent a shiver down his spine. Christ Mass, a time for repentance, a time for respect, a time for sorrow. Nick shook his head, it was getting late and his mind was starting to wander. He had a lot of work to do, tomorrow was a big day, tomorrow he would test the time suit.

It was no coincidence that Nick had chosen the 25th of December to test his machine. Nick's machine was an affront to everything the OTC stood for and he couldn't think of a better way of saying "Screw You!" then to violate the very laws of Physics on their most important day.

By 8.00am he was already in the suit. He settled the butterflies in his stomach by finishing a glass of milk - his favourite. After a moment's pause he stood up, pressed the button and fell out of time.

Nick was a genius by anyones' standards with an unnatural aptitude for working with multi-dimensional problems. At university he came to understand that our perception of time is simply a shadow of a multidimensional field. This realisation was coupled with the reality that he was beyond his peers and professors, he dropped out. It took 3 years to finish the machine. 3 years of working in secret. 3 years of sleepless nights, unhealthy eating and personal neglect. By the time it was complete Nick was a state, morbidly obese with an ungainly beard, but his work was done.

Falling backwards, the world dimmed and blurred. His brain struggled to process the unphysical reality. He perceived a stream of colours as visual information from multiple moments arrived simultaneously - it was nauseating. Fortunately he didn't need to make sense of it all, his suit did all the work. He pressed another button and started hurtling sidewards a year at a time. The surface of history spun in front of his eyes, the motion sickness faded and a rainbow of colours washed over him as the years passed. Coming out from a trance he had the shocking realization - the colours were fading, he was still falling! In a panic he pressed the button to return to the time event horizon.

He came too lying on a crowded street. A quick survey of the dense terraced houses and thick smog suggested that he had emerged around the Victorian era. With ease that surprised himself he sprung to his feet. The people around him remained motionless. Something was wrong. An examination of his suit controls revealed the problem - he wasn't back! Draining its batteries, competing with an unanticipated force, the machine had died anchoring him on the very edge of time.

Nick explored the town. Here on the cusp of time he could feel the air, the sun on his back, feel gravity pulling him down, even smell the local bakery but the experience was diluted, ethereal. Walking the back alleys put his life in perspective. The strict discipline that came with Christ Mass made him feel like he had suffered hardships, but here was true suffering. At the edge of town he found the worst of it; an orphanage. Most of the kids looked 3 missing meals from starvation. Nick remembered the bakery he past earlier.

He felt guilty taking bread from under the plump baker's nose but couldn't shake the image of the starving children. Eight trips and several hours later he'd managed to supply most of the kids with loaves, rolls and pastries. He stole one last glance at the baker as he carried the bread-filled sacks out the door. The baker's mouth was formed into an "O", his expression one of shock. It was strange, Nick didn't remember seeing this before. The final visit to the orphanage confirmed it - the smallest glimmer of joy showed in the eyes of the kids Nick supplied first. Time wasn't frozen! It was just passing imperceivably slow.

The joy he saw in those children's faces elated him. This was the first time in Nick's life he had ever felt purpose, felt useful. He was especially gleeful that he could bring such joy on the day of Christ Mass, a traditional day of suffering for children.... Cogs whirred in his brain, his version of Christ Mass didn't exist yet! The OTC hadn't been formed! The OTC gained absolute power exploiting the misery of people during the hard winter months. It was ironic that the children in the orphanage would always associate this day with a happy memory. It was a shame, he thought, that every child couldn't feel this way about Christ Mass because then the OTC would never happen. But you couldn't possibly make every child on earth happy. Right?

It was evening by the time he finished. It had taken the whole Tunguskan forest, but he had finally made enough toys for all the children of the earth. His body within the suit remained in time stasis, but his hands and face had aged and his beard had turned to purest white. He set off with his first payload. It would likely be midnight before his work was done, he just hoped he would get to see those glimmers of joy once more before *his* time ran out. Either way, Christ Mass would have a different meaning for the world of the future than it did to Nick.

It was a magical night that night. Those lucky enough saw a flash of a giant smiling man with perfect white beard and glowing redshifted suit. And if you listened carefully, you could even hear his Doppler shifted laughter resonating through the air.

"Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christ Mass!"

title: The Nick Of Time

question: Who is the main character?

answer: Nick, a time traveler, who is strongly implied to be the origin of the character of Santa Claus

question: What is the OTC?

answer: It's strongly implied to be some sort of dystopian, religious organization that controls the world in an alternate timeline

question: What does Nick's machine do?

answer: It moves him through time, and also outside of it; in the story, it sends Nick back in time, but also causes time to move almost imperceptibly slow for him once he arrives

question: What is Nick's first act after traveling back in time?

answer: He steals bread from a baker to give to starving orphans

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Nick is an inventor who lives in a world with a dystopian, religious organization called the OTC. He tests his new time machine early on Christmas day, and it sends him back to the Victorian era, but causes time to move extremely slow for him once he arrives. He gives food to a group of orphans and then decides to make toys for all the children of the earth, stopping the OTC from ever existing.


text:
UNCOMPROMISING IN PURSUIT OF SUSTAINED SUCCESS

The Carlton Football Club has released details of a five-year strategic plan that aims to cement a 17th premiership for the Club, leading to a second flag by the end of the 2015 season.

The Strategic Plan, Carlton’s Blue Print for now and the future, is the result of months of discussion and planning between the Board and Senior Management of the Club, in association with outside consultants. It is an extensive document that outlines the objectives the Club will strive to achieve in all areas of the business over the next five years.

“This is about taking the Carlton Football Club forward. Our promise is to be uncompromising in pursuit of sustained success and our mission is to win premierships and to provide amazing experiences,” said Carlton President Stephen Kernahan.

“Our core business is football and success on the field is what this Club is about and this plan is based around ensuring we have the structures, the people and processes in place to be successful. Everyone involved at Carlton want the Club to be successful and to be able to enjoy the ultimate success.

“We will be uncompromising in our pursuit of this success.”

Kernahan said it was natural that everyone will focus on the objective of winning two flags in the next five years and while this is the key, the premierships are one part of the overall plan that is designed to take Carlton forward.

“We have strived in recent years to provide the very best facilities and support for our players and the opening of the world-class facilities at Visy Park last year was a vital part of this plan. We will continue to ensure Carlton has the best resourced Football Department because this is our core business. However it is important to remember this is one element of the plan going forward,” Kernahan added.

Another key element of the plan is the growth in membership and the supporter base with a focus on engaging with supporters to provide a closer relationship between the club and its members and supporters.

Financially the Club is focused on having a healthy balance sheet with sustained surpluses for future investment, while continuing to have the best resourced Football Department in the AFL.

“While our focus is on winning our 17th premiership, we have an obligation to our members to ensure the Carlton Football Club is in a sound financial position and this means a healthy balance sheet with surpluses that enable us to invest in the Football Department, facilities, programs and people.

“This Strategic Plan is more than just words and ideas; it has meaning and is part of the culture of the Carlton Football Club. This is a living plan, one that everyone at Carlton; the Board, Management, Staff, Coaches and Players will live by.

“We believe this is a true blue print for our future, the benchmark for how the Club operates today, tomorrow and in the future,” said Kernahan.

Click here to view The Blue Print

question: What kind of football is the team playing? American, or European (soccer)?

answer: Unclear

question: Where is the Carlton Football Club based?

answer: Unclear, possibly Europe

question: What is a "flag?"

answer: Unclear, presumably something akin to a US baseball "pennant," a championship trophy

question: What steps has the football club taken to ensure winning?

answer: New world-class facilities at Visy Park, attempting to grow membership and supporter base

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The Carlton Football Club has released a five-year strategic plan for achieving a 17th premiership and a second flag by the end of the 2015 season. They are emphasizing excellence and a winning culture. They have built world-class facilities at Visy Park and are working to grow membership and supporter base.