#Kansas City Pawn Jewelry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ebongawk · 8 months

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pls show us how eddie would ask chrissy to marry him ❤️❤️❤️

The ring was burning a hole in his pocket.

The ring had, in fact, been burning a hole in his pocket for, like three goddamn months now. Because he'd been kinda-sorta-basically flying by the seat of his pants this entire relationship, up to and including his potential proposal, and three years of accidentally tripping and stumbling into all of the right messes with Chrissy made him think he could just buy the goddamn thing and wait for the most opportune moment.

The ring itself was an unanticipated surprise. Eddie had been shopping for a new-to-him amp, and buying those off the belt was a mistake he'd never make again. Rewiring older models with newer technology was basically Henderson's forte, though, so every time he and Chrissy popped back into Hawkins to visit Wayne during their long stints on the road, Eddie had a couple projects that Dustin's eager little mitts made grabby hands at.

(If Eddie found another tech kid on the road, he was pretty sure Dustin would spit and hiss and claw the newbie's eyes out so he would never be able to touch Eddie's projects again. He fucking loved that little shit. Had no clue what he was gonna do when the kid went off to MIT in a few months.)

So, yeah. While Eddie had walked into that pawn shop with a singlemindedness, he'd still perused the aisles like a perfectly respectable patron.

And the ring had been right there. Grinning up at him from the display case a winking in the overhead lights when it caught his eye.

Chrissy was literally right up the street, struggling over which books she wanted to trade in at the used bookshop so she could read some new material. That was the worst part about being on the road – they never got to keep anything. Like, sure, yeah, they had some shit stored at Wayne's, but they couldn't pop into Indiana whenever Chrissy needed to drop off her books so they could fit new shit in the van.

If they could, Chrissy would have a veritable library by now. He'd told himself a year ago that, as soon as they hit a label, Corroded Coffin's first purchase would be Chrissy Cunningham's dream house so she could have shelves of books. The guys were all in begrudging agreement.

"Hey, uh," he'd said, grabbing the attention of the shopkeeper and pointing at the ring. "What's that?"

About six months ago, he and Chrissy had been walking a mall in search of a birthday present for Wayne when a jewelry store grabbed her attention. Eddie had kinda expected her to beeline for the engagement rings – and maybe that was his own underlying fantasy, honestly – but she hadn't. She'd gravitated toward birthstones, pointing out his and hers and Jeff's and Gareth's and Grant's and Wayne's, gushing about which looked best together in her opinion.

"That's a, uh, ring," the cashier said, looking down at the thing. "With, y'know, stones and shit."

"Very fuckin' descriptive, man, thanks," Eddie responded. "How much?"

"For you, kid? Twenty bucks."

"I'll give you fifteen for it and thirty for the amp."

"Deal."

He didn't even get a box. The guy had been 'fresh out', allegedly, so he'd given Eddie a little drawstring bag for it.

Which was fine. Easier to hide. He just had to remember to transfer it around his three pairs of jeans while they were doing laundry.

"Look, that's your birthstone," Chrissy had said that day at the mall. "A garnet. And mine's right there! Aquamarine!" She'd sighed. "If I had been born a day earlier, I would have been an amethyst. But our stones look pretty together, don't they?"

They did, in his humble opinion. And wouldn't you fucking know it, Eddie had found a garnet ring inlaid with two aquamarines on either side at a thrift store in fucking Norton, Kansas when they'd stopped at a motel for a couple days to rest before a show in Kansas City. He'd even had it assessed at a jeweler in Saint Paul a week later just to be sure.

The thing was legit. The jeweler had polished it and everything. From there, it was just actually proposing.

But, as the weeks wore on, Eddie had to wonder if his decision to wait for the right moment might've been a fucking mistake. What was the perfect moment? What if it'd already come and gone and he didn't even know it? What if it never happened and Chrissy got upset and left him before he had a chance? Did she even want to get married? They were still young, and, outside of her shitty high school relationship (that predated her amazing high school relationship with him, thanks so much), Chrissy had never really dated around. What if he popped the question and she laughed in his face?

(She wouldn't. He knew she wouldn't. But, shit, what if, y'know?)

So, yeah. That fucking ring had been sitting in his pocket for, like, ninety-seven days, whispering platitudes and anxieties in equal measure. Building him up and tearing him down at every opportunity, like it found joy in watching him rise higher and fall farther.

Or maybe that was his own stupid brain.

They'd been booked on a mini-tour to open for another band that was just a few steps beyond Corroded Coffin. The money was kinda shit, but last night, at their show in Reno, a few people had been wearing the merch they'd sold weeks prior at a show in Vegas, and that had made Eddie feel like a goddamn superstar. He'd played his fucking heart out, and Chrissy said they sold out at the merch booth before the headliner even took the stage.

He'd even been asked for autographs. What the fuck?

Afterward, he and Chrissy were squeezed together into their motel room's bathtub. It was entirely too small for the both of them, but Chrissy sat between his bent knees, letting the hot water and scented bubbles relax them after what felt like a ridiculously long night. As though he could ever really relax with Chrissy's naked body all wet and pressed against his.

Her head was on his chest, listening to the slow thudding of his heart as the radio played almost imperceptibly in the background. Chrissy had gone so far as to light a few candles, and on the floor next to them was an open bottle of wine they were taking turns sipping.

It had to be somewhere around two in the morning, and Chrissy was probably exhausted. But she knew Eddie was always off-the-walls after a show, so corralling him into a shared bath was to help him wind down.

"You did amazing tonight," she said, her fingertips tapping against his shin where her hand rested. "All of you guys, but you especially. You were electric up there."

"Did you even look at the other guys?"

"Of course! It's hard not to, but I always look at you the most. Promise."

"Pretty sure you're legally required to say that, as I'm the one who makes you co––"

"Eddie."

Laughing, Eddie pressed his lips to her crown. "Thank you, sweetness."

"I'm serious. Like, I think that was the show, you know?"

He knew what she meant. Their discovery show. The one where some talent scout was hiding out in the crowd because he'd heard Corroded Coffin's name making the rounds. The one where they'd be getting a phone call first thing in the morning asking to meet at an agency.

Their we finally fucking made it show.

"Unlikely," Eddie said, wet fingers brushing a few strands of loose hair back over her ear. "But I appreciate the vote of confidence."

Chrissy said nothing for a moment. Then, using some expert maneuvers won over years in dance and cheer, she pivoted, working her lithe little body until she was comfortably situated in his lap. Eddie's arms automatically wrapped around her, sinking lower into the water so she didn't go sliding off his slickened skin and into the faucet.

"You guys are amazing," she said without a hint of irony coloring her tone. Wet hands cupping his jaw, she nudged her nose against his. "You have a contagious stage presence and you play incredibly. There's no way you aren't going to make it. Got it?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asked, eyes on her lips. "You gonna be my little cheerleader the whole way?"

"I've been with you this far, haven't I?" she shot back, wearing that gorgeous grin he loved so much. "I'm not going anywhere, Eddie. You're stuck with me."

"Hey," Eddie said, affronted. "That's my line. Who's stuck with who?"

Wiggling her hips in his lap (which was... yeah, doing things), Chrissy smiled. "I think you're the one who's literally stuck here, love."

Tucking his thumb against her chin, Eddie just chuckled, drawing her in for a kiss that tasted of promise. Of this future she was certain would come to fruition, where they stood hand-in-hand as recognition fell upon the band. Because Chrissy had sacrificed so much for him, for all of them, and Eddie would be damned if he didn't have opportunity to return the favor.

Oh shit, he realized as she chased his lips for another kiss. This is it. This is the fucking moment.

And his pants are on the other side of the goddamn room.

Shit. Shit. Okay. He could make this work.

"Hey, uh." He smiled when she kissed him again, the wet skin of her squirming in his lap again as she made a little huff of disapproval. "Wait, wait, sweetness, hang on."

Chrissy blinked at him. One hundred percent caught off guard because Eddie had never turned down her advances before. (How could he? He had an actual goddess sitting naked in his lap. Who was he to tell her no when she wanted to, y'know, get closer?)

"Did I, um. Did I overstep?"

"No, fuck no, just, uh––" Grabbing Chrissy's long-handled loofa off the tub rim, Eddie set a firm hand on Chrissy's thigh, anchoring both of them as he leaned as far out of the tub as he could to drag his jeans toward them. Sloshing water out of the side and making Chrissy yelp his name as she grabbed his shoulders to hang on.

The handle slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor with one pant leg right there. Eddie leaned further out, stretching his fingertips as Chrissy squealed. He heard the water splashing, but that just seemed a small price to pay.

Whooping in excitement, he managed to get a small piece of denim between his middle and ring fingers, yanking the jeans across the floor and digging around in the pockets for that fucking bag.

"Eddie! They're gonna get all wet!"

"They'll dry," he responded, finally finding the stupid ring bag in his back pocket. He dropped the jeans uncaringly into the puddle he'd created, resettling Chrissy against him and tangling his hands in her hair as he kissed her question of what he was doing off her lips.

"You know I love you, right?" he asked, a little breathless from the combination of half-crawling out of the tub and the spark from their kiss. Chrissy, wide-eyed and confused, giggled a little when she nodded. "Like, more than anything?"

"Yes, Eddie, I know."

"And I wanna spend, y'know, the rest of my goddamn life with you. You know that, too?"

Chrissy blinked, her smile fading with parted lips as realization seemed to dawn new horizons across her face.

"I-I mean, yeah," she said after he waited a second for her answer. "Eddie, what––"

"I, uh, picked this up a while ago," he admitted, brandishing the tiny bag. "Been waiting for, like, the perfect moment, I guess. But, I dunno. Kinda realized that, maybe all our moments are perfect, y'know?"

He opened the bag, tilting it so the ring fell into his opposite palm. Her eyes widened, jaw falling slack as she gasped.

"I just want to make more moments with you, Chrissy," Eddie said earnestly. "Before and after a quick trip to the altar, I mean."

"Oh, my God," she breathed, trembling fingertip reaching out and gently stroking the gold band. "Are you–– Are you serious?"

"You are the one thing in my life I am one-hundred-percent serious about, sweetness," Eddie replied, softly brushing a thumb against her cheek. She glanced at him, so briefly he almost missed it, but she couldn't take her eyes off the ring. "Marry me?"

"Okay," she said, voice still breathless. Blinking, she shook her head as though she were falling out of a trance, her eyes instantly filling with tears that spilled over her cheeks, mixing with the water of their bath. "I mean, yes, yes, of course, Eddie, oh, my God!"

Throwing her arms around him, Eddie heard more water as it splashed over the side of the tub. It made him laugh, burying his face in her hair and holding her close as she cried into his neck.

"I love you," she sobbed, pulling back and letting him open his fist so she could take the ring. "Oh, my God, and it's our birthstones!" The realization made her cry harder, and Eddie had to help her get the ring on her finger. "You remembered!"

"Of course I did," he chuckled, his own eyes wet with the amount of love he felt for this girl. "I remember everything you say to me."

"We both know that's not true."

"Okay, well, I make an effort, at least!"

She laughed through her sobs, pulling him in and kissing him soundly. Crying, laughing harder, then crying some more between desperately locked lips. Completely soaking his jeans next to the tub, but Eddie couldn't care less.

He had his fiancée in his lap.

"I love you," she gasped between kisses. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Love you, too, little wife," Eddie grinned. "So much."

Yeah. Perfect fucking moment.

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #stranger things #chrissy x eddie #ask meme #hellcheer drabble #lil marriage proposal #anon ask #ebongawk ask #sorry this took 84 years anon

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dritaholidays · 2 years

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The stockpile clever mo

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This child care center helps children in the age range of 6 W. WONDER-LAND is a CHILD CARE CENTER in CLEVER MO, with a maximum capacity of 18 children.

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They are registered with the ATF as a Federal Firearms Licensee (FFL Dealer) and their license number is 5-43-XXX-XX-XX-15385. Safe environment with the freedom of home, filled with Love and Support. THE STOCKPILE LLC is a gun shop located in Clever, MO. He caused an almost 2 month delay to my receiving of the suppressor. It's is a small daycare with a Big heart. I can not recommend him to anyone, and I will not do business with them again. I should’ve listened to him.I tired my best to make it work with 417Guns and gave him every opportunity to earn my business. Each month, two lucky ticket holders will each receive one gun from the list below. Each item has been submitted to local and national law enforcement agencies so you can purchase items ethically and safely. Drawing starts when the last ticket is sold or January 10. So I faxed the form myself at the cost of $6 and the next day I was able to resubmit my application.I went to 417Guns because of his advertisements on the radio of how long he had been in business and expertise. The Stockpile Clever MO is like eBay and Amazon’s used good marketplaces but our items come directly from licensed merchants from all over the United States. Thats when I interrupted his next excuse and told him I will do it myself. ( 13JN ) Memorandums Armed Forces : stockpile of weapons, 1669 ( 9FE ) Local. I was told a different story on why he couldnt send it every week. Bradley Veterans Hospital, Kansas City, MO. I bought the gun.I spent the next month trying to get him to fax that form. He called the ATF and confirmed he needed to send the form 3 via a fax. He claimed he was too busy to send the fax because he was going to leave for SHOT Show in a couple days, and I offered to buy a Glock 19 from him on the spot if he would take care of it that day. Ozark, Missouri Hours: Monday Friday: 9AM 6PM Saturday: 9AM 5PM. I explained to the ATF the dealer had the suppressor in stock, and they said it must of been a mix up, the dealer needs to fax in the approved form 3.I went to 417Guns, and spoke to Brent, the owner, explained the situation. When I called the ATF to ask them what happened they explained to me that the dealer was notified in December that due to a lack of an approved form 3 my application was denied.At this point 417Guns knew of the issue for almost a month at least according to the ATF. tons of nerve gas or other agent ' just in case ' is too clever, at best.

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View full listings, live and online auctions, photos, and more. percent stockpile, the destruction of which would be dependent upon the. Online marketplace and direct channel for small retail merchants and everyone else. Browse upcoming auctions from The Stockpile LLC in Clever,MO on AuctionZip today. I found out when I received my refund for the application in mid-january. The Stockpile Clever MO - Buy and sell electronics, collectibles fashion apparel, phones, tools, coins, jewelry, cameras and everything else. The budgeting and ammo allocation is just a really clever way to simplify my. Due to a screw up by the ATF they denied my application for the suppressor on December 9th. Add a little money every month, and you have a stock pile being built up. This edition also contains suggested further reading and notes.I bought a suppressor from 417Guns the day after Thanksgiving 2015. Full Service Firearms And Pawn Shop With Focus On Jewelry and Antiques located in Clever, Mo. In Ian Johnston's introduction to his authoritative new translation, he examines the early appearance of key philosophical ideas in the text, the ten core doctrines of Mohism and the work's authorship. As one of the first examples of using systematic argument in conceptual debate, The Book of Master Mo represents a groundbreaking shift in Chinese philosophy. of nerve gas or other agent ' just in case ' is too clever, at best.

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From encouraging universal love to condemning excess at funerals, the essays describe how to maintain peace and harmony, but as an expert in defensive warfare Mo Zi also wrote fascinating technical tips for defending a city, including methods for the identification of spies and how to stockpile food. it behooves nations with no current stockpile of chemical weapons to produce. Written in China in the fifth century BC, The Book of Master Mo is a hugely influential collection of philosophical writing, intended to deal with the turbulence of the Warring States period. 'Where there is universality, those living in large states don't attack small states, those living in large houses don't bring disorder to small houses, the strong don't oppress the weak'

#The stockpile clever mo

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galadrieljones · 5 years

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 43

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 43: Origin Story

There was an old fence that lived in Blackwater, a man who kept a room in a boarding house not far from the lumber yard. He had known Hosea and Dutch in their old days running booze in Kansas, a lot of years before, and he came down to Blackwater sometime in the late-eighties. Since then, he had served as a fence for many unsavory years, and now he was a cobbler and he owned a pawn shop. He was sixty-two with white hair, and he did not do much fencing anymore but for with those who he remembered from the past. He was just an old broker from the plains now, named Frum. He’d been away from home for a very long time.

That afternoon, when she came through his door in a crisp blue dress, he remembered Mary Beth, from the last time the van der Lindes had blown through town. She wore a handkerchief around her hair as if to conceal her identity, but she was such a pretty girl that he would always remember for her canny sensibility and her beautiful contraband, and her Kansas roots. There had been Pinkertons in Blackwater for a long time, it was true, but he had not seen them in some weeks. He did not know where they had gone to nor why, but even still, he was pretty sure they would not remember her. She was not a gunslinger. She was not the thing they wanted. She was, to the undiscerning, despite her mild beauty, forgettable. It was an aspect of her art.

“Mary Beth from Shawnee,” he said when she came to his counter. “You're a sight for sore eyes. It's been some time.”

She removed the handkerchief from her hair and approached demurely. She looked sad. She was alone. “Hello, Mr. Frum,” she said. “How are you?”

“Old, and older,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “Are the boys back in town? Or just you.”

She smiled. “Just me.”

“How can I help you today, my dear?”

She reached into the pocket of her dress. On his counter then, she placed a time piece—a most lovely pocket watch of the highest and most elite design, made of gold, pieces dipped in silver, jewel-crusted from here to there. It looked Italian-made, with many embellishments. It was mighty elegant. He had rarely seen anything like it.

“My word,” he said. “What have we here?”

“Just a piece of jewelry,” she said, sighing, "that I need to sell. How much do you think I can get for it?"

Frum removed his monocular from a drawer. He held it up to his eye and examined the watch. “This is not just a piece of jewelry, Miss Gaskill. This is extraordinary,” he said. There were diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. The jewels were not massive, carat-wise, but there were so many. “It is worth quite a bit."

“More than you keep on hand?”

“No.”

“Can you hock it?” she said, sounding nervous. “It’s hot. I’m not sure what can be done.”

“I can hock anything, Miss Gaskill. I been in the game a long time.”

She blushed. “That’s a relief,” she said. “For a second, I was worried the effort had been fruitless. And it ain’t Miss Gaskill no more, for the record. It’s Mrs. Morgan now. I got married.”

He removed his monocular, looked at her and her many freckles. “Mrs. Arthur Morgan?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

His heart warmed considerably. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He took a deep breath. He put the monocular away in a drawer. The room was wide and warm and full of baubles. None of them shone as brightly as her that day. He remembered Arthur. Arthur was a good man. “I will give you $1800 for this watch, Mrs. Morgan,” he said. He set the piece back down on the heavy, polished wooden counter. He slid it toward her, and then he folded his hands together. “But I must inform you, I reckon you may be able to pull nigh on $2000 in a big city. Could be more if you get a sucker. Blackwater ain’t no cow town, but it ain’t much for glitz and glamour neither. It’s ranchers, land rich only. I’ll have to move this watch many miles. It will find sale in New York, or Boston. St. Denis, maybe.”

“This watch cannot find itself in St. Denis,” she said, serious. “I hear what you’re saying, but that can’t happen. I can’t fence it there, and it can’t be sold there. In fact I can’t fence this watch nowhere but here—well, maybe one other place but that place is a cow town and I am sure they don’t got the means for it. So I will take the $1800. Thank you, sir.”

He studied her, how she seemed a little wayward. They shook on it. It was a deal. “Where’d you come by this anyway?” he said. “You don’t have to say. I’m just curious.”

“A rich Italian,” she said, tucking the hair behind her ears. “Real dumbass, mind you. He ain’t none the wiser, Mr. Frum, but St. Denis is where he makes his home in the states, and so you catch my drift.”

“I do.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded then. He told her he would be right back. He went through the door behind the counter, which lead to a backroom where he kept his safe. He turned the combination and carefully counted and removed $1800, cash money, strapped it, and placed it in a leather envelope. He then closed the safe, came back to where she was leaning on her elbows, dreamily admiring the odds and ends of the store. When he returned to the counter, she smiled and knitted herself together. They completed their transaction. He wrapped the watch in a piece of suede and placed it in the drawer beside the monocular.

Mary Beth counted the bills. $1800. Truth be told, it was more than she had expected, but not by much. She pocketed the money. It was a heavy take, and she ultimately felt good about it. “Thank you, Mr. Frum,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“Is everything okay?” he said, placing his hands in his pockets. “You seem different. Not like the spritely girl I knew when y’all moved through here some months ago.”

“I ain’t spritely no more,” she said, shrugging. “That’s for sure. But I’m okay, Mr. Frum. I am just different. I am doing my best.”

“That is all one can hope for,” he said. “Where is Arthur? Is he here with you, in Blackwater?”

“No,” she said. "He ain't." She swallowed some air, though her throat felt dry. She placed the scarf back over her hair, tied it under her chin, put on a happy face. She did not care to elaborate that day. “Thank you again, Mr. Frum. For I will see you again.”

“I hope so,” he said. He smiled warmly, his eyes sparkling like little shells. “Give Arthur my best. And Dutch, and Hosea.”

“I will.”

She left the pawn shop. Outside, Call was leaning against a lamp post, reading the newspaper. He had his wide-brimmed hat, his face cast in shadow. The local law were all sleeping, that is mostly what she noticed that day. Nobody cared about them. It was a ghost town. She wondered, all at once, what the hell they were all so afraid of? Coming back here. This place, it was meaningless. When Call saw her, he folded the paper and tucked it into his back pocket.

“How’d you do?” he said.

“Very well,” she said.

“Where to next,” he said. “We still have an hour before the train.”

But Mary Beth did not care much about the train. She said, “I would just like to take a walk. By the water. Do you mind?”

“Do I mind what.”

“I’d like to be alone.”

This seemed to give him pause. He took a very deep breath. He looked exhausted as he glanced around. “I suppose it is broad daylight,” he said. “Where you aiming to go?”

“Just along the water, then up the road and back. I’ll meet you at the station in thirty minutes time. I ain’t a child, Mr. Call. And I know this town.”

He gazed at her pensively and agreed. “Of course. Stay alert, though. You need anything, you just scream, and I will come a-running.”

“I don’t doubt that, Mr. Call,” she said. She curtsied to him and went on her way.

She walked down the block then, past a stagecoach and the bank, and she turned the corner until she was out of his sight. The city was quiet, and all the men tipped their hats to her respectfully. She walked with her hands cupped together, trying to appear both married and above her station. It was a skill she understood, sort of. The morning was sunny. Whatever storm was moving in the night before had blown by. The rooftops were wet from it, and gleaming. She walked by the penny store where it was she had gone with Sean MacGuire many months in the past. It was where he had purchased that book of poems by W.B. Yeats and then brought it to her in secret, asking if she would teach him how to read. He had been dead now for such a time. She wished it did not have to be so. How she wished. She recalled Arthur, and how he had sounded as he read one of those poems out loud, sitting in Hamish Sinclair’s loft under the pouring rain, the night of their first kiss. It had been their origin story. She took a big breath and said a prayer for him, and for Sean, and then she walked into the Blackwater stables.

“Hello,” she said to the big man in charge. He looked unfamiliar. He was almost as young as she was but he was missing a tooth. She thought he must be running this place for his father. “I am looking to buy a horse. Maybe two.”

He put down the paper he had been reading and looked at her somewhat condescendingly. “What kind of horse,” he said.

“I am interested in only your finest breeds.”

“Such as.”

“Such as an Arabian. Or perhaps a Foxtrotter. I like unusual coats. Of course, this is assuming you got anything at all. I don’t know what kind of circus you’re running here. Have you got taste in ponies?”

“Excuse me?” he said, taken by surprise.

“I said, have you got taste in ponies. I have money, I am in town for one day only, and I am looking to buy, but not from no cub.”

He regarded her anew, in this moment, exited from behind the counter with his hands behind his back. “You know your stuff?”

“Yes, sir, I know my stuff. My husband is a wrangler, and I know my stuff.”

“Well then. In that case, let’s take a look.”

Woodrow Call was standing by, leaning outside the train station with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for Mary Beth and thinking back upon all the mistakes he had made in his life. He was a steadfast man who had come to be so predictable, even he could understand what overcame him that day. He knew it had something to do with Mary Beth, with Arthur, how young they were, her especially. Pregnant, married, new. It was like he had been tasked with delivering them safely unto the ether and though he was proud, he was also terrified. He could not remember the last time he spoke to his own son. This is what he remembered now. Was it five, six months? It’s not that they weren’t friendly, just that their lives rarely touched anymore. He had gone with a cattle drive up to Wyoming the year before and taken a wife in Laramie. She was a butcher's daughter, and religious. Call sent letters every so often, and he received letters in return, but Call had been out of Texas for some time now, and who knows how many where there, waiting for him, unread? He knew he had a grandbaby on the way, or perhaps it had been born already? Most likely not, but still. He planned faithfully to take a train to Wyoming the moment his business east of the Mississippi had come to a close, to see for himself, the baby and the wife. He missed the notion of home. He wanted desperately to get it back, though the days seemed behind him now when he could make one new, and this was a rude awakening.

He took a couple steps off the station platform now and began to scan the streets for Mary Beth. There were many men in high fashion suits waiting for the train. He knew they must have been headed for St. Denis. After some minutes of fretting and glancing at his watch, he finally saw her, but it was a surprise, the thing he saw. She was coming up the thoroughfare on a horse, and yoked to it was another horse. She had two horses. She was a sight to see. He went up to her in the middle of the street, with his hands on his hips, feeling miffed and lost for words.

“What in god’s name?” he said. “Where’d you come by these ponies?”

“I bought them,” said Mary Beth happily. He took her hand as she hopped down, and then she dusted off her blue skirt. They were lovely girls, one of them a sizable Arabian in a rose champagne, the other a hale Foxtrotter in a Silver Dapple Pinto. “From the stable, just now.”

“You bought both of these?” he said. “With what means?”

“I sold Angelo Bronte’s pocket watch,” she said. “There's a fence here in town, an old friend of the gang's. That watch yielded me $1800. And I negotiated these to a good price. Don’t worry. I ain’t been had, Mr. Call. I even got some leftover.”

“Well, I am impressed,” he said, genuine. Though still confused. “I just—explain it to me though. I thought we was taking the train.”

“I know,” she said, “and I’m sorry. I know I should’ve said something. But it just—I wanted to keep it to myself. These isn’t just for the ride. One of them is a gift for Arthur.”

He shifted his weight, one foot to the other. He was smoking a cigarette. “A gift?”

“Yes sir," she said. "Arthur has lost a couple different horses this past year. They died by terrible means. Bloody. His last one, Sarah, she was a Foxtrotter with a champagne coat, and she died not a couple weeks ago. Caught a hail of bullets in a shoot-out with Lemoyne Raiders on the road, and Arthur had to put her down himself. Arthur is a hard man, Mr. Call, as you well know. He has lived a rough life, losing many things, but when it comes to animals, he is soft. He has been putting off getting another horse, though he needs one. Desperately. I don’t think he knows how to move on yet. Nothing is good enough. But I thought—maybe if I give him this gift, he’ll accept.”

Call watched her, closely. The sun was high in the sky now. It must have been approaching noon. “That sounds like a very loving gift, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Thank you.” She took a couple sugar cubes from her pocket. She seemed relieved as she gave one to Call. They fed them to the horses. It was so nice to have them there. They were so alive and big and full of movement.

“Which one will you give him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, gazing upon them, looking dreamy. “They’re both fine fillies. I’ll let him take his pick, and I will ride the other. In the meantime, we can break them in a little. Ride to Valentine, instead of taking the train. What do you think? I mean, I know it ain’t close, but we can do it.”

“I reckon we can,” said Call. Truth be told, he was relieved, but he didn’t tell her that. He wasn’t sure how recognizable she’d be in the Heartlands. He was worried that with Arthur’s name refreshed in the mind of the Pinkertons, hers might be, too.

They started walking those horses down the gravel road then. They were leaving the city, leaving the sorry plains of Blackwater behind. They passed the cemetery, passed the outskirts and weeds and the sleeping homeless man in his union kepi. Now, they headed for the grassy hills, and the prairie canyons. Call didn’t know the backroads, but he reckoned they would just follow the river for as long as they could. Ride up to Cumberland Falls, then trek east past Calaban’s Seat until they hit Valentine. It was gonna be a pretty ride, and he would be glad for the distraction. They mounted up and started riding when they got to the Montana, crossed the river, and then rode till they made it to the Dakota. There, they took a short break on the banks. Call shot a rabbit, which they cooked up on a spit and ate with their fingers. Mary Beth told him about Wisconsin. He thought that sounded real fine, though he did not ask many questions.

Mary Beth had been saving that pocket watch. She didn’t know what for, but she’d been saving. It was a nest egg. It had been a symbol of all the things good that were coming for her. But as she had walked through the dusty old sadness of Blackwater that day, she thought about Arthur, and escaping, and lily farms, and it all began to feel impossible. She wondered, truly, if they would ever leave the gang. Everything, everybody they loved, including each other, was in the gang. Dutch had made them that ultimatum, and how quickly had it dissolved, become nothing? Meaningless. Poof. The same as everything, every day, every score. What was right? If they left now, it would be the dead of winter when they got there, nowhere to live, nowhere to go, in a frozen tundra. If they waited until the baby was born, then would they travel with a newborn, risk the freeze? Or would they wait? How long then, and where? They’d have to leave Lemoyne, all of them, this she had surmised based on the renewed interest from the Pinkertons, but where would they go now? And how would they get there?

Mary Beth had suddenly lost her footing for the future, but it wasn't all bad. She just needed to regroup. She had never been one for anything but dreaming, and so she accepted it was only the now she could control. The here. The things she could touch and see. So she traded in that pocket watch, and she bought those horses. The horses were real, and they had a true practical function. Unlike daydreaming, they did a job. That night, she fed the horses. She did not give them names. She called them both "Pretty Girl." As she brushed their manes and braided their tails and pet their subtle heads, she tried looking forward to Valentine, where it was she was convinced she would see him again. Her handsome husband, safe and sound, who she loved so much. They camped deep in the wooded hills of Diablo Ridge where the trees could not guard them from the stars.

Meanwhile, Arthur and LaBoeuf were a half a day ahead. They had made their swift departure from Braithwaite Manor, left straight away in the morning, before the sun came up. Penelope gifted them each a respectable steed and a set of binoculars. They thanked her sincerely for her trouble, which she waved off in her flippant southern manner and said, “Set them nags free when you’ve done with them, boys. Or sell them. By any means, I don't care. Just don’t bring them back here, for the love of god. Here, they'll die!” She was full of foreboding and mocking scorn for her family, like some gothic horror novel given to him by Mary Beth. He thought it was a bad thing, but at least she had awareness. He hoped one day that she would find a way out of her stifling existence, much like he was trying to escape his own. LeBoeuf was healing already. The wound was not as deep as it had originally seemed, and though he was in some amount of pain, he managed it with whiskey and cocaine gum. Arthur changed his dressings once, and they were able to ride at a brisk pace the whole way to the Heartlands. They did not get held up at all. For they stayed off the beaten paths, as they had nothing for artillery and no means to protect themselves. Arthur knew this would have to change fast, as there was nothing but trouble lurking in this unlucky country—for him, LaBoeuf, everybody really.

They made it to Citadel Rock that evening. It was a fine night, clear and cool, the clouds gone off to the north. They hitched their horses to a tree and climbed the uneven rock formation, Arthur leading the way and hauling LaBoeuf where the ridge was too narrow. When they got to a safe spot with a good vantage point, they laid out, and with their binoculars, took to scoping out the city. It mostly looked empty at first but for a couple of rustlers moving through to the auction yard, stragglers and locals. The day was winding down.

But then they saw some suspicious characters camping in covered wagons outside of the town. Pinkertons, and by the true love in their hearts, they had not expected this.

“Goddam cockroaches," said Arthur. He could not believe his eyes. He was exasperated. "In Valentine? What the hell?"

LaBoeuf said nothing at first. He was staring through the binoculars, chewing gum, looking fed up. He shook his head. He was calculating something. Arthur wondered what was his origin story? Where was this man from.

But instead of asking, he just exhaled. It was a setback. Just that, he told himself. Maybe they would leave. Maybe they would be on their way by morning light. He momentarily feared that Mary Beth and Call may have already been through and been found out, but LaBoeuf promised Arthur that Call would not enter the town without conducting his own recon mission, much like this. So Arthur let all the air out of his lungs and flattened out on his stomach with his cheek pressed to the cold, hard rock, and he closed his eyes and thought about his childhood for some reason, the days before his mother had died, living up in Oregon, and how she used to wash their clothes with a special formula that she mixed herself with herbs from the yard. Mary Beth, she did something similar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it brought him great comfort as he sought to avoid any and all thinking toward the coming days and nights of this goddam longwinded journey to the end.

"I just want to go home," he said, closing his eyes.

"Where's home?" said LaBoeuf, unknowing in the profundity of the question he asked.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #the lily farm #<3

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kansascityhappenings · 4 years

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Retired St. Louis police captain killed by looters during unrest, police say

ST. LOUIS — A retired St. Louis police officer was shot and killed early Tuesday by people who had broken into a pawn shop during unrest that followed a peaceful protest over the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis, police said.

David Dorn, 77, was found dead on the sidewalk in front of Lee’s Pawn & Jewelry. Police have not released details of what led to the shooting about 2:30 a.m. Tuesday and no one has been arrested.

The shooting and theft at the pawn shop apparently was posted on Facebook Live, but the video has since been taken down. It came on a violent night in St. Louis, which saw four officers shot, officers pelted with rocks, and businesses burned and robbed.

Picture of the pawn shop in St. Louis where David Dorn was found shot and killed – Picture from KTVI

Cities across the U.S. have seen protests and violence since Floyd died last week after an officer pressed his knee into Floyd’s neck for several minutes even after the handcuffed black man stopped moving and pleading for air.

Dorn was a friend of the pawn shop’s owner and frequently checked on the business when alarms went off, his wife, Ann Marie Dorn, told the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

Dorn served 38 years on the St. Louis police force before retiring in October 2007. He then became chief of Moline Acres, a small town north of St. Louis.

The Ethical Society of Police, which represents black officers in St. Louis, said in a news release that Dorn was “the type of brother that would’ve given his life to save them if he had to.”

Colonel John W. Hayden, Jr., a St. Louis police commissioner, called Dorn a “fine captain.”

“Many of us, the other officers, looked up to him,” Hayden said. ”“Was very well-liked, very pleasant. And his wife still works here. So a very sad time for our agency. We will honor him.”

State Rep. Rasheen Aldridge, D-St. Louis, told the Post-Dispatch that he watched to Facebook Live post before it was removed.

“Very traumatized right now,” he said about an hour after the shooting occurred. “I’m hurting.”

Nexstar sister station KTVI contributed to this story.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/news/retired-st-louis-police-captain-killed-by-looters-during-unrest-police-say/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2020/06/02/retired-st-louis-police-captain-killed-by-looters-during-unrest-police-say/

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kansascitywatch · 5 years

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ATF seized and recovered 170 guns traced to Missouri pawn shop

Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agents conducted an undercover investigation in October through December that revealed guns were often sold to “straw” purchasers who then provided the firearms to others.

from Top Stories https://www.kmbc.com/article/atf-seized-and-recovered-170-guns-traced-to-missouri-pawn-shop-piazza-jewelry-and-pawn/31264948

from Kansas City Watch https://kansascitywatch.wordpress.com/2020/03/06/atf-seized-and-recovered-170-guns-traced-to-missouri-pawn-shop/

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blogloserstidbits-blog · 6 years

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If you’re feeling down...remember there is a still someone in your hometown trying to be a rapper

“He rode up with her riding bitch while blasting "Dear Mama" in a suburban neighborhood at 1 in the morning“

As the title the suggests, the topic of discussion will be one mans dream of becoming the next Eminem. Is that racist by the way? Like the only similarities he shares with Eminem is that he’s white and raps. To my knowledge I don’t believe he even liked Eminem. It’s like when a black guy sings country music and iTunes labels it “Country Hip-hop” even though he has never rapped in his entire life. Got to love the blatant racism from super “open minded” people in a Northern California. Sorry got a bit side tracked there. Back to the man in question, let’s call him MC Squiggles. MC Squiggles developed a love for rap, as many of us did, in the late 90s. He started “spittin rhymes” by middle school and selling his mixtapes (giving away to be more accurate) in High School. Say what you will, Squiggles never gave up. To this day Squiggles is still trying to make a name for himself in the “Underground Rap Game” of the grimy streets of Tucson. By grimy I mean in the literal sense, roads conditions are subpar at best. Anyway, he usually performs in places like hipster coffee cafes that turn into hookah/vaping lounges after 8PM. Which by the way, if you use a vape and you have said something in the realm of “I want cotton candy dank juice with no nicotine” kill yourself. I’ll touch on that later, back to Squiggles. Squiggles has done everything he could to find his niche in hip hop society. He started wearing flashy jewelry and wife beaters. Unfortunately, his Bolex watch (I wish that was a typo) didn’t gain the street cred he expected. He started hitting on chicks on myspace from poor neighborhoods in Tucson to be able to adapt into their culture. It was like if Avatar was set in the Barrio. Though he was successful with his endeavors at least once. Turned out that the girl he was fucking was also fucking with several members of the local neighborhood crips. For those who don’t know, it’s a club for refined gentlemen who enjoy the finer things in life. Just kidding, turned out the girl he was fucking was referred to as a “strawberry”. For those who didn’t take Urban linguistics classes in college, “strawberry” refers to a woman who is “passed around’ and is usually compensated accordingly. In this case compensation was, if I had to guess, was paid in crack-cocaine. She was a fun character to be around. She had a lot of fun hobbies that the two would take part in. She collected silverware from the various white families she was introduced to through Squiggles. She then would proceed to the shadiest pawn shop one could find and trade the silverware for legal tender. That profit usually funded her favorite and most expensive hobby, horseback riding. By horseback I mean crack and by riding, I mean smoking. That said she did participate in a form of barebacking, because after all she was a “strawberry” (see aren’t you glad I explained that meaning?). Squiggles did not become aware of the other guys until later down the road. Which was interesting because she did not hide the fact she was a crack whore. I heard her reference other guys right in front of Squiggles, but he didn’t seem to catch on. In fact, one day they came by my place on his moped he was illegally driving. Just to be clear, he wasn’t knowingly driving it illegally, his justification was in the State of Arizona you only need a license for a car. Which is not the case, never was and quite frankly I still have no idea who told him this. So back to the time they came over unannounced. He rode up with her riding bitch while blasting "Dear Mama" in a suburban neighborhood at 1 in the morning. Instead of calling my cell phone, or at least knocking, the two decided to sneak in through my bedroom. As I awoke to crack barrio bunny and white Tupac breaking and entering through my bedroom window. I figured that they were going to either kill me or ask to hide out for a while. I found out that they needed to talk to me about a possible pregnancy scare. As to why they came to me still confuses me to this day. It wasn’t like I had the slightest idea of how to proceed. They were older than I was, and I was never the voice of reason before. You will find that waking me up in the middle of the night to discuss something that was none of my business was a trend. But for the first time I thought “Okay I’ll bite”. So, Squiggles says “ay dawg, I thought I pulled out or some shit but she pregnant”. So, at this point I figured they took a few tests and they were positive. “Well does anyone know? You didn’t take the pregnancy test at your mom’s house did you?” I asked. “Nah” said the teenage crack baby “we didn’t take the test, I just know I’m pregnant. It don’t feel right”. I asked “oh so you have been pregnant before?” after about a two second pause she replies “Nah”. At this point I’m waiting for them to connect the dots, and have a “wait that makes no fucking sense” moment. Alas that never happened, which at this point it started to make me feel stupid by association. “Okay, let’s say you are actually pregnant. What would you intend to do with it?” I asked. She didn’t want to go to a clinic, but she didn’t want to keep this imaginary baby. So, I look at Squiggles and asked for his opinion on whether he would want to father this imaginary baby. At this point I came to the realization that this wasn’t some fucked up dream I can wake up from, it was really happening. So, I figured to divert the conversation to something that could perhaps get them the fuck out of my bedroom. I asked him “are you sure it’s yours?” with that he looked at me with a look of full sincerity and said “Are you saying dudes be foundlin my girls pussy?” “yes….yes I am” I said, “nah its mine” he concluded. It’s 2:15 AM, after spending a considerable amount of time in my restroom, Latina Whitney Houston came back saying “Just curb stomp my stomach! Just curb stomp my stomach! You disconnect it and I’ll piss it out.” Squiggles says “that aint how that shit works, you need a vacuum or something”. It is now 2:30AM, Squiggles and Cokey McCrackhead are now discussing a possible at home remedy that could replicate what most go to medical school to learn. Instead of medical equipment they thought a hoover duster and a pair of Jordans would suffice. Instead of correcting anyone, at this point I knew she was definitely not pregnant and the idea of Squiggles curb stomping her stomach was looking more and more appealing. I went into my closet, I had a college anatomy book I was given from my parents. I pretended to find the “abortion” chapter, which didn’t exist. I said “hey guys I have this and it can tell you whether or not “stomping” would work. I knew they wouldn’t check, books to them is like bacon to Muslims. I read and said “in theory that is all an abortion is” and how that same practice has been used for centuries. Squiggles turns to his self-proclaimed “shawty” and she looks at me and asked “is it a bad idea?”. It’s now 3:15 AM, I had to wake up in 2 hours, any moral code does not exist in the name of slumber to me. I looked at her and said “Yes, it both solves the issue of not keeping the baby while also not visiting a clinic”. That was it, DJ Trust-fund and pookie rode off into the sunrise on an illegally driven moped and I never asked about what happened next. You may notice I started writing what the various characters say, these are based (if not verbatim) on what I documented from the time it happened. Yes, that conversation took place. No I didn’t add a convenient Segway with claiming to have a anatomy book, I still have that book and the memories of that night with it. So Squiggles was hard at work trying to become the next big rap star. He categorized himself a KC-Motown rapper, that signifies he is a Kansas City based hip hop artist. So you may be asking yourself “wait, didn’t this guy say that this is in Arizona?” To that I’d say “yes” and if you ask why I will say “no fucking idea”. The stupidity aside, he wasn’t that terrible. In fact I found that his technique was good. His tempo was the same as any other hip hop artist I’ve heard, then again I’m no Dr. Dre. The key issue with his stylings was the lyrics, and that was what kept him from his goal of fame. Then again being from Tucson is another great way to remain out of the spotlight. I swear if I’d ever attempt to publish this I wouldn’t get a chance the second they saw I was from Arizona. If I was from New York or Los Angeles all I would have to do is shit on printer paper and I’d get a book deal. Anyway, his lyrics were mashed up life experiences of famous rappers combined into one. It would be like if someone had the same life experience of Eminem, 50 cent, snoop dogg, and Tupac all in one. We are talking of course of someone who was shot 9 times, while being a member of the crips, whose mom was addicted to pills and got killed sitting next to Suge Knight. None of these were what Squiggles experienced in his life. So, it got to the point where no body understood what he was talking about, mostly because he didn’t either. He didn’t base his lyrics on any of his life experiences. No one really cared right up to when he felt it was socially acceptable to say the word “nigger” or “nigga” which there IS NO DIFFERENCE. While his lyrics were stolen from other popular artist of the time, his own life stories were probably best to be unheard. That, however, was not the case when he introduced (or “dropped” as he put it) his new mixtape. As you may remember, strawberry was also sleeping with the local crip chapter (is that how you refer to them?). Throughout her endeavors she picked up a few things other than crack along the way. Chlymidia, among others, were coursing through her veins and she passed them down to squiggles. Squiggles now experienced multiple different STDs that he ignored. While the details become disgustingly graphic, I will let his lyrics explain. “When I asked, she put up a fuss. Asking why my dick be squirting puss.” -MC Squiggles 2010. Thankfully he tested that lyric with a small audience of friends before going to a show……..no he didn’t. Opening for tech n9ne he discovered the only thing worse than saying the n-word, discussing dick puss. The room, who was filled with the “who’s who” of the Tucson Hip-hop crowd (few fat Mexicans drunk on cough syrup), in a state of confusion. “Dat mutha fucker say dick puss?” one crowd member said. The awkwardness the equivalent of someone shitting their pants came over the crowd. Rather than taking a hint, he continues with the STD riddled rhymes, then continued to confess his love for some girl named Kathleen that none of us even heard of. After the chorus fades out and his song ends the room was silent. Then a loud male voice screams from the bar, “Kathleen gave me crabs!”.

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athurlsou · 6 years

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Sol’s Jewelry and Pawn is the leading pawn shop that gives cash for gold & amazing jewelry in Kansas City. So if you want to pawn, sell, or buy, visit https://solskc.com

#Pawn Shops Kansas City #Kansas City pawn shop #pawn shop near me #pawn shops near me

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heritaglh · 6 years

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At Sol’s Jewelry & Pawn, you can get cash for gold in Kansas City. They also give cash for silver, platinum, diamonds, & other items. The combination of their customer-first attitude and exceptional professionalism always results in customer satisfaction. To know more, visit https://solskc.com/services/

#Cash for Gold Kansas City

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solskcom-blog · 6 years

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Sol’s Jewelry & Pawn is a leading jewelry store in Kansas City that has a stunning selection of jewelry at affordable prices. They sell all types of gold, silver, and diamond jewelry, including Diamond rings and diamond earrings, Bracelets, Wedding Rings, Religious Jewelry, Pendants and more. For more details, visit https://solskc.com/our-jewelry-store/

#Jewelry Store Kansas City

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diamondbancus · 2 years

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Visit Diamond Banc if you want a no-risk, no-pressure, and no-obligation approach to selling. We’ve got industry pros on staff and a reputation across the country as the fairest and most transparent Kansas City Rolex Buyer. Diamond Banc welcomes you to our Kansas City office in the heart of the Country Club Plaza for an expert assessment of your Rolex watch and access to fast cash in a secure, discreet & transparent fashion.

See More: https://www.diamondbanc.com/insider-news/sell-my-rolex-in-kansas-city/

#Selling Jewelry Miami #Rolex loans #Kansas City Pawn Jewelry

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danilirwi · 7 years

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Sol’s Jewelry and Pawn is a full service pawn shop in Kansas City which offers high quality wedding rings, diamonds, baby jewelry, coins, chains, necklaces and more. With more than 30 years of service, they sell gold jewelry at affordable prices.

#Pawn Shops Kansas City #Kansas City pawn shop

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vallielarose00-blog · 7 years

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Coffee Shop Layout By MiShaun Taylor In Service At Isnare.com Free Contents

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Anyone with an old formed fireplace is going to most likely possess a set from smokeshaft brushes about someplace. You could purchase coming from an assortment of various washes and pair this with your selection of bases. Let's, take a look at exactly what you need to understand before coming close to a pawn outlet in Kansas Area.

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mcitomco-blog · 7 years

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Loud and Clear !

The Pioneer Cd car stereo came in its original box along with accessories to be installed in the 2003 Hyundai Sonata. However, the car had already had a CD player and cassette deck. Now you would think with a remote , and a plug in for an aux cord to play music from my phone, the Pioneer would be a no brainer. But then I do have a lot of cassettes, including some that have old recordings of my fathers voice and irreplaceable countdowns of 70s music from WLS Chicago ! So the Pioneer set mint in the box like the Prospector in Toy Story! It sat around with the intensions of installing for at least two years. The closest it came to installation was a quote of 50 dollars. But I always believe that everything happens for a reason, and time usually tells the tale! Fast forward to today, a beautiful Monday in Kansas City. Beautiful not only weather wise but just overall. I was really starting to see value in the world around me. What it takes to live, what it means to appreciate things, and most importantly what things are worth. In this case lets just keep the focus on the Pioneer, a value all its own. Walmart has it priced at 59 dollars new, which mine was, mint in the box remember. Ok wait, before I take you to Wallyworld, a quick side note in relation to the sale of the Pioneer. It was Monday and I didn’t get paid till Friday, my Mother had already gave me a 50 spot, and I had too much pride to ask anyone else. Sadly I shouldn’t even be asking no one for anything, but I got my ass handed to me at the casino. Now if you know Kansas City, you know this is not your town if you gamble. Ameristar, Harrahs, Isle, Argosy, and Hollywood casino in Kansas are all within driving distance of each other. And as any gambler knows, even twenty miles is within driving distance when your looking to change your luck ! Something I should of considered a week and a half ago when I set up camp at the Argosy, not leaving until they took nearly two weeks worth of pay. I made it through the first week, but I’ll be damned if this Friday doesn’t feel like it’s a month away. So back into Walmart and the thought of an easy payout. I thought no receipt, no problem it’s Walmart. But there was a problem, the policy says no exchanges over 25 dollars which was my understanding. What they would do, exchange in store goods for the stereos value, up to 59 dollars. I thought I would get crafty and get items just under 25 dollars in hopes I could return those to another Walmart. This piece of the tale ends quickly with that kick in the teeth feeling. When I go up to customer service for the third time, it was the final, as the stereo rang up as never being purchased and therefore not returnable. Before I could even imagine that, I was walking out of the store Pioneer at my side. Tomorrow would be a new day, today, and today I would find a way! I never had to sell anything at a pawn shop before , all I knew is that I wouldn’t get much. Of course I just needed a few bucks for gas to get me through till Friday. I was at about half a tank thanks to about 12 dollars in dimes. I thought before I painfully embarrass myself further with nickels and pennies, why not use the Pioneer for its sole purpose, to hear pieces of the Joker by The Steve Miller Band. After work I B-lined it to Mission Pawn, the first Pawn shop of Johnson county in Shawnee. It showed, it looked like the one in Las Vegas , seasoned in a way. In fact so reputable that I thought they wanted to send me straight back to Walmart where I possibly would have bought it had it not come with the car. They were nice enough to name drop and I found an outstanding young gent who was glad to ask me what I wanted for it ! I thought with most cars having CD players, and accounting the quick cash effect, twenty dollars seemed fair. The gentleman’s quick compliance at Heartland Pawn and Jewelry in Overland Park Kansas had me thinking I should of started at 30. But again, everyone has a CD player so who knows. I just knew it wouldn’t go above sixty and if it did, someone wasn’t doing their homework. Either way it was an easy transaction. Just a few quick wire checks, Joker...smoker....midnight toker......to make sure everything was in working order and I was golden. Ready to make it through the week, and in my head I thought of a younger day. The car, a 97 Chrysler Lebaron convertible , blue, the exact car in Jumanji as I can recall. I do remember in great detail the reciprocated smile I received on that day as I pulled up next to a pair of girls, top down and 101 the Fox on both radios with yet again the Steve Miller Band and The Joker. Not to be fooled on that warm spring day, right before the light change, I looked over at the pretty young passenger and her back at me. Both of us in key, "really love your peaches, want to shake your tree".

#loudandclear #casino #pawnshop #Jackson #youth #pioneer #Hyundai #Heartland #sunshine #Friday #blessed

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