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courtingchaos · 9 months ago

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The Boy is Mine (Meg’s Version)

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

For @carolmunson little prompt game/request/event/whathaveyou. Day week late and a dollar short as usual but I just can’t bust them out like I used to (ha ha ha). Event rules here. This is short and sweet because I’m not allowed to be precious about my writing anymore. It creates the anxiety in me.

Warnings: Weed smoking, drinking, tattooing (inebriated and unschooled), allusions to sex.

Word Count: 1.6k

A day spent rotting away in the dark recesses of his room. No Wayne, away on a hunting trip with his VFW buddies, and no work. Two days to yourselves with one reserved for outdoor activities and today set aside to spend the better part of the day in bed. The rain is what woke you up first, unexpected, the hard and sudden pattern beaten into the corrugated metal jolting you from your cocoon of worn soft sheets. The scratch of a record and the piney smoke of Rick’s good weed pulling you from the bed and into your discarded clothes.

You catch sight of Eddie moving around the kitchen in just his boxers, joint tucked neatly into the corner of his mouth that mutters along with Zeppelin.

“Just gonna abandon me like that?” You ask behind him, your hand stuck in the sleeve of your t-shirt. He turns before you can get it unstuck and he gets an eye full of your chest while you unintentionally flash him, his grin widening.

“Well good evening to me.” He leans against the counter where you can see two pizza boxes that weren’t there earlier and you try to reach past him but he snatches your hand in his and pulls you in for an embrace. Half hug, half struggle on your end while you try for the pizza. “Would you just hug me?” His laugh is low and scratchy from sleep and smoke, smoke that rolls from his mouth off his words. You just purse your lips at him until he gives in and places the damp paper between your pout with a sigh. “You just want me for my weed and my body huh?”

“Oh don’t be like that, you know that isn’t true!” You snag a slice and slip out of his grip with a grin and his joint to toss yourself on the couch. “I also want you for your mixtapes and the rides to work.”

Eddie watches you from under the cabinets with glassy eyes, a smirk playing on his lips while you shove half the slice in your mouth and rest the joint in the ashtray beside you. The tv plays the local news on almost mute while he moves around the kitchen again, cups clinking and fridge door shutting before he joins you on the couch in drape over your hip. A chipped high ball glass gets nudged in front of you on the side table before the cheap bottle of wine you brought over hovers in front of your face with the strain of his stretch.

“I ran out of nice cups your highness, I hope this is okay.” The liquid almost sloshes out onto the veneered table top but Eddie catches the slip of his fingers, neck of the bottle clutched tight in his fist so he can pour his own glass before setting the bottle down on the floor.

“No Garfield mug?”

“That stays on the wall now, I’m afraid.” With a sigh he nudges down to wedge behind you and prop himself up on an elbow, long arm reaching over to steal his weed back. “After Wayne found it on the floor that last time.” A pointed look at the back of your head that you can feel without seeing.

“I apologized for that.”

“I know, but he’s a stickler for his mugs my dear.” He runs a flat palm under your shirt and up your back, blunt nails scratching lightly on their way down. Over your shoulder he watches the news with you, half paying attention while he intermittently switches between rubbing your back and holding the joint over for you to pull off of. By the time the high school scores are being discussed you’ve hit a gentle high that relaxes you back into his chest, almost empty glass of wine cradled to your own. In the back of your thoughts you remember one of your weekend plans and try to remember if you brought your sketchbook with you.

Lips pressed to your temple Eddie whispers into your hair when he notices the crease in your brow. “What’s up?”

“Thinking.”

“I can tell.” A small nip at the high point of your cheek that makes you giggle. “Something wrong?”

“No, I just was thinking about that stick and poke idea.”

“Oh!” Suddenly his voice is bright and he sits up to look down at you. “You wanna do that?”

Before you can answer him he’s crawling over you, avoiding kicking over the empty bottle of wine on his way off the couch and back down to his room. A moment later he scurries back out with a big smile and a small tin box that rattles in is hands when he holds it out to you to take.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What’s your plan? What are you gonna put on me permanently?” He taps his feet against the carpet and you give him a once over, his small smattering of tattoos moving with him as he wiggles around anxiously. The glassy look that you know mirrors your own gives you half a minute of pause before you get up to find your bag and root around for the small notebook you usually take with you.

Eddie had watched over your shoulder one afternoon while you had doodled mindlessly and had suddenly pushed his finger into your pencil lines with a gasp.

“That one.”

“What about it?” You laugh at him when he invades your space.

“I want that on my leg.”

“A tattoo?”

“Yeah! We can bring it in and see if they can do it justice or,” he gives you a quick peck on the forehead, “You could always do it.”

Flipping to the page with the simple heart and dagger you show it to him with a raised eyebrow. “You still want this one?”

He gives it a glance before looking at you with an easy grin. “Unless you have something else in mind.”

A shake of your head before you grab one of the kitchenette chairs for him to sit in. He snags the remote and looks for anything on tv while you search for a clean glass and paper towels. When you come back to him he’s already pulled the coffee table over and left the box open, one of the throw pillows tossed on the floor between his feet for you to sit on.

“Get a little peckish out there?” He nods at your hands full of supplies, the tub of vanilla frosting hidden behind the glass of water.

“No, this is for you so you don’t get fidgety.” You drop it in his lap with a spoon and he rips into it before you can sit fully, the giggles between you two quiet and infectious. It’s quiet work while you find the perfect spot on his thigh for the simple drawing and use the makeshift safety-pin-turned-needle to gently draw out the shape with the India ink.

“You sure you shouldn’t make it a little bigger?” Eddie asks around a glob of frosting. He’s not demanding, anything but, however he gazes down at you with such an easy countenance you can’t find the right words to argue with him.

“Do you want it bigger?”

His head tilts while he admires your work, a low hum from the back of his throat while he thinks it over. “Just a skosh.”

He shares his frosting with you like he did his joint, holding the spoon down for you to eat off while you start over and finish, presenting his thigh to him with a flourish.

“Perfect.”

“Okay, now hold still. I don’t want to hurt you.” You dip the tip of the pin into the ink and look up at him watching you. He’s still firmly in the giddy part of his high and he can’t help but smirk at you. “But what if I like that?”

All you can do is roll your eyes at him before you set to your work. Steady pokes against his pale thigh that follow along your faint sketch, the heart a simple curve you can get lost in while Eddie watches you with rapt attention.

“I like watching you work.” He says lowly, frosting forgotten in his hand. You only answer him with a smile while you get more ink on the pin and start working on the point of the dagger, his hiss the only sign of his discomfort. Behind you the TV is just noise that neither of you pay attention to, a little bubble of contentment engulfing the two of you.

“You push your jaw forward when you concentrate.” He whispers while holding out a bite of frosting for you to take. “It’s cute.”

Your breath breezes over his sore thigh, a cool break from the mounting burn of his new tattoo. Finally you look up from your work to lick the spoon and you have to laugh at his groan.

“Pervert.” You tease while scooting in closer to him.

“How else would you want me? Decent?” He scoffs.

You sit up to admire your work, checking for any missed spots. “Never.” Your lines aren’t perfect but it’s yours and it’s on Eddie and he let you put it on him. In his skin. There’s a weird weighty feeling in your chest and before you can stop yourself you drop a kiss on the inside of his thigh, just under the new ink.

His hair curtains around you when he leans down to mimic you with a soft kiss to the back of your head. “If you aren’t careful,” He mutters against you, his smile evident, “we’re gonna have a problem maybe.” He teases you with fingers that brush against your hairline.

“I don’t know if I’d call it a problem, wasn’t that kind of the point of this weekend?”

“You’re absolutely right.” He lets you lean back into him as he sits up, frosting forgotten when your head finds its place in the crook of his hip, your handiwork just out of view.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson Fluff #My Work #My Fic

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innovtouchsolutions · 1 year ago

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How Corrugated Boxes are Revolutionizing E-commerce Packaging

The growth of the internet has not only changed the way we connect and engage with one another, but it has also transformed our way of purchasing products. With the increasing popularity of e-commerce, demand for the best-quality corrugated boxes also increased.

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Full overlap

Auto Bottom

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Roll end frond tuck

One panel folder

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liddonburns · 4 years ago

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There is a house in the field. It is decrepit and abandoned and time has taken to it like nails to a chalkboard. The blue paint of its walls peels off like sunburnt skin, thin and molting in your fingers.

When you look up at the house—glimpse in through some of the dusty windows that haven’t been smashed—sometimes you see things. Staggering feet amoung the bugs. A respirator. Toy cars on the floor and a tin of sustagen spewn out across the grimy floor.

The sun flays down on your back and you can feel the sweat on your forehead go cold. Your muscles suddenly stiffen. Blood vessels ruptured under the skin as the smell washes over you. Someone’s house. That familiar smell. But rotted, gone sour somehow.

A dog starts to bark. The sound scuffing closer. A stub where it’s tail should be.

You go and don’t come back for a while.

The day you return to the house is chilly. Well, chilly in the only way the weather knows how to be—a blanket of down over your head and dew soaking your shoes and the sighing start of the wind as it ruffles your hair.

Today you have decided to go inside the house.

Your mum’s been inside before. She’s told you stories of armchairs facing walls and long-gone tin sheds taken back by the scrub. You wonder if the armchair’s still there, and start forward to find out.

You enter through the little stone garage. Normally, you would have gone through the door, but the front doors were glass and they were shattered and boarded up a long time ago.

The garage is set under the house, and from where you stand, you can see the set of wooden stairs leading up to the main portion of the house. Beside you is a metal room, about three meters on all sides and empty save for the dust and a cobweb hung across the door-less entry like a banner. There is no spider, and you don’t wonder where it went.

Instead, you walk forwards into the cool of the shelter. Your shoes make prints in the dust and, when you notice, a tiny part of you glimmers in relief that if your exploration were to be abruptly ended, there would still be a trace of you left. Not that you believe in those sort of things. You believe in squatters, but surely you would have noticed someone living here by now.

You walk past a dusty set of bins and a clutter of empty boxes as you make your way over to the stairs. They are hardly more than wooden planks, so you can see the little blue blanket tucked underneath the stairs, collecting dust. It’s patterned with cartoonish stars and the name ‘Zeke’ is branded in all capital letters across the middle.

Briefly you wonder who Zeke was, or is, before you keep moving.

Upstairs, you’re faced with a tiny kitchen, separated from the carpeted loungeroom by a dilapidated breakfast bar, the linoleum of which is moldy and faded.

The tiles in the kitchen are cracked and dirty. In some places little plants poke through, premature leaves catching bright in the afternoon sun.

On the bar is an opened jar of baby food and a spilt tin of sustagen, yellowed powder spilling over the counter onto the carpet below. There, a sprawling semi-circle of rusted toy cars and what looks like an oxygen mask but for a child.

Some of the kitchen cupboards are open and inside cereal boxes and canned tomato peek out at you from wooden doors swung open and swelled by the wind and rain.

You wander around the loungeroom. It’s small, but homey. You look out the full-sized window on the far wall and look down at the rocks and red dirt and the straw of the grass. It’s strange being on the other side of the glass.

It’s strange standing in so much glass—shards of it thrown about the room like a splay of thick, clear cards whose edges had been ripped and chewed on. Looking at it tastes like cardboard in your mouth, corrugated against your teeth and spit gathering in your throat. You wonder why someone smashed the glass doors in the first place. Why the people who boarded them up hadn’t even been bothered to clean the glass up, leaving it as chunks of ice and a fine sprinkle of dust across the carpet.

When the knot in your stomach toughens, you go to the next floor. The staircases are never more than a few steps—half rot, half dust—but they don’t give way beneath your feet. You pause at the top and glance down from where you had come. A gaping blackness catches your eye. A hole in the wall above the steps, big enough to climb through. Looking into the dark makes you feel dizzy. It’s absolute, almost choking, like moss in your lungs, like chalk on your tongue. You look away.

Where you are standing at the top of the stairs is an intersection. To your right is an open door into what looks like a bedroom. To your left a broken toilet beside the open entry to the bathroom. In front of you the entryways to two rooms. A sticker of a butterfly is stuck to the window opposite to you, inside one of the far rooms. It looks like it’s made of stained glass—syrupy red and blue and yellow.

You go into the bathroom first. Moss replaces the grit in the tiles, stripes of green through the grimy checkered floor. The sink is cracked, the handles rusted to stone. The mirror is split in two and the brown backing peeks out at you from between the reflective shards. There is a chicken bone in the shower and the water doesn’t work.

By the open doorway to the bathroom is a little cupboard like a pantry. It’s empty, but you imagine it would be good for storage as it’s big enough for a fully sized human to sit in.

The room across from the bathroom looks out of place compared to the rest. It’s empty aside from the metal frame of a foldable bed in one corner, white paint chipping away to reveal dust and soot. The walls have been freshly painted, a deep cornflower blue like the sky on an empty summer day. The wall opposite to the doorway is completely glass from about halfway up. You walk over to it and the wooden floor feels rickety beneath your feet. You try not to mind it.

The window comes up to your hip, segmented by little black bars and showing the view of the empty valley. Rolls of dead grass. Clusters of trees, pale trunks pitted with burn marks, huge bristly bushes of leaves swaying in the breeze. Paths of red dirt scrubbed out by wandering animals, including yourself.

The sun comes out from behind the mask of clouds and, for a few moments, the whole world is painted lighter. Then it fades again, sun eclipsed by the slate cotton of the drifting clouds. Down in the field, your eyes catch a few magpies, pecking aimlessly in the dirt. You smile at them. Wonder where the dog went.

Next is the two last rooms. The one with the butterfly sticker is small, the single rickety bedframe only leaving a strip of floor to stand. The window isn’t big either, only spanning a meter at most. It shows only the branches of a scrubby tree, a few winding branches ending in a splintered javelin—a scrawled epitaph written by ants etched through the wood.

The last room isn’t large either. It’s got another bedframe in it, rusted and white like the one from the room with the blue walls. The wallpaper is peeling and chalky and smells wet even from the doorway. On the rooms right is a flimsy cabinet and a chest of drawers. The cabinet, through big enough for you to stand in, is empty. The drawers, meanwhile, are not.

When you force open the top drawer, struggling with the scraping wood which had long forgotten how to move, there is a little dead bird, feathers matted and eyes gone. On the other side of the drawer, is a piece of dog feces, dried and black. You hear it roll when you force the drawer back closed.

In the second drawer is a grocery list—‘milk, baby food, flower seeds, soap, Cornflakes’. It looks like it was written on the back of a receipt, but the ink on the other side is too faded to make out.

The rest of the drawers are empty, cloth lining stuffy with dust.

When you walk back down both set of stairs, you mull over things. You have a lot of questions but no answers. As you pass the bins, you wonder if that is a bad thing.

Before you go, you step inside the little metal room by the exit, ducking under the bare spider’s web. Inside, your skin prickles, but you can’t make out whether there was really a change in temperature or not. You decide maybe there was, since the room does bare resemblance to a cold room, despite how strange that seems.

After a minute, you give into the rash of goosebumps across your skin and leave the possibly cold room.

As your feet crunch down on the dead grass outside, you wonder whether you ought to ever go back into the house again. By the time you are home, you still aren’t sure.

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lewismorgancbz · 3 years ago

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angrybearbread · 3 years ago

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customboxesuk · 5 years ago

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Ideas For Packaging To Keep Your Muffins Fresh And Attractive

Muffins are a breakfast item, embedded deep in the western culture. A coffee and a muffin, are the go-to option for most students, teachers, business personnel and basically anyone, in the country. This product, albeit not the healthiest is one favoured by most because of the convenience it offers. Convenient as it may be, some people choose it because of its taste. While cupcakes are mini cakes, muffins are a part-raised flatbread or a cupcake-like quick bread (sweetened). If you run a bakery and are looking for new and innovative ideas to package and retail your muffins in, read on below for some inspiration.

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Roll end boxes with lid: Much like roll end tuck top boxes, roll end boxes with lids are also one of the most commonly used packaging boxes in the food and beverage industry. These boxes are multipurpose in such a way that they can be used for more than just packaging muffins. Need to package cookies, pastries or something savoury? Roll end boxes with lid have got you covered. Moreover, like most boxes, these can also be incorporated with a window on top for better visibility of the muffins inside. Side lock six corner boxes: One of the safest options to go with when packaging food items, side lock six corner boxes prove to be extremely useful as they do not disengage easily. They are easy to open and close without ruining the contents inside. Side lock six corner boxes can either have a window die-cut on the lid or on the front side of the box to attract customers, by showing off the delectable bakery items to their full potential. Most packaging companies can customize these boxes as per the requirements and the specifications of the client, printing, embossing, debossing and a myriad of other options which can make the boxes attractive.

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mrderwrtr · 5 years ago

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A Hero Dead & Gone

It was snowing again. An inch or more had fallen, covering the slush and ice the thaw from the last two days had left behind. He liked the snow. It made everything quite.

Rush hour traffic was dying down.

A pair of police cars blew through the intersection at the far end of the block, siren blaring, breaking the quiet. Red and blue lights glittered off the fresh blanket of snow.

Alec Dorsey tapped another Newport out of the hard pack, pinched it between his chapped lips then tucked the pack back into the inside pocket of his baggy leather jacket. He watched the two patrol cars as they disappear into the lights of the downtown skyline.

A cloud of smoke rose up around his head. He turned his attention from the street to the fluorescent bathed entrance to Ellis Memorial Veteran’s Hospital. He took another drag on the cigarette then pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.

He felt for the little green bottle in the right hand pocket of his jacket, found it then gave it a quick shake. There were less than a dozen pale blue football shaped pills left.

*****

Snow flurries swirled around the scrap yard, whipped up by the frigid wind sweeping over the levee of the Little Cree River. A tall, wiry red-headed man dressed in a pair of Carhart overalls and a baggy black t-shirt made his way across the yard, a battered black cellphone pressed against his ear. He threw a half-hearted wave back at the heavy-set man in the shack by the scales.

The rumble of a diesel engine caught his attention. He stopped and looked up to see a dirty white box truck roll through the gate by the office. His attention turned to the dock of the warehouse. He frowned as he pulled the phone away from his ear. “Dorsey…,” he shouted.

The truck swerved around him, made an arch through the loading dock then came to an abrupt halt.

The man shrugged.

Alec sat back on the toilet of the Port-o-Let and stared at the powder blue, oval shaped pill in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes as wind buffeted the outhouse. His heart was pounding. A film of sweat coated his forehead. He took a deep breath, quickly swallowed the pill then ran the back of his hand across his brow.

After a moment, he forced himself to stand and pushed open the door. A rush of cold air swirled around him. He stumbled out into the scrap yard and saw a dirty white box truck backing into the dock.

“Dorsey,” the red head shouted. Alec looked over at him. “Let’s go…,” he said and gestured to the truck.

Another gust of wind whipped through the dock. Alec pulled the collar of his jacket up around his ears and turned his back to the wind. He leapt up the cement stairs, grabbed one of the pallet jacks parked by the bay doors and hurried toward the truck.

“Cesar,” he shouted. “What we got today?”

The man shrugged out of his parka, tossed it onto a stack of plastic skids then looked back at him. “Shit,” he yelled back. He ran toward the edge of the dock as the truck smashed into the rubber bumpers.

The passenger door of the truck swung open and a beefy blond haired man hopped out. Alec threw up his hand, waving him off. The man stared at him a moment, shook his head then turned and made his way around the front of the truck.

Cesar knelt at the edge of the dock, unlatched the rear door of the truck and shoved it open. He stood, flipping the metal ramp on the edge of the dock with the toe of his boot. It landed with a thud against the floor of the truck

The sound of it banging against the roof of the truck echoed off the cinderblock walls. Alec felt his body shake. He stared at the truck. The sound echoed in his head. He took a quick step backward and stumbled over the steering wheels of the pallet jack.

The back of the truck was filled with old kitchen appliances, broken furniture. Half a dozen battered cardboard boxes were filled with empty bottles, cans and bundled newspapers and magazines. Another pair of boxes held an assortment of computer parts. The load shifted, sliding forward and the headboard of a wrought iron daybed fell, bouncing over the shell of a refrigerator.

“What are you staring at?” Cesar said then quickly turned and grabbed the handle of his hand truck. “Let’s go, bro’…it’s cold.”

A tall, pale-skinned man with a stocky build in a dirty orange and black windbreaker and desert camouflage pants came out of the warehouse. “Hey, Dorsey…,” he said, slapping him on the shoulder.

Alec jumped, startled and faced the man. “Jesus, Cody…,” he said and shrugged him off.

“You got a cigarette?”

He dug a pack of Newports out of the inside pocket of his coat along with a chrome Zippo. “You need to start buyin’ your own.”

Cody chuckled. He glanced over at Cesar heading into the truck then pried one of the cigarettes out of the pack. “Fuck you,” he chuckled and lit the cigarette. His attention turned to a primer colored Chevy S-10 rolling past the loading dock. “Looks like your friend’s back.” He handed the pack and lighter back.

“Fuck,” Alec hissed and shook his head. He caught Cesar as he came out of the truck with a box of computer parts. “You and Cody handle this ‘till I get back?”

Cesar looked past him at the big red-headed man. “Come on, man,” he groaned, trying to keep his voice down. He shook his head angrily and pulled his load off the truck.

“It’ll only take a minute.” He turned away from him and jumped off the side of the dock then headed for the scales.

A thin, brown-skinned man in an ill-fitting green and white Philadelphia Eagles starter jacket and jeans slid out from behind the wheel of the Chevy. He smiled at Alec then raised his arms. “What up, Money?” he bellowed.

Alec grinned. He grabbed the man by his arm and pulled him into a shoulder hug. He glanced at the load of copper wire and car parts in the bed of the truck. “What ‘cha got there?”

“It’s all good,” he said. He looked over at the shack beside the industrial sized scales then back at Alec. “Got it from that school demo ova’ on Broadway.”

Alec threw a glance at the booth and exhaled through his pursed lips. “You get it legal?”

“How you gonna ask me dat, Alex?”

“Jay…,” he started and slowly made his way around the truck. “You know the deal. A guy nearly fried himself two weeks ago trying to steal this shit.”

“It’s all clean,” Jay said. “Trust me.”

Alec looked over the collection of scrap metal, copper wire and assorted car parts again. A metal box lay on its side in the corner of the truck under a coil of tangled cables and what looked like pieces of a carburetor. “What’s that?” he said, staring at the box.

Jay looked into the truck. “Shit…,” he said and reached for the box.

“Woah…,”Alec said and stiff armed him.

“What?” He reached into the truck bed and pulled the box out by the handle. “It’s just my gear…forgot I put it in there.” He opened the driver’s door and tossed the box onto the seat.

Alec closed his eyes a moment, took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Pull…pull it up,” he said, then turned and started for the shack.

“You alright, man?” Jay said as he watched him walk pass.

He nodded then hurried over to the corrugated metal shed by the scales.

Nicky Combes sat behind the cluttered metal desk refilling his coffee mug from a tall, bullet-shaped thermos. “It all on the level?” he said, not bothering to look up at Alec. He glanced out at the truck through the scuffed Plexi-Glass window and sipped his coffee.

“He says it is,” he said and leaned against the doorway. “You give a good deal?”

“It is,” he said and snorted. He gave him a sideways glance as he screwed the top back on the thermos. “And you believe him.”

“Yeah, I trust him,” Alec said and stared at the ruddy faced man. “He said he got it legal.”

Nicky swallowed another gulp of tepid coffee then looked up at him. “Where’s his paperwork?”

“Come on,” Alec said and pushed away from the doorway. “Why you gotta….”

“Alec…,” he said, cutting him off. He stood. The bulk of his six foot frame seemed to fill the room. “You’re a smart kid. You know half the scrappers come in here grabbed the shit while somebody’s back was turned.”

“He says it’s clean, Nick,” Alec snapped. “He got it from a school demo.”

“What school?”

Alec turned and watched the skinny black man unload the truck.

Nicky swallowed the last gulp of coffee then stepped around the desk. “Weigh him up and get ‘im the fuck outta here before Dennis sees ‘im,” he grumbled as he brushed passed him and walked out of the booth.

“Where you goin’?”

“To take a piss,” he shot back.

Alec watched him amble out of the shack. A boy on a BMX bike pulled up behind the truck towing a make-shift trailer loaded with bags of empty cans.

“Take care of that one too,” Nicky shouted

He sighed angrily then grudgingly slid into the chair behind the desk.

*****

Alec Dorsey took one last drag on his Newport then pitched the butt into the puddle of rain water collecting under the wheel of the silver and black Lincoln parked at the curb. His hands were shaking. He brushed rainwater off the shoulders of his windbreaker as he jogged down the redbrick steps and pulled open the mahogany door of the Red Bull Tavern.

The late afternoon crowd was thinning out when he walked in. Half a dozen regulars sat at the bar while another dozen or so were scattered around the bar at the black lacquered tables. A heavy-set, gray haired man in a camouflage jacket and khakis sat on the edge of a stool at the end of the bar. He turned to see Alec walk through the door and his weathered face broke into a smile. He slid off the stool and snapped a salute.

Alec let a crooked grin show on his face. He lazily made his way over to the bar.

“How ya doin’, Specialist?” the big man said and laid his meaty hand on his shoulder.

He nodded. “I’m alright,” he mumbled. He looked past the man at the curly haired blond woman behind the bar and nodded to her then found a seat at the water-scarred redwood counter.

The big man sat beside him. He glanced down at his trembling hands then reached for his bottle of beer. “You sure you’re alright, son,” he said.

Alec looked over at him then quickly curled his hands into fists. “Yeah…I’m fine, Russ.” He shrugged. “Went by mom’s this morning.”

He turned up his bottle. “Yeah…,” he said and swallowed a gulp. “How’s she doin’?”

Alec smirked. “She’s ok…Rob’s wife’s pregnant again.”

“What can I get ya’?” the blond said and leaned against the counter.

He looked up at her. “Hey, Katie,” he said. He threw a glance around the bar. “Can I get a beer?”

“That depends,” she said flatly and tossed her hair back from her face.

“Come on, Kate,” Russ grumbled.

She turned her steel gray eyes toward him a moment then back at Alec. “You want something to eat with that?” she said and pushed away from the bar.

“A burger…please,” he said. “And some onion rings.”

Russ held up his empty bottle and waved it at her. He watched the woman turn to the cooler then looked over at Alec. “So Sarah’s pregnant again,” he said and chuckled. “What’s that three for him now?”

“Yeah,” Alec yawned. He laid his hands flat on the counter. Katie set a frosted pilsner glass in front of him along with an aluminum bottle of Bud Light. He nodded his thanks. “Two boys plus this one…whatever it turns out to be.” He stared at the bottle a minute then picked it up and slowly started to fill the glass.

The big man watched him a moment. Katie popped the top on a bottle of Sam Adams and slid it in front of him. “Good thing you ain’t got no kids,” he said and swallowed a gulp of beer.

He glanced over at him as he sipped his beer. “What…why you say that?”

Russ shook his head and glanced around the bar. “Nothin’,” he muttered and turned the bottle up again.

“I wouldn’t make a good father?”

“I didn’t say that.” A chubby brown-skinned woman in a tight black skirt and a tighter black t-shirt weaved between the tables carrying a tray of empty glasses. He followed her with his eyes as she made her way back to the bar.

“You’re a good kid, Alex.”

“Just not good for kids.” He took another gulp of beer then set the glass down and drummed his fingers on the bar.

Russ hissed. He looked over at Katie drawing a pint of Guinness from the tap, made a circle over Alec’s head then raised his index finger. “How’s that job workin’ out for ya?”

Alec shrugged. “It’s….” He turned, startled as one of the chairs fell over. Russ followed his gaze. Two men, both dressed in shirt and tie, stood at a table by the windows laughing. One bent over to pick the chair up as the other slipped on his sportcoat. Alec let out a heavy sigh.

“Well…,” the big man said, finishing off his beer. “I gotta get back across the street. He tapped Alec on the shoulder and turned away from the bar. “Next time you stop by your mama’s, tell her I said hey.”

Katie looked the bar over. The lunch crowd had dwindled down to a handful of tables. She cleared the empty glasses from the bar and set them in the sink beneath the counter then made her way back down the bar to Alec.

“Your burger’ll be up in a couple minutes,” she said and leaned against the counter.

“Depends on what?” He gulped down the last of his beer and pushed the glass toward her.

She stared at him. “You see your doctor today?”

“Nope,” he said and swallowed a gulp.

“Alec…,” she whined. She looked across the room at the two men heading for the bar.

“It’s a waste of time,” he said. “Ain’t nothing Doctor Trudeau can do for me…besides….” He wrapped his hand around the glass and finished it off.

Katie whipped her head around to look back at him. “Besides what?” She turned to the two men. The taller of the two handed her a black leatherette case, his credit card protruding from the top of it. She quickly swiped the card then handed it back. “Thanks, guys.”

The taller one winked at her then turned and followed his partner to the door.

“So why won’t you go to the doctor?”

Alec ran the back of his hand across his mouth and looked up at her, a hint of anger in his eyes. “Can I get another one, please?” He quickly looked back at the door as it slammed closed. “I’m fine,” he said, turning back to her. He brought a tiny green bottle out of his pocket and shook it at her. “Long as I got these, I’ll be alright.” He tucked the bottle back into his pocket.

“Alec…,” she whined. “Doctor Trudeau….”

“What?”

She shook her head then grabbed another bottle of Bud Light from the cooler. “Sooner or later you’re gonna need some help.” She turned to see Benita waving a check at her. She slid the bottle toward him then walked away.

Alec filled his glass then pushed the empty bottle aside.

*****

A thin, dark haired woman in a grey turtle-neck sat behind the faux-stone and redwood desk. A thick paperback book with a bright, lime green cover was lodged between her long slender fingers. She looked up at the man stumbling through the automatic revolving door. He hesitantly made his way across the marble floor toward her.

“Hi…,” she said and set her book aside. She stood, smoothing the lines from her black pencil skirt.

Alec Dorsey glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Hey…,” he whispered. “I…I’m…I…a friend of mine is here.” A nervous smile tugged at his lips. “I finally got up the nerve to see him.”

“Name…?”

“Alec,” he said then chuckled. “Oh, you mean his name…Brian…Brian Higgins.” He watched her turn to the computer beside the desk.

She brought up the name then turned to face him and caught him staring at her ass. “Your friend is on the sixth floor,” she said and grabbed the stack of Post-It Notes beside the keyboard. She scribbled the room number on the note pad then peeled it off and handed it to him. “Room sixty-three twenty-four.” She pointed to the trio of elevators on the far side of the lobby.

Alec stared at the note a moment then looked across the lobby at the elevators. His heart pounded against his chest.

She gave him a puzzled look. “Is everything ok?”

He looked back at her and nodded. “Yeah…thanks.” He took a deep breath then willed himself to move.

She watched him walk away then slid back into her chair and picked up her book.

*****

The snow the Channel 23 weatherman had predicted was falling as freezing rain. Alec Dorsey’s kale green overcoat was soaked. He threw a glance back at the glass and brass doors of the Holt Street Theater. The skinny, baby-faced security guard was already turning the key in the push-bar, locking the door. He pulled the collar of his coat up over his ears then sprinted for the bus stop at the corner opposite the theater.

The fifteen minute trip downtown to pick up his check had turned into more than an hour. He stared down the darkening street as he paced the curb in front of the bus stop. It was too cold, he surmised, to chance walking home. The Clancy Street Bridge would be a sheet of ice soon. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shuddered, cursing under his breath.

It was another ten minutes before the dirty yellow and white PTA bus pulled up to the corner. The doors stuttered open and an elderly black woman slowly made her way down the steps. She opened her tattered purple umbrella, spraying Alec with rain water. He gave her a perfunctory smile then quickly stepped past her.

A little more than a dozen passengers were scattered through the bus. He dropped his token into the fare box then started down the aisle. A woman in a white, fur trimmed parka sat on the aisle just past the handicapped seating. He stared at her a moment. The bus lurched to a start and he found himself stumbling toward her.

“Excuse me,” he said, sliding into the seat beside a heavy-set, dark skinned man.

The woman looked over at him and a smile curled the corner of her full pink lips. “Alec…?” she said surprised.

He looked back at her, turned in his seat to face her. “I thought that was you,” he said. He glanced back at the front of the bus, catching the eye of the bus driver through the rearview mirror. He turned back to the woman. “How you been?”

She nodded. “Ok.” Her smile widened as she stared at him. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah…,” he mumbled. “Didn’t really leave.”

“I thought you were off to art school…Pittsburgh, right?”

Alec lowered his head briefly then shrugged. “That didn’t work out too well.”

She glanced at the back of the bus. A group of teenagers were gathered in the rear corner talking loudly. She rolled her eyes then turned back to Alec. “So what have you been doin’ with yourself then?”

“Freelancing mostly,” he said with a smirk. “Doin’ some carpentry work over at the theater.” She gave him a quizzical look. “I know, it ain’t exactly sculpture, but it pays.” Again he shrugged and looked away.

“Well…,” she sighed and watched him shift uncomfortably in his seat. “I ain’t exactly Doctor Crawford yet either.”

Alec smiled. “But you will be,” he said. “You wanted to be a doctor since what, sixth grade.”

A chuckle bubbled up out of her throat.

The bus turned onto Upland Avenue, making its way toward Cornell Hills. The man sitting beside Alec signaled for his stop then gathered up his collection of grocery bags.

He stood as the man squeezed past him and headed for the front of the bus. He turned his attention back to the woman as he sat down. He stared at her a moment. “You and Brian still…?”

She gave him a surprised look and shook her head and turned her eyes to the window. The rain had turned to a slushy snow.

The crooked smile on his face faded. He watched as she fidgeted with the straps of her purse. She looked over at him as he settled back into his seat and their eyes met. “What’s he been up to?”

She quickly turned away again and stared at the back of the seat in front of her. “He was deployed a little bit over a month ago,” she said and glanced over at him.

Alec felt his face flush. “Oh, wow,” he sighed. “You heard from him since he left?”

She nodded. “He sounds like he’s doing ok.”

“Brian…,” he said and chuckled under his breath. “He always was a jarhead.”

She nodded and stared ahead as the bus made the turn onto Clancy Street, heading for the bridge.

“Shannon…,” he said. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” she said and reluctantly looked over at him. Their eyes met.

“You wanna…get a bite to eat sometime?”

She took a deep breath. “Alec….” The bus made a wide turn as it crossed the bridge. She slid forward in her seat. Alec lunged forward to catch her. His hand landed on her breast. She looked at him startled and braced herself against the seat in front of her.

“Sorry…sorry,” he said embarrassed.

Shannon shook her head. “It’s ok.” She stood. “This is my stop anyway.” She pulled the yellow cord above the handrail then started toward the front of the bus. She glanced back at him. “It was good to see you.”

Alec watched her hurry to the door. The bus came to a halt in front of Jackson Elementary School. She looked back at him again then hurried up the walkway to the school.

“Yeah…,” he said to himself. The door closed behind her and the bus bolted away from the curb and continued on its route.

*****

It was hot.

The M4 felt like it weighed a ton. A sinking feeling lingered in the pit of Alec Dorsey’s stomach as he followed the three strong convoy of Humvees through the cluttered, narrow streets. He threw a glance over his shoulder. The last thirty yards, give or take, were clear. As he swept the barrel of the gun across the street, he thought he saw a puff of dust lingering in the air behind an overturned bus.

“Sarge…,” he barked, staring down the site of the gun as the dust settled. “Looks like we got Hajis in the midst.”

The gunner atop the rear Humvee eyed the rooftops. “Roger that…,” he shouted back. The sound of gunfire cut him off. He whipped the .50 caliber machine gun toward the rooftop of the four story building to his right and fired back.

Alec raced toward the bus, firing in quick burst. Crumbling plaster rained down on the street. He made his way around the end of the bus as an explosion erupted on the third floor balcony. He spun around as chunks of hand carved wood and stone shattered behind him.

The torso of a young boy lay among the rubble.

The lead Humvee rolled through the next intersection. An RPG caught the tail end of the truck. It spun sideways. The rear axel buckled and it rolled onto its side, blocking the street.

The gunner atop the rear Humvee let loose another salvo of rounds from the .50 caliber tearing through the lower floors of the building.

Alec stared at the boy’s torso. A tattered khaki colored smock was wrapped around his slender frame, splattered with blood. In his left hand he held what was left of a smaller hand.

“Move it, soldier,” the gunner barked. His Humvee bolted forward, following the caravan.

He staggered across the road and pressed himself against the stucco façade of a storefront. His eyes slammed shut. Gunfire pelted the doorway spraying bits of ashwood and mortar across his face.

The second Humvee sped through the intersection, swerved right. The gunner swung the turret of his machine gun left, spraying gunfire across the street. Another RPG shot through the cloud of dust. It missed its mark and smashed into the front of a café on the corner.

Alec slowly opened his eyes. His chest was pounding. His head was pounding. He felt dizzy. The sound of gunfire filled his ears. He peered out of the doorway and saw flames racing up the front of the café.

He staggered out of the doorway. The overturned Humvee was less than a block away. He found his footing and hurried toward the corner. Cover fire screeched over his head. He turned left and fired at the barricade of cement blocks and burned-out cars at the far end of the street.

The third Humvee made a hard right onto the cross street, gunfire trailing behind it. The gunner slumped over the turret then slipped out of sight.

Alec broke into a sprint. He spun to his right firing blindly at the terraces above the downed Humvee. A bullet grazed his helmet. Gunfire ripped through the air as he dropped to the ground. He could see the rest of the unit scurrying from the second truck.

A stocky Hispanic man leapt out of the truck. He looked down at Alec struggling to his feet. His head tilted back as blood squirted from the gaping hole that had opened in his neck.

Alec stood. He whirled around and fired back at the makeshift barricade then scrambled toward him. “Brian…,” he shouted. Blood was pooling in his mouth. “Fuck…medic….”

His eyes fluttered.

“Brian….” Alec said. Gunfire pinged off the side of the truck. He raised his rifle. Through the scope he could see three figures in black moving over the concrete barricade. He squeezed the trigger.

*****

“You alright?” she said.

Alec looked up at the woman’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was naked except for a pair of powder blue panties. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back from her round freckled face into a pair of pigtails. He closed the lid of the toilet then sat down. “I’m fine,” he exhaled.

Katie Lightcap leaned against the doorway and folded her arms across her pert breast. Her vanilla colored skin glowed in the early morning light. “A little morning sickness, then?”

“Funny,” he said and smirked. He reached behind him and flushed the toilet. “Must’ve been something I ate.”

She walked over to him and straddled his lap. “Is that a shot at my cooking?”

He chuckled, leaned forward and kissed her gently between her breasts. “Maybe it was something else I ate.” She gasped then drew back her hand to slap him. He caught her by her wrist and they stared at each other a moment. He let go of her arm and shoved her back against the wall. Her feet slid out from under her and she fell to the floor beside the tub.

“Fuck…,” Katie groaned.

Alec stood. “K….”

She scrambled away from him. “Jesus,” she said and stood then walked out of the room.

“Katie….” He let out an angry sigh then ran his hand over his nearly bald head. After a moment, he followed her into the bedroom.

She was sitting on at the foot of the double bed wriggling into a pair of faded black jeans. She sat up, stepped into a pair of crimson and black Bordello boots then stood. A black V-neck t-shirt lay on the bed beside her. She fastened her jeans then grabbed the shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he started.

She pulled on the shirt, glanced over at him then slowly walked across the room. “I gotta get going anyway,” she said.

“Ka….” He exhaled loudly and rubbed his eyes. “It was the dream.”

She grabbed her pack of Marlboro Lights from the nightstand. “What was it about this time?” She tapped one of the cigarettes out of the pack then reluctantly pushed it back in. She glanced over at him as she dropped the pack into her purse.

Alec shook his head. “Nothin’,” he mumbled. “Just a bad dream.”

“You’ve had these dreams every night I’ve been here,” she said and combed her hair with her fingers. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “It was just a bad dream, Kate,” he said.

“Well…it didn’t feel like just a dream,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He stared across the room at her. “I…I didn’t mean to….”

She gave him a half-hearted nod then slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later then.”

Alec watched her walk out of the room. He made his way over to the dresser. A green pill bottle lay on its side among the collection of crumpled lottery tickets, cologne samples and a chrome plated lighter. He opened the bottle and tapped a pair of oval shaped, pale blue pills into his palm.

He slumped to the bed as he swallowed the pills and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were almost closed when the cellphone on the nightstand began playing Oye Como Va. He reached for it, saw the number scroll across the screen then tossed it aside. The song ended abruptly.

*****

“Katie know you’re here?” Benita said. She pulled one of the round cardboard coasters out of the caddy at the far end of the table, set it in front of him then followed it with a frosted pilsner glass.

He shook his head and glanced up at her. He took the bottle of Bud Light as she handed it to him and filled the glass. “She lookin’ for me?” He set the bottle aside.

She threw a glance around the bar. The evening crowd was starting to file in. She slid into the seat across from him. “What happened wit’ ya’ll?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“She didn’t tell you?” Alec said and swallowed a gulp of beer.

She quickly shook her head.

“Then I won’t either.”

Benita smirked. “You two get into a fight?” She looked over her shoulder at the tall, skinny man behind the bar and saw him talking to Russ and another man in a leather jacket and jeans. She turned back to Alec. “Come on…,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I saw the bruises on her neck.”

He set the glass down and stared at her.

“…or was that from something else?”

“Benita….”

“What?” She gave him a crooked grin and winked.

He picked up his drink. “There goes your tip,” he said and sipped his beer.

“Like you tip all that much.” She slowly pushed away from the table and stood. “If you hurt her, you know I’ll fuck you up.”

Alec rolled his eyes.

“You know I can.” She backed away from him then turned and headed for the bar.

Alec swallowed another mouthful of beer then set the glass down and pushed it away. A stocky man dressed in desert camouflage passed by him heading for the pool tables. He turned to follow him and he was gone. He shook his head then finished his beer.

After a moment he stood and dug the deer skin wallet out of his back pocket. He rifled through the wallet, found a ten and slid it under the glass then turned and made his way across the bar to the door.

*****

She was sitting on the stoop of the brownstone when he rounded the corner of Williams Street and Fifth Avenue. A bottle of Bud Light dangled between her legs from the tips of her fingers. Beside her sat two plastic grocery bags. He smiled then jogged across the street to meet her.

Katie took another sip of her beer then dropped the aluminum bottle into one of the bags. She looked to her left and saw Alec darting across the narrow street, a grin on his face. She brushed the flakes of snow from her hair then stood and started down the steps.

“Hey…,” he said then threw a quick glance over her shoulder at the bags. “You movin’ in?” He looked back at the corner as the number thirty bus rumbled through the intersection then tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

She smirked. “Funny,” she said brushing her dirty blond hair from her face. “Where you been…I’ve been out here almost half an hour?”

Alec shook his head. “Had an errand to run.”

She stared back at him a moment, started to say something then sighed. “You alright?”

He gave her a curt nod then stepped past her. “What’s in the bags?”

“Dinner,” she said and followed him. “Thought you might be hungry.”

He fished his keys out of the pocket of his windbreaker then grabbed the bags from the stairs. The rattle of beer bottles caught his attention. “How long’d you say you were out here?” he chuckled and opened the door.

“Long enough,” Katie grumbled. She pulled open the glass door then followed him into the building. “Your neighbors are at it again.” She nodded toward the apartment at the far end of the hall.

Bass heavy rap music blared down the hall. Alec stared at the door then handed her the bags. “Take these upstairs,” he muttered. “I’ll….”

“No…Alec….” She jerked her head toward the stairs, her hair falling across her pale blue eyes. He let out an angry sigh then reluctantly followed her up the steps.

The apartment was dark except for the fluorescent light over the sink and the flickering glow of the television in the living room. He set the bags on the counter then tossed the empty beer bottles into the trash can. “So what’s the occasion?” He grabbed a bottle from the remnants of the six pack and headed for the living room.

She pushed her hair back from her face and took a pack of chicken out of the bag. “No reason,” she replied and set it in the sink. The tap sputtered as she turned on the cold water. “What was your errand?”

“I…,” he started then turned her attention back to the TV. “Nothing.” He flopped onto the couch and laid the remote on the coffee table. The second round of Jeopardy had started. A stoutly built dark-haired woman was trouncing her two male competitors. He laid his head back on the couch and pressed the cold bottle against his left temple.

A collection of mismatched steak knives lined the drawer to the right of the sink. She grabbed one, popped the plastic wrapping covering the chicken and peeled it away. “What was that?” She washed the wrapping under the tap then tossed it in the trash. A slight smile lit across her face. She turned the water down to a trickle then leaned against the doorway. “You go see your doctor?”

He looked back at her then quickly turned away.

The hint of a smile disappeared. “I’ll take that as a no,” she grumbled.

Alec stood and faced her. “Katie…,” he started. She turned away from him and walked back into the kitchen. “I….”

“Whatever,” she shot back. She shut the water off, grabbed a glass pie pan from the cabinet beneath the sink and emptied the last of flour from the tin on the counter into it then slammed the cabinet closed.

“Katie.”

She turned to face him. “What….” A sneer turned the corner of her mouth. “Oh…was that too loud for you?”

He stared back at her a moment. “Fuck you.”

“See, this is why you need to go see that doctor.”

“What,” he said. “Because of a little noise?” He watched her turn away from him then sat back down. He grabbed the remote, flipped through a half a dozen channels then tossed the remote aside angrily.

Katie brushed the back of her hand across her cheek. She found a half empty bottle of worcestershire sauce in the cabinet over the sink and slammed it on the counter. Tears slowly welled behind her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said and threw a quick glance back at him. “But, Alec, you need to talk to somebody.”

“Kate…,” he sighed.

“…and I can’t be that somebody anymore.”

He looked back at her then stood. She was leaning against the sink, her head down. He slowly walked toward her. “What?”

She turned to face him. “You need help, Alec.”

“You’re leaving me?”

She shook her head quickly. “No,” she said. “But I’m not gonna watch you do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

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