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[sellusedcarnsw]

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[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (3)

Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 5,049

Part: 3 of ??

Warnings: Smut (18+)

One. Two.

"Well, James, how you been?" 

"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start." 

Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son. 

James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart. 

With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway. 

After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day." 

Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath. 

"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her." 

"Being a man is about more than what you can do." 

"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options." 

"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy." 

"And you too." 

Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food.  "This ain't about me."

The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass. 

"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"

"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."

"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to." 

Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her." 

"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?" 

"Ah, Pop, I don-" 

"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called." 

Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life. 

Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat. 

"What's this?" 

"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."

"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop." 

"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?" 

"Pop." 

"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?" 

In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.

Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?" 

"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?" 

"How would I know, though? How did you know?" 

Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years. 

"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…" 

Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state. 

"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?" 

"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know." 

Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love. 

Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat. 

Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality.  She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor. 

When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women. 

"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive." 

Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice. 

"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door. 

Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life. 

Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.

"I missed you." 

Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar. 

Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest. 

"We kissing in front of the parents now?" 

"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed. 

She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect." 

Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts. 

"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?" 

Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone. 

"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention. 

"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you." 

Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."

Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house. 

"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised." 

Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine. 

Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine. 

Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side. 

But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name. 

"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."

Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice. 

Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.

Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck. 

"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin. 

"Already? It's not that late, is it?" 

"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."

"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up." 

"I'll speak up. I promise." 

Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait. 

They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.

Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ.  Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie." 

Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week. 

"What's this?" 

"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use." 

"When's the last time you used it?" 

"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.

"Since I've been here?" 

She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall." 

The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in two years made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity, 

Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm. 

The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.

In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind. 

She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well. 

Desire. 

Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality. 

Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now. 

He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.

Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest. 

Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next. 

Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts. 

Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying. 

Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience. 

There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back. 

Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered. 

Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth. 

"You trust me?" 

"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg. 

"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me." 

Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center. 

Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck. 

The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl. 

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it." 

"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me." 

A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear. 

"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?" 

"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria. 

"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?" 

A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right." 

"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure. 

She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?

"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?" 

A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed. 

"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move." 

Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy. 

"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch. 

Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life. 

It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste. 

Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits. 

Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for. 

Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds. 

When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices. 

Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host. 

Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.

Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home. 

Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him. 

Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.

The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max. 

Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable. 

"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!" 

Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission. 

The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere. 

She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come. 

Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down. 

Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams. 

"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."

"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence. 

He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."

Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown. 

"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder. 

Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud. 

Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses. 

He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?" 

His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due. 

"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy." 

"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?" 

"Oh, so this is some magic shit?" 

"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up." 

Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.

Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady. 

"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs. 

He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey." 

"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more." 

Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill. 

His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering. 

"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there." 

Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her. 

Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build. 

After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.

He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.

From: McBride 

You check your mail? 

Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down

Know you said you weren’t coming back

Do it for Mike

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @deja-r

[beardedmrbean]

A San Francisco store owner who immigrated to the United States from Afghanistan says he is at his wits end with crime in the city after a gang of thieves stole over $100,000 in merchandise from his tobacco shop.

"The politicians need to get a grip on this because It’s worse than Afghanistan or Iraq," Zaid, co-owner of Cigarettes R Cheaper in San Francisco’s Richmond District, told Fox News Digital. He was referring to crime in the city following a robbery Tuesday night, when a half dozen thieves smashed his windows and made off with about $80,000 in merchandise and $20,000 in cash.

"At least in Afghanistan the Taliban will cut your hand off and people are afraid to commit such a crime," Zaid said, adding that he sees people stealing from nearby stores every day. 

"They know the police won’t do anything," Zaid explained, adding that the thieves were in his store for 18 to 20 minutes and had plenty of time to "ransack" the place. Zaid added that police have told him that they are short-handed. 

SAN FRANCISCO BUSINESS OWNERS AND RESIDENTS TALK DRUG, CRIME CRISIS: ‘ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE,' ‘DYSTOPIA’

The San Francisco Police Department, which is facing a crisis-level staffing shortage, confirmed to Fox News Digital that officers arrived on the scene at 2:44 a.m. on Wednesday and "observed the window to the business shattered and items from the business strewn about the scene."

No arrests have yet been made, and Zaid said that seven individuals in two cars were involved.

"We have drugs issue, we have homeless issue, and on top of this these idiots come in here and take whatever they want," Zaid said.

Zaid, who immigrated to the United States in 1987 and opened his store in 2003, said things are worse in San Francisco than they have ever been.

"The city has gone downhill, especially the last 2 years since COVID, I’ve never seen it worse," Zaid told Fox News Digital. "People are afraid to come shopping here because they are either going to get robbed or someone will break into their car."

If things do not change quickly, Zaid said he will have to close his business. 

ONLY 17% OF SAN FRANCISCO TRANSIT RIDERS FEEL SAFE ON BOARD AMID CRIME CRISIS, 73% WANT MORE POLICE: POLL

"We might have to shut it down," Zaid told Fox News Digital. "Our safety is more important than making a living in this city."

"This is on the politicians," author and former California gubernatorial candidate Michael Shellenberger tweeted about the incident, while calling on San Francisco Democrat Mayor London Breed to take action. 

Breed, who has recently downplayed the severity of rising crime in her city multiple times in recent months and suggested that "systemic racism" is to blame, did not immediately respond to a request for comment from Fox News Digital.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Rob Rogers

* * * *

In praise of the what if, whatever, and why not of doubt

Lucian K. Truscott IV

Oct 17, 2024

I’ll just bet you haven’t heard the term, “fatal funnel.”  Can you imagine what it might be?  I mean, try to form an image in your mind of a funnel, any kind of funnel, like the one you might have used to pour oil into your car’s engine, or even a waffle ice cream cone with the small end removed.  Now try to figure out how you would make a thing called a “funnel” deadly.

I’ll bet you can’t.  But I want you to know, there are a lot of people who can.  Some of them bought militia manuals and bomb-making videos that a man by the name of Christopher Arthur published online through a company he called Tackleberry Solutions.  One of the manuals was called, “The End of America or the Next Revolutionary War.”  According to an ABC News story published today, Christopher Arthur believed that, “the U.S. was falling into chaos and there would be only one way to survive: kill or be killed.” 

Arthur is an Army combat veteran of the war in Iraq and a member of the National Guard.  He was found guilty of teaching people to make improvised explosive devices intended to kill police officers and for possessing bombs and bomb-making materials inside and around his home in Mount Olive, North Carolina.  His wife and five children lived in the home where he stored the bombs.  One bomb was on his porch under an overturned plastic tub where his children played.  It was wired to a trigger that would set it off if police ever approached his house to arrest him.  A judge gave Arthur 20 years in prison, the maximum allowed by law.

A fatal funnel is a tactic taught by Arthur to prospective militia members who visited his North Carolina farm for training sessions.  The tactic is intended to trap attackers by funneling them into a smaller and smaller space until they can be shot and killed by a small untit or single shooter.  Joshua Blessed stayed at Arthur’s farm and slept on a cot in his kitchen.  During the day, Arthur and Blessed would go out into the surrounding woods to shoot automatic weapons and practice bomb making and military tactics. 

Blessed was a truck driver.  According to ABC News, weeks after training with Arthur in North Carolina, Blessed was stopped for speeding in his truck on a road between Rochester and Buffalo in upstate New York.  An argument with the police officer ensued, and Blessed drove off with the officer still standing on his truck’s running board.  During the chase that followed, Blessed fired at pursuing police cars until he finally turned his truck to block a narrow highway off-ramp with the truck’s trailer and cab in a V-shape.  Blessed fired from the cab at officers until one of the officers managed to get around to the other side of the truck.  Surprised, Blessed drove off, followed by the police cars.  Finally, they forced his truck onto a farm road where they had set up a police ambush and fired at the truck cab as he sped by.  The truck crashed into a ditch, and officers found Blessed dead in the driver’s seat with a bullet through his head.  Five police vehicles had been struck by bullets fired by Blessed. Forty police officers in all were involved in the chase. 

Blessed had been trying to form a militia group called “The Army of God” to prepare for an “upcoming Civil War,” according to the FBI’s field office in Richmond, Virginia.  ABC reported that officers found in Blessed’s truck after the chase “two how-to explosives and military tactics manuals for which he had paid $850 from Arthur’s Tackleberry Solutions. They would find $125,000 in cash, 14 live pipe bombs, an AK-47 with a scope, a .50-caliber rifle, a sniper rifle and tens of thousands of dollars in ammunition.”

The FBI finally arrested Christopher Arthur after an undercover officer witnessed and secretly recorded Arthur teaching others, including the undercover officer, to make improvised explosive devices.  Arthur described to the undercover officer how he would kill the governor of a state: “Say it’s a whole walled-off gated house. The governor’s mansion. Alright, how do I attack him? Well, he’s going to have to leave to go to the Capitol at some point, right?  I know if I can put a round right there in the base of the windshield where it meets the dashboard. I’ll hit him. So is the sniper hit better? Yes.”  According to the undercover FBI man, Arthur’s wife and children were nearby in the yard working in a garden and talking about school when the assassination instruction took place.

Twenty years in prison.  A heavily armed truck driver killed after a chase by 40 cops on a public highway.  Hundreds convicted of criminal trespass and violence against police officers at the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, people Donald Trump among whom included himself at a town hall yesterday on the Univision Network when he used the word, “we.”

“We didn’t have guns. The others had guns, but we didn’t have guns,” Trump said. “That was a day of love.”

Please allow me to tell you what the difference is between politics and a gun.  With a slight depression of your finger on a trigger, a gun can kill, meaning a gun can end the life of another human being.  Politics can affect you.  Politics can change what you pay in taxes, or what speed you are allowed to drive on your local streets or an interstate highway, or whether your trash is picked up once or twice a week.  Politics can be confusing and infuriating.  Policy arguments and political contests can be won or lost, but the results are not forever.

When politics and guns merge, civil war is the result.  Six hundred thousand Americans died between 1861 and 1865 because of a political argument over the issue of slavery.  The difference between the South and the North was that the South was willing to kill and be killed in order to maintain the right to own other human beings as slaves.  The political argument ended when the first shot was fired. 

Wars are absolute.  Winning and losing means life or death.  But politics in this country is not a fatal funnel, narrowing it down to “us” and “them,” making it as absolute as warfare. 

They used to call politics the battlefield of ideas.  One of our two political parties has decided that its politics is existential, that it is a battlefield where being “right” conveys absolute power given by God.  Winning in this kind of politics means the rule of law can be superseded by force, allowing the National Guard and active duty Army to be employed against those who were “wrong.”  One of our two political candidates has recently threatened to do just this if he is elected.  Such a right to retribution comes only from belief in self, not in laws that are agreed upon as greater than oneself.

Our other political party has more doubts than beliefs.  Doubt allows for the possibility of loss in the way that science assures us of the inevitability of our own deaths.  We know the sun will come up in the morning because we have experience in day and night that dates back to the opening of our eyes as infants.  We have no such experience with certainty.  It is a belief system, an illusion invented in hopes of personal gain. 

How does “whatever” win out over “must be”?  By realizing that right and wrong are temporal, part of the natural ebb and flow of living on this planet, as floods and fires and earthquakes are as much a part of the weather of existence as the birth of a child or the death of a loved one.

We are here.  One day, we won’t be, and there will be others who come after us.  Then politics will belong to them.  That is the difference between belief, which seeks to fix a certain future, and doubt, which allows for the inevitability of change. 

[Lucian Truscott Newsletter]

[seyoonlgc]

a letter back home - Dec 2022

Hey dad,

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I ONLY WRITE TO YOU ONCE A YEAR? That's such a lie, I last wrote back like...in March, before Christian's tenth birthday! For that, I am not going to thank you for sending me bonus money this month.

Just kidding, thank you.

Honestly, you don't have to worry about me financially. Her majesty is paying for most things, and my part-time job is paying well. The owner always gives me fried chicken to take back and share with my friends, plus his wife sometimes slip me extra cash for being a loyal worker of three years now. Give whatever you are saving for me to Peter, who is probably going to need a car soon now that he's sixteen. Abbotsford is still quite a drive from all the hot parties, and you can't expect a young guy like that to be satisfied chilling on the farm field forever!

Training wise, it's been good. Kinda. Sort of. Well, okay, I got scolded last week for messing up my dance moves. The instructor was super strict and really chewed me out for still not getting it right after practicing a thousand times. I always screwed up the same part too, which he was very disappointed by. He told me to stay back after class, but in hindsight I think that's out of kindness. Why waste your own precious time with a trainee if you truly don't believe in him, right? Instructors are not paid that much and probably have families waiting for them at home too.

I guess this whole thing isn't as easy as I expected. Remember back when we had that dance competition in Richmond, and I won so easily? Yeah, it's not like that here. People KNOW what they are doing - some taking classes since they were wee little kids. I don't know for sure if I can make it as an idol, but I would like to keep trying for a while longer because...at night this city is so beautiful, especially viewing it from a high rise building. You feel powerful, and all the people underneath you become so small and insignificant. I know I am going to sound her majesty when I say this, but this city DOES make you want more.

BUUUUUT if this doesn't work out, tell Peter he can no longer have my bedroom!

I miss you, dad, and I am sorry for not coming home. If you are still mad at me about this decision, look at my old baby pictures. Can't get mad at a cute face like that, can you? Look at my smile!

Stay healthy! Tell everyone I love them.

Abie

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