#grapple truck in madison

[chrisstumps05]

"Fast and Efficient Tree Job: Last Minute Before Vacation!"

[rootedinrevisions]

Never Left Me: Part 6

SUMMARY: Lauren's day back home takes an unexpected turn when her sister Madison ropes her into a spontaneous outing to the creek with Boone and Tyler. What starts as a simple day outdoors becomes a journey into memories, laughter, and unspoken tension as Lauren grapples with old feelings stirred by Tyler’s presence. The familiar creek, brimming with childhood nostalgia, now holds a deeper, bittersweet significance.

OTHER PARTS: Prologue I Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

The morning sun had barely crested over the fields when Madison burst into the kitchen, her excitement filling the space. “So, Boone’s got the day off, and we thought we’d do something fun,” she said, flashing Lauren an inviting grin. “You should come with us!”

Lauren glanced at her dad, who was finishing his coffee across the table. “Maybe I’ll just stay here today,” she said, gesturing around the room. “There’s still a few things dad wants to clean out in the barn, and I should probably help him-”

But their dad shook his head, his eyes soft with encouragement. “We’ll have plenty of time for that. You two don’t get to see each other often. Go out, have fun,” he insisted. “I’ll be just fine here.”

Lauren hesitated, but Madison’s hopeful gaze and their dad’s gentle nudge left her with little choice. 

“Alright, I’ll go,” she said, laughing as Madison pumped her fist in victory.

“Great!” Madison jotted down the directions and handed them to her. “We’re meeting at up with Boone here at his place, but I need to run a quick errand first. Just follow those, and I’ll meet you there.”

Lauren took the paper and, after a quick hug to her dad, headed out to her car. The drive felt like a familiar slice of Arkansas countryside—open fields, the occasional pickup, and winding roads that felt like second nature. 

She followed Madison’s directions carefully, counting turns and scanning for landmarks until she turned down a gravel road and spotted a house up ahead. As Lauren pulled onto the gravel drive, dust trailed behind her car, billowing in the warm morning air. 

She had expected Boone’s place, maybe a modest ranch-style home surrounded by fields. But instead she was met with the sight of Tyler’s grandparents’ house nestled amid the trees. She slowed, her pulse quickening as she recognized the slightly beat-up, dented red truck parked in the driveway.

Before she could make sense of it, Tyler emerged from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. He shielded his eyes against the sunlight and squinted at her, a trace of a smile forming as he walked over. 

She stepped out of the car, heart thumping with a mixture of nerves and surprise.

"Hey," he greeted her, his voice carrying a relaxed warmth. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Lauren tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, forcing a small, polite smile. “Yeah, I, uh… Maddie told me to meet her at Boone’s house…” She trailed off, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep into her cheeks.

“Well he is here enough he could probably make an argument that he lives here.” Tyler chuckled, glancing around at the empty driveway. “But he’s not here. Said he was going to meet Maddie somewhere.” He raised a brow, his smile widening just a bit. “But you’re welcome to hang out here until they get back.”

She bit her lip, glancing back toward her car for a moment. But the thought of leaving felt abrupt, almost rude. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Alright. I’ll wait.”

Lauren followed Tyler into the garage, her curiosity piqued. Inside, the smell of engine oil and metal hung in the air, and she immediately noticed two motorcycles. One stood sleek and polished, its chrome catching the light, while the other was in various stages of disassembly, parts and tools spread across the workbench beside it.

She gestured to the bike in pieces, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “So, what’s going on here?”

Tyler glanced over his shoulder at the bike and shrugged, his easy smile returning. “Bought it cheap last year. Figured I’d have it running by summer, but… turns out I’m a little slower than I thought.” He chuckled, picking up a wrench and twisting a bolt on the half-assembled engine. “Just trying to get it road-ready. Kind of a project I tinker with whenever I have the time.”

“Is it hard? Fixing a bike?” she asked, genuinely interested.

“Sometimes,” he said, meeting her gaze with a warm smile. “Depends on the problem, and this one has a few too many for comfort.” He paused, looking at her curiously. “You know, you could take a ride with me sometime. Once I actually get it put together.”

Lauren laughed softly, nodding. “I might take you up on that, if I’m still around.”

Her eyes drifted around the garage, taking in the familiar details she hadn’t seen in years. “This house…” She trailed off, a mixture of nostalgia and wonder in her voice. “It was your grandparents’, right? I remember coming here with Maddie when we were kids. We must’ve spent half our childhood playing out in these fields.”

Tyler’s face softened. “Yeah, it was. After they passed, I ended up inheriting it.” He glanced around the garage and back at the house, a fondness evident in his expression. “It’s a little bit of a fixer-upper, though. They were in a nursing home for the last few years, so there was a lot that needed some attention. I’ve been taking on small projects here and there, making it feel more like home.”

“That sounds… nice.” She glanced back toward the house, letting memories flood in. “I remember how your grandma always made cookies, like, constantly. Just in case someone stopped by. And your grandpa had that old tractor we weren’t supposed to go near.” She smiled at him, realizing how much she’d missed these pieces of her past.

Tyler chuckled. “Some things don’t change. That old tractor’s still here out by the barn, and I’ll bet you a hundred bucks you can still smell cookies if you walk inside and take a deep breath in the kitchen.”

Lauren shifted her weight against the workbench, her gaze lingering on Tyler as he worked, his movements both precise and effortless. “Do you… like it?” she asked, her voice quieter than she’d intended.

Tyler paused, glancing up from the bike with a slight smile. “What do you mean?”

“Being here,” she clarified, watching as he resumed tightening a bolt on the engine, half-focused on his work and half on her. “Sticking around Arkansas. Living here in our hometown, where it feels like nothing ever changes.”

He thought about it for a moment, a faint smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do. There’s something about having a place to come back to, you know?” He nodded toward the fields that stretched out beyond the garage. “After running around at rodeos for years, and now chasing storms and being on the road, it feels… steady. Feels like home, I guess.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his words, sensing the quiet comfort he found in this place. “Guess that’s something I’ve kind of missed,” she murmured, glancing out toward the familiar view. “I always felt like I was supposed to leave, find something bigger. And I did, but…”

Tyler set the wrench down and leaned back, meeting her eyes. “But sometimes it’s hard to shake the feeling that something got left behind, right?”

She nodded, a little surprised by how he’d put it into words so easily. “Exactly. It’s strange, though. I thought coming back here would just be a formality, you know? But it’s… I don’t know. I forgot how much I loved it.”

Tyler tilted his head thoughtfully, his eyes studying her expression as if weighing his next words. “You know… you could always move back.”

Lauren laughed softly, glancing down as she rubbed her hands along the worn wood of the workbench. 

“Yeah, I’m sure Jonathan would love that idea.” She shook her head, half-joking, half-exasperated.

Tyler’s brows drew together, his expression serious. “There are plenty of law firms in Bentonville,” he offered, shrugging. “He could find a place and commute. It’s not too far.”

She shook her head again, this time with a hint of sadness. “Jonathan would never leave Chicago,” she said quietly, trying to keep the finality of it from seeping too deeply into her voice.

Tyler’s gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. “Not even for you?”

The question settled between them, weighty and sharp, and for a moment, she was at a loss. She felt her heart catch, stumbling over the silence. 

When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. “I wouldn’t ask him to. I know what Chicago means to him—his family’s there, his whole life is there.” She tried to lighten the mood, flashing Tyler a small smile. “It’s a little crazy, don’t you think? The idea of giving up everything you know, just because you love someone.”

Tyler didn’t smile back, his expression faltered for a moment as his eyes moved back to the motorcycle part he was working on.

“Would you?” she asked, shifting the spotlight back to him, looking to end the ache forming in her chest. “Could you ever see yourself leaving Arkansas just for love?”

He thought about it for a long moment, eyes drifting to the bike, then back to her. “Yeah,” he answered slowly. “If I met the right person, I think I could.”

Lauren swallowed, taken off guard by the certainty in his voice. Her gaze searched his, her heart thudding a little faster, wondering at the quiet intensity in his expression. For the first time, she wasn’t sure what to say.

Just as Lauren opened her mouth to respond, the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires on gravel signaled Boone and Madison’s arrival. She watched as Madison hopped out of the car, barely giving the engine a chance to quiet before jogging over and pulling her into a hug.

“I’m so glad you came!” Madison exclaimed, giving Lauren a squeeze. “I was starting to think you’d stay holed up at the house with dad.”

Lauren gave her a wry smile, crossing her arms as Madison pulled back. “Would’ve been easier to get here if you’d told me the right place. You said Boone’s, remember?”

Madison’s eyes went wide, her mouth forming an “oops” shape that was just a little too innocent.

“Did I really? Must’ve slipped my mind,” she said, waving it off with a quick grin. “I meant Tyler’s place all along, promise! But it worked out. I’m sure Tyler didn’t mind the company for a bit, right?”

Lauren shot her a look, catching the glint of amusement in Madison’s eyes. Madison played innocent, but the small smirk tugging at her lips gave her away. Tyler, who had been quietly watching from a few steps back, chuckled as he tucked his wrench back into a tool belt slung over a stool in the garage.

“Guess I’m not complaining,” he said with a shrug, his gaze lingering on Lauren for a beat. “It was good to talk to Lauren again.”

Madison turned her attention back to them with a satisfied grin. “Well, now that we’re all here, let’s get moving!” She threw a look toward Boone, who was still leaning against his van with an easygoing grin, watching the exchange unfold. “There’s more fun to be had than just hanging around in Tyler’s garage, right?”

“So, what’s the plan for today then?” Tyler asked a hint of excitement in his voice.

Madison perked up, her eyes brightening. “Boonie and I were thinking we should do something fun before you two head out. How about hitting the creek? We could swim, maybe have a little picnic.”

Boone grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I’m down for that. I could use a break from all the gear we’ve been loading up.”

Lauren watched them, her heart lifting at the idea of a carefree day, yet something inside her hesitated. “But don’t you guys have to finish packing?” she asked, glancing at Tyler, who shrugged.

“It can wait. We’ve got all day. Plus, it’ll be nice to recharge before the chase,” Tyler replied, shooting Lauren a playful smile. “Right, Boone?”

“Absolutely. We need to get our heads straight before the storm starts rolling in.” Boone laughed, glancing at Madison. “But what do you say, Lauren? You in?”

Lauren hesitated, thinking of Jonathan back in Chicago and the wedding plans still hanging over her. “I don’t know…I might just head back to Dad’s and try to work on some wedding stuff that Jonathan sent me.”

Madison leaned forward, nudging her sister with her elbow. “Come on, you’ve got to get out! The wedding stuff will be fine for a few hours.”

Tyler nodded in agreement, the easy smile on his face making her heart flutter unexpectedly. “We’ll be back soon. You’ll have time to do whatever you need to this afternoon. What do you say?”

Lauren felt a pang of guilt but also the enticing pull of their carefree plans. She glanced back at her dad’s car which she had borrowed parked in the driveway, considering the sunny day beyond. 

She should go back to her dad’s place. She should work on the wedding stuff that Jonathan had asked her to. But…she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Something about the offer laid out in front of her was too tempting to not take up.

Finally, she took a breath and nodded. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it.”

Madison cheered, before throwing her arms around Lauren. “Awesome! Just give me a minute to change.”

Tyler’s truck rumbled down the dirt road, the sun hanging high in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the landscape. Madison and Boone sat in the back, their laughter echoing against the truck's metal frame as they playfully nudged each other, their chemistry palpable.

In the front seat, Lauren tried to ignore the warmth spreading in her cheeks as she caught glimpses of Tyler, who drove with a relaxed confidence. The sound of the tires crunching on gravel filled the moments of silence between them, but she couldn’t help stealing glances at him, at the way the sunlight caught in his hair and the way he focused intently on the road ahead.

“Are we there yet?” Boone called from the back, a mock whine in his voice, which sent Madison into a fit of giggles.

Tyler responded with a grin, glancing in the rearview mirror. “It’s just a little further, Boone.”

As they parked the truck, laughter filled the air. Madison and Boone jumped out first, their excitement palpable as they raced toward the creek, the sound of water gurgling over rocks beckoning them closer.

“Come on, slowpokes!” Boone called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back.

Tyler chuckled, stepping out of the truck with a more relaxed pace. He stretched, taking a moment to breathe in the fresh, earthy scent of the surrounding woods. The sun shone brightly, casting warm rays that danced on the surface of the creek, making it look inviting.

Lauren, however, lingered behind. She stepped out of the truck, her feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. As she turned, the sprawling landscape unfolded before her, and her heart sank.

This was not just any creek; it was the creek on the south side of Tyler's dad's property—the very place they had visited countless times as kids. But now, it was also the place where everything had changed eight years ago. The memories rushed back, uninvited and overwhelming.

She hadn’t paid much attention during the drive, too caught up in the chatter and the thrill of the day ahead. But standing here, looking at the sun-dappled water, she felt the weight of the past settle heavily on her shoulders.

Her gaze shifted northward, and she could see the hill where Tyler had parked that night. The memories flooded her mind—laughter, joy, and then chaos. The sudden shift from innocence to loss felt like a tidal wave crashing down on her, pulling her under. She swallowed hard, trying to push the memories back, but they clawed at her heart.

“Lauren?” Tyler’s voice broke through her thoughts, his concern evident as he stepped closer. He had noticed her hesitation, the way she lingered behind the others. “You okay?”

She turned to him, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, just... taking it all in.”

Tyler tilted his head slightly, studying her face. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember this place?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He furrowed his brow, confusion flickering across his features. “Of course, I remember the creek. We used to come here all the time during the summer.” As he spoke, he noticed her gaze drifting up toward the hill. The realization hit him like a jolt. “Oh,” he breathed, his voice trailing off as understanding dawned on him. “You’re talking about that night.”

Lauren nodded slowly, her heart heavy. “I hadn’t realized where we were until just now.”

Tyler's expression shifted to one of empathy, the playful lightness of the moment dimming. “I’m sorry, Lauren. I didn’t think—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “It’s fine.” Her voice was steady, but there was an edge of insistence that suggested she wasn’t ready to discuss it.

“Are you sure? We could go somewhere else if this is—”

“No…Really,” she interrupted, forcing a smile. “It’s fine.”

With that, she turned and headed toward the water where Madison and Boone were splashing around, laughter echoing in the air.

Tyler watched her go, concern etched on his face. He understood her need for space but wished she would let him in. Hesitating for a moment, he glanced back up the hill, the memories of that night creeping back into his mind like unwelcome shadows. The laughter of their past felt like a distant echo against the weight of what had happened here—an innocent summer evening that had shattered both their lives.

A sigh escaped his lips as he kicked at a loose stone on the ground, frustration bubbling up inside him. How could he have been so careless? He hadn’t even considered that this was the spot where everything had changed. He’d wanted to bring Lauren here to show her the place that held so many happy memories, and remind her of the good times she had here. But all he had done was bring her back to a moment that haunted them both.

“Tyler! You coming or what?” Boone’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Tyler looked up to see Boone waving from the creek, a grin plastered on his face as he splashed water playfully at Madison.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” Tyler called back, shaking off the weight of his thoughts. He forced a smile as he walked toward the water, determined to keep the mood light. As he joined the others, he reminded himself that today was about making new memories, ones that could help eclipse the old ones.

The water glimmered in the afternoon sun as the four of them settled onto the blanket, the gentle sounds of the creek providing a serene backdrop to their chatter. Madison and Boone were quickly immersed in playful splashes, their laughter echoing off the water’s edge. Tyler and Lauren remained seated on the blanket, a comfortable distance apart, though the closeness felt charged with unspoken words.

“So, what do you think?” Tyler asked, glancing at Lauren, who was absently toying with a blade of grass. “Old creek’s nice, huh?”

Lauren looked up, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s beautiful. I don’t remember it being this calming when we were twelve  and splashing each other.”

He nodded, his eyes drifting to the creek as he leaned back on his hands. “It’s peaceful. Just nice to get away and clear your head.” He paused, contemplating his next words. “You know, sometimes I think about how different things could’ve been if we hadn’t-.” But then he trails off unsure or unable maybe to finish the thought out loud.

Lauren felt a pang in her heart at his mention of the past. “Yeah, I get that.” She swallowed, her gaze shifting to the water’s surface, which shimmered like a million tiny stars. “I mean, it’s hard, but we’ve found ways to cope, right?”

Tyler watched her closely, sensing the weight behind her words. “What about you? How are you coping with everything? I mean, with being back in Arkansas and all?” His tone was light, but his eyes held a deeper curiosity.

She hesitated, feeling the familiar tug of her complicated feelings for Jonathan. “It’s… a lot. I thought coming back would be easy. But ever since I got here it feels like I’m stuck between two worlds.”

“Two worlds?” he asked, intrigued.

Lauren nodded slowly. “Chicago is Jonathan’s life, and I thought it was what I wanted. When I met him I really thought I’d fit right in. But ever since I’ve come back here, it’s like I’m reminded of who I used to be. It’s hard to figure out who I want to be.”

Tyler could see the conflict in her eyes, the way they flickered with uncertainty. “You’re not just the girl from Arkansas, Lauren. You’re so much more than that. You can embrace both parts of yourself.”

A small smile tugged at her lips at his encouragement. She bit her lip, the silence stretching between them. “Did you ever think about leaving? You said you’re happy here now…but did you ever want to leave?”

“Sometimes.” He chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “But then I remembered how much I love it here. This place has roots for me. My family is here, and there’s something about knowing where you come from that just… grounds you, you know?”

“But what if your dreams take you somewhere else?” Lauren replied, her tone thoughtful.

“I guess I’d figure it out as I go,” he said with a shrug, his easy smile returning. “I mean, life has a funny way of taking us where we need to be. You never know what’s around the corner.”

Just then, Boone and Madison splashed them, breaking the moment. Boone grinned, his face gleaming with water droplets. “You two are way too serious over here! We’re supposed to be having fun!”

Lauren laughed, the tension lifting slightly. “Okay, okay! I’m getting in!” she called, playfully nudging Tyler as she stood up.

As Lauren stood up to shake off the remnants of their earlier conversation, she took a deep breath, preparing herself to dive into the cool water, when her gaze caught on Tyler. He was pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing a sculpted chest and defined abs that shimmered in the sun.

For a fleeting moment, Lauren found herself entranced, her heart racing as she traced the lines of his physique. It was a sight she hadn’t expected to linger on, and she could feel the warmth creeping into her cheeks. She quickly looked away, her pulse quickening. Get it together, Lauren, she chided herself, feeling a mix of embarrassment and thrill.

Trying to shake off the moment, she focused on her swimsuit, her fingers fumbling slightly as she slipped off her shorts. No big deal, she reassured herself, pretending the heat in her cheeks wasn’t there because of Tyler. As she secured the straps, she glanced over her shoulder, catching Tyler’s eye just as he finished adjusting the waist of his swim trunks. The corner of his mouth twitched, a teasing smile forming as their eyes met.

“You coming in or just planning to stand there all day?” he called out, his voice playful.

“Just a moment!” she shot back, the banter flowing easily between them.

But there was an undeniable current of tension that crackled in the air. She took a deep breath, pushing any lingering thoughts about him to the back of her mind.

With determination, Lauren made her way to the edge of the water, feigning nonchalance. As she stepped into the creek, the cool water enveloped her legs, sending a delightful shiver up her spine. She turned around, splashing water at Boone and Madison, who were mid-laugh.

“Hey! Watch it!” Boone protested, his arms going up in mock defense.

“I’m just warming up!” Lauren quipped back, glancing over at Tyler to see him wading in after her, his playful expression still intact.

She felt a mix of excitement and nerves, worried that her earlier moment of distraction had shown too much. But as Tyler moved closer, water dripping from his hair, the teasing look in his eyes reassured her that the tension was mutual.

“You look like you could use a little more fun in your life, Lauren,” he said, splashing her lightly. “What do you say we have a little competition?”

“Oh? What kind of competition?” she asked, feigning innocence as she prepared for whatever playful challenge he might propose.

“Let’s see who can hold their breath the longest,” he challenged, grinning as he gestured toward the deeper part of the creek. “Just like when we were kids.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow, a competitive spark igniting within her. “You’re on! Just don’t go easy on me because I’m a girl.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he shot back, his tone light but his gaze serious, the underlying current of attraction undeniable.

As they both counted down, Lauren couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, wondering how she could feel so comfortable yet so unsettled at the same time. This is just friendly fun, she reminded herself, plunging under the surface as the thrill of the moment enveloped her.

When Lauren finally surfaced, gasping and laughing, she looked around to see that Boone had already started wading out toward a rock ledge that stretched over a slightly deeper area of the creek. Madison followed close behind, calling over her shoulder for Lauren and Tyler to join them.

“Y’all coming, or are you too busy playing kiddie games?” Madison teased, casting a knowing glance at Lauren.

Lauren shot a splash of water at Madison. Tyler laughed, moving alongside her as they joined Boone and Madison on the ledge. The water beneath was a darker blue, indicating its depth. Boone, always up for a little thrill, was already psyching himself up to jump in.

“Alright, Maddie, ready?” Boone asked, grinning as he took her hand, clearly relishing the idea of plunging into the deeper water together. Madison looked between him and the creek, her face a mix of excitement and slight apprehension.

Tyler leaned toward Lauren, his voice low and just for her. “They really are crazy, huh?”

Lauren chuckled, crossing her arms as she watched them. “If by ‘crazy’ you mean ‘completely reckless,’ then yes.”

Boone and Madison counted down, their voices echoing against the trees as they held hands and jumped, crashing into the water below in a splash big enough to ripple up to the ledge. They emerged seconds later, breathless and laughing.

“You guys have to try it!” Madison called out, her voice carrying up to where Lauren and Tyler stood. “Come on, Laur, don’t wimp out like you used to!”

Lauren glanced down at the water, then over at Tyler. The creek seemed deeper from up here, and her heart thumped with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Tyler seemed to sense her hesitation. “I’m up for it if you are,” he said, his eyes meeting hers in a way that felt encouraging, almost like a dare.

Taking a steadying breath, she nodded. “Alright. Just… don’t laugh if I scream on the way down,” she warned, trying to keep her nerves under wraps.

“Only if you do the same for me,” he promised, a grin tugging at his mouth. 

He offered her his hand. She took it without thinking, feeling the strength in his grip as they edged closer to the ledge together. The warmth of his hand in hers sent a pleasant flutter through her stomach, one she quickly shoved aside.

“Ready?” Tyler asked, looking down and back at her with a playful spark in his eye.

She squeezed his hand, steadying herself. “Let’s do it before I change my mind.”

They counted down together, and with a shared leap, they jumped off the ledge. The exhilaration of the fall stole her breath, and she couldn’t help but laugh as they hit the water in a wild splash. The cool rush surrounded them, and when Lauren surfaced, she was still laughing, her heart racing as she looked over to find Tyler nearby.

“You didn’t scream!” he said, shaking the water from his hair as he swam closer, looking impressed.

“Neither did you!” she teased, splashing him.

Madison and Boone cheered from the shallower end of the creek, beckoning them over. Lauren swam with Tyler toward them, joining the little group that had begun to drift lazily around a few smooth rocks that formed a natural seating area just beneath the water’s surface.

“So what’s the plan now?” Boone asked, draping an arm over Madison’s shoulders, the easy familiarity between them making Lauren smile.

“Picnic, maybe?” Madison suggested, pulling herself up onto one of the rocks, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “We’ve got all that food in the truck. Someone’s gotta eat it.”

The four of them made their way back to the shore, laughing as they navigated the slippery rocks and shallow water. Tyler and Boone grabbed the cooler from the truck, while Madison and Lauren unpacked the food. They set the picnic on the blankets under a nearby oak, and soon the impromptu picnic was underway.

As they sat eating, the sun filtering through the leaves above, the afternoon took on a tranquil, golden warmth. Boone launched into stories about recent adventures on the storm chase, his animated voice filling the air as he gestured widely, occasionally nudging Tyler to jump in with his own side of the tales.

“You should’ve seen Tyler, Laur,” Boone said, wiping crumbs from his mouth as he leaned closer, his tone growing conspiratorial. “There was this one night, pitch black, storm brewing just west of us. He was all ‘calm and collected,’ you know, his usual self. But the second the lightning struck, he—”

“Watch it, Boone,” Tyler interrupted, feigning a warning as he threw a crumpled chip bag at him. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

Lauren laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks, caught up in the easy flow of the day. The creek, the laughter, the familiar faces—it was as if time had slowed, giving her a momentary reprieve from everything waiting back in Chicago.

As the sun began to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows across the creek, the group gathered their things, packing up remnants of their picnic and shaking out damp blankets. The peaceful, easy afternoon had left everyone smiling and a little drowsy from hours in the sun. Lauren couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness that the day was winding down; it was the kind of day she knew she’d miss once she was back in Chicago.

They drove back to Tyler’s in his truck, the air between them now quiet but comfortable. When they finally reached his place, Boone headed inside, tossing a casual invitation over his shoulder for everyone to stay for a while.

Lauren shook her head,  “I better get going. Got a ton of wedding things to finalize tonight.”

Madison rolled her eyes with a playful groan. “Always so responsible,” she teased, but she pulled Lauren into a hug anyway. “Drive safe, okay?”

Lauren smiled, squeezing her sister back before Madison disappeared into the house, leaving just her and Tyler in the calm of the fading evening light. Tyler stepped closer, his hands tucked into his pockets as he walked her toward her car.

They stopped just by the driver’s side door, lingering in the warm silence. Lauren felt a soft ache as she looked up at him, realizing this might be the last time they’d see each other. With his next chase lined up, and her own flight back to Chicago soon after, the chances for another moment like this felt slim.

“Well,” she said, forcing a small smile, “I guess… this is it.”

Tyler ran a hand through his damp hair, his gaze drifting to the horizon before settling back on her. 

“Maybe we’ll see each other sooner than you think,” he said, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

But they both knew that wasn’t true—she’d be back in Chicago long before he returned from the chase.

Lauren sighed, “I think I’ll be back in Chicago by the time you’re back.”

He was quiet for a moment before he said anything. “Yeah, guess so. Don’t be a stranger, though. Next time you’re down here…” He trailed off, as if even he didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence.

Lauren chuckled softly. “Next time,” she echoed, though she didn’t know when—or even if—that would be.

Tyler shifted, glancing down before looking back at her. “Take care, Laur,” he said, his voice low, sincere. “And… if you ever need anything, you know you can call, right? Doesn’t matter what it is.”

His words, simple yet steady, tugged at something deep within her. She nodded, swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat. 

“Thanks, Tyler,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.

A beat of silence passed, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Tyler hesitated only a second before he returned it, his arms closing around hers in a way that felt both natural and…right. She could feel his steady breath against her shoulder, and she let herself linger, feeling the warmth of him, memorizing it in some unspoken way.

When she finally pulled back, Tyler’s hand slid from her shoulder to her elbow, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

The unspoken words hung thickly between them, a tension neither dared to break. But then Lauren reached for her car door, letting out a breath as she offered him one last smile. “Good luck out there. Keep safe on those chases, alright?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her as she climbed into the car. “Will do.”

She climbed into her car, and with one last wave, she backed out of his driveway, watching in the rearview mirror as he stayed standing there, his figure framed by the fading light. The image of him didn’t disappear until she rounded the bend, the trees obscuring him completely.

As the road stretched before her, her thoughts drifted, circling back to Tyler, to their day at the creek, to this strange, lingering feeling that today had given her. She shook it off, reaching into her bag to grab her phone and check the time.

Her screen flashed a text notification from Jonathan, reminding her about the wedding details he needed help finalizing. Reality settled back in around her, and with a quiet sigh, she focused her mind on the road ahead.

[thewestern]

Chapter 22 

If Billy wasn’t going to blow this deal for Hildy then Gene was. Ugh, Gene. The emissary from GloBev insisted that only the CEO (Hildy) and the CFO (Gene, gross) be present at their pre-acquisition parlay, of sorts. Hildy would have preferred having one of her people in the room. She had just poached an absolute fucking rock star from BM\Group (the hotshit Madison Avenue ad agency formely known as Bartlett Mackey), who got discretely run out of town on a rail in semi-disgrace for having demonstrated a disturbing pattern of behavior with relation to assistant account executives. (His office door had a push button-automated lock mechanism … from the outside. Regarding the gender of his subordinate sexual harrassees, he was wholly indifferent. So, in a way, he was practicing inclusivity, as he made the case to human resources. That almost worked. Suffice to say, he would have killed in the room with Globev.) 

For their part, Globev had sent a true hatchet man. A one Mister Wang. This fucking guy flew commercial from Shanghai. Business class. Can you even imagine? GloBev was infamous the industry over for its spartan expense budgets, forbidding even the smallest of luxuries for even the highest-paid executives. Flights, meals, hotels — all counted to the fucking fen. (That’s a Chinese penny, for you.) For a fact, Mister Wang had traveled with an associate, they would have had to bunk up. Two to a room, minimum, was hard and fast company policy, no exceptions. Alas, Mister Wang traveled alone. 

As they traversed the brew deck, Hildy had a waking nightmare about grappling with Gene for the armrest on a twenty-plus hour flight, three-quarters of the way around the world, only to check in to their fleabag economy bookings and be handed two keys to the same hotel room. Tossing and turning to the sound of his CPAP machine. The smell of his farts. 

Needless to say, Mister Wang required to be picked up from the airport, as sending a courtesy car would have been taken simultaneously as a sign of personal disrespect and pecuniary waste. So Hildy dispatched her personal attache, Ari, to fetch him from passenger pickup, before he was to set off in search of Billy. For a man who fancied himself a trained killer — a soldier of fortune — Ari had been almost completely reduced to the grunt ranks of heavily armed errand boy. This was a demotion of spirit, that more than anything exhausted him. The will to kill, he could feel drain out of him with each passing day. 

As for Mister Wang, if the wagon train-equivalent airfare had worn him down at all, his fatigue didn’t show for it. To the contrary, he looked positively refreshed. Glowing, really, as if he’d come straight from the spa, by way of the tailor. (Although his suit was immaculately fitted and pressed, it was likewise modestly styled and priced. This in accordance with core Globev company value, that thriftiness is no excuse for shabbiness.) When really he’d traveled without interruption from the complete opposite side of the world. Gene, meanwhile, who’d driven to work this morning in his massive-payload pickup truck over paved suburban roads, from his McMansion to his reserved executive parking spot, a commute all of seven minutes door to door, had a pangea-shaped (as well as sized) mustard stain on the button-down collar of his non-iron dress shirt. If you stared long enough she’d swear you could see the Virgin Mary. His employee badge was precariously resting on the parabolic curve of his pot belly, rising and falling with each labored breath of his mouth that needless to say was always open, as well as wet at the sides. When he spoke, spittle and crumbs flew with all the Opes and Oh-Geezes and Cold-Enough-For-Yas of a man from Sheboygan, where he was born and grown. And wouldn’t shut the hell up for all the cheese in Wisconsin. Himself hardly wasting a word, Mister Wang responded in perfect Oxford English with a posh Cambridge accent. 

They all three wore yellow hard hats, bearing each the Wolffenbeir Company Coat of Arms — dueling twin wolves, standing on their hind legs in attack postures, serpentine tongues extended, facing one another on either side of a landscape portrait of a mountain brook, cascading over a bashful waterfall, presumably locked in a bitter territorial dispute over water rights. (The phrase Coat of Arms is not another authorly embellishment. For a fact, the Wolffenbeir brand style guideline strictly prohibits the use of the word Logo, in reference to the corporate heraldry.) Hildy hadn’t been down to the brewery proper in some time, at least since the Olympics before last. (Wolffenbeir had been the Official Beer Sponsor of Team USA spanning the prior fifteen olympiads, back to when the summer Games were held stateside in Los Angeles, which narrowly outbid Tehran for the honor to bankrupt itself as host city. That was the year John Williams, Hollywood composer and himself an Angelino, debuted the famous Olympic theme song that you are now humming.) They were walking along a corridor with windows on either side, overlooking the brewhouse. On any other day, there would have been public tours walking through every twenty minutes on the third hour. Short busses shuttled them from the visitors’ lot, just beyond the fifteen hundred-acre campus, past the Wolffenhaus gates, to the main production facility. In lieu of tour guides, the price of admission (eleven dollars, up ten percent from the year previous as accounting for inflation) included a personal headset radio rental (as well as two vouchers redeemable for any one of the fourteen Wolffenbeir Company brands on draft in the onsite Lupus Taphaus, conveniently located at the end of your tour route … exit through the gift shop). Use the keypad to enter the code on the wall and learn about the corresponding phase in the brewing and packaging processes. B-Six. Cue voice actor: The Wolffenbier Company has fifty copper kettles, each standing two stories high, holding thirty-thousand six packs of beer. 

Today, however, the twelve-forty and three pm tours were canceled. (Ticketholders are not eligible for cash refund [read the fine print], although they are welcome to reschedule at no additional cost. Please accept this coupon for ten percent off all non-sale merchandise at the gift shop.) Apart from their group of three, there was not a soul in sight. This was a working museum. Better still, a mausoleum. A mass grave for the American factory worker and the blue-collar way of life. All ingredients were deployed programatically via the control room, which by design, was not a stop on the public tour. Gene fumbled with his all-access keycard to gain entry. A sea of panels and gauges and monitors. It could have been the bridge on a nuclear submarine. Don’t touch anything, especially that button. Mister Wang checked his watch. They continued through past the sensory laboratory, thus far the only space presently occupied by living, breathing employees. For a fact, it was teeming with serious-looking men and women in white lab coats, hairnets and safety goggles. Enough published research scientists to cure colon cancer before lunch. Rather, they were reverse engineering focus group results into flavor profiles. Fruit fusions were indexing high on favorability this fiscal quarter. Project Mandarin: Top Secret. Boldly we bound toward a low-cal, synthetic citrus malted beverage. So concerned with whether they could— Now I am become death— Blah, blah, blah— And so on and so on. 

For the coup de grâce, they converged along the canning line. Two thousand skus assembled per minute. How’s your long division, homes? That’s three hundred thirty-three beers per second with two beers remainder, or point three beers repeating. Speed, efficiency, beauty … behold, ye pilgrim, a heavy metal ballet. Mother fucking hip hopera. All that aluminum. Recyclable in perpetuity. Hank would have shed a single tear. Again, almost entirely automated. No gloves on bottles or other such shenanigans. Shirley more than likely would have lost a digit at least, if not a limb. Now suddenly our sitcom is perverted via cartoon cutaway into a Tarantino violent revenge-porn fantasy. Needs a needle drop. Let’s pick one out together. Something cognitively dissonant. Got it. Don’t Dream It’s Over by Crowded House. Press play. Cue projectile bleeding. This is no laugh-track manner. Laverne fashions a crude tourniquet from her bandana. Don’t you fucking die on me, Shirley! You hear me, you bitch! You’re going to make it!  Laverne & Shirley was a show made in the mid-seventies, set in the late fifties. The most successful of several series spun off from Happy Days. (Joanie Loves Chachi and Mork & Mindy were the other two notables. The lesser-known Out of the Blue, had the distinction of being the first and only spin-off to be spun off prematurely. This due to a scheduling error unto which the series premiered one week before its star, standup comedian Jimmy Brogan, would guest star on the Happy Days episode, Chachi Sells His Soul, thus introducing his character, a guardian angel, into the Happy Days extended universe.) Nostalgia for a time hardly past by. What’s Fonzie like? Come on, stay with me! Laverne cries out in despair as Shirley bleeds out unto the factory floor, the life draining from her eyes. Come on, count with me, Shirley! One two three four five six seven eight …  schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated! Ahhh!

(All this isn’t to say that Wolffenbeir did not employ any hourly-waged, human workers. They had hundreds, nay thousands of them at any given time. Guess where most of them worked — the loading dock. Also not a part of the public tour, mostly because who gives a shit, but also on account of it’s basically the Talladega Motor Speedway for forklifts. Moving product out the door. Because, politicians like Mayor Mockingbird will peddle talking points to bemoan the disappearing middle class [doesn’t exist], blaming this boogeyman, political football of capital-a Automation. And make no mistake, the machines are coming for us. But here’s the thing about robots … though they can compute variables ad infinitum, there is no algorithm for Getting the Job Done. Because computers are great for grunt work, but to Get the Job Done — to tie a bow on it, punch it into the endzone, dot the i’s and cross the mother trucking t’s … well, this, mon frère, requires finesse. That which cannot be programmed. Put it to you this way: once it reaches cruising altitude, the autopilot can fly a jumbo fucking jet from Laguardia to LAX without skipping a beat. It can not, however, take off … and it sure as shit can’t land. [Some cars can park themselves … or fucking can they?] Now in the form of a question: what’s the hardest part of any job? Starting and finishing. Beginning and ending. They, in the logistics profession, refer to this phenomenon by the industry term: The Last Mile. Five thousand two hundred and eighty feet that which can only be walked the old fashioned way. One step at a time.

Step one: getting whatever you desire that very moment from the machine that made it and placing it into a box, stuffed to the gills with non-recyclable packaging materials. Then, out the door, onto a van, into your gated community, pirouetting around the petrified dogshit on your over-watered front lawn, pressing the doorbell which is now equipped with a closed-circuit camera, mainly so that it may discourage any would-be larceners from intercepting your package off the front porch, but also to run surveillance on your neighbor Terry who you’re convinced is cajoling his Bernese Mountain Dog to shit on your immaculately manicured lawn, and directly into your greasy mitts so you can plug it in, or jerk off with it, or shove it down the bottomless pit that is your gullet. All that tedious work, that requires a person. Many people, actually. Human capital, they call it in boardrooms, or on conference calls. In real life, it's a chain of human suffering. A trail of tears leading straight to your doorstep. A machine could never emulate those tasks, nor empathize with the depth of pain of being trapped in the cycle of being forced to repeat them, day in and day out.

Oh yeah? Durr, what about delivery drones, you say? How many television news magazine featurettes have featureetted them, forecasting a near future of a sky filled with little helicopters dropping treats out of the damn sky all over the damn place. It’s all drones nowadays. All anybody wants to talk about, anyway. Okay, so let’s talk about them. Actually, they’re a perfect example of the point we’re trying to make here. Sure, drones are great for flying outside your neighbor Terry’s teenage daughter Kaylor’s bedroom window. Or, for another use case, an unmanned Penatrator drone can drop a heat-sinking Pulsator missile [let’s play … ] from twenty-thousand feet. God forbid that payload misses the intended target, call it an enemy weapons cache or an insurgent convoy (I have not one insurgent friend … you can kill all them motherfuckers), and instead somehow Compromises a Civilian Population Center. God forbid. But hypothetically speaking, for the purposes of this exercise, let’s say it’s an orphanage for the blind, or a children’s hospital specializing in treating terminal pediatric cancers. We can live with that. Can’t we? [You can’t live with terminal pediatric cancer. Not for long, certainly. As for that orphanage, well, they never saw it coming.] Well, then what about when your dimwitted, far-sighted eleven-year-old gets a notification from the pizza tracking app on the mobile phone you got him for in case of emergencies only, and trundles out the front door to meet the delivery drone? Then he reaches up to the heavens for that large meat lovers, extra meat, and the four aluminum alloy rotor blades, spinning at five hundred RPMs per second, slices off a handful of his fingers like they’re little Italian sausages. This we cannot abide. Thus a pizza boy, there will always be. He and his fellow weary travelers. Ye poore beasts of burden. On an interminable sojourn, forever traversing the Last Mile.) 

Reaching the executive elevator bank, Gene stabbed at the buttons with his own stubby little Polish sausage fingers. It was thus they made an unscheduled stop on four before arriving at their final destination, six. With a sharp right, they entered the famous Hall of Cans. Standing small shelves, recessed into the walls and stage lit, were relics of various beer cans deployed throughout the Wolffenbeir Company’s vaunted canning history. They were ordered in chronological sequence, like the monkey evolving into man. Starting with the old steel flat top, to which Gene’s haircut was an unintended homage. How Hank hated those, lining the shoulders of Eisenhower’s highway system. (Thanks for that, Ike. And also for the heads up about that other thing. What was it? Oh yeah, the Military Industrial Complex. You were right on the money with that one.) Accessing the liquid inside required a primitive tool called a church key, which punctured two holes in the metal: one for drinking, another for airflow, and both for giving you tetanus in your lip.

That was until one day, when after forgetting to pack his church key for the family picnic, and spending the afternoon painstakingly opening cans against the bumper of his very long car, an American engineer spent one sleepless night creating his life’s work — what would become the pull-tab, or pop-top opening. The pull-tab’s sole design flaw was the dilemma it posed to drinkers: what to do with the removable, jagged metal ring? Toss it out the car window was the obvious choice. Or let it sink to the bottom of the can, and accidentally swallow it on your precious last sip of backwash, so that it may spiral down your esophagus like a ring of barbed wire, from whence it can only be removed surgically, at great out of pocket cost to you the patient.

Thereafter arrived the recycling revolution and the oft-heralded aluminum can. That for which a separate American engineer filed a patent on the Sta-Tab, shorthand for Stay-on Tab. We still use roughly this design of opening mechanism today. Truth be told, from there on out there were only minor cosmetic touch-ups, to say nothing of the brazen marketing shakedowns. Regarding the latter, it was to great fanfare that Wolffenbeir introduced the Chug Hole top, engineered with a wider mouth for enhanced drinkability. That was unceremoniously phased out for the Stay Frosty liner, a brand name they gave to a forever-plastic insulation layer, a fairly standard feature most all cans already had.

Of course, there were the ever-popular Wolff Pupp miniature cans with the super cute, special-edition collectible doe-eyed wolf baby cartoons, which the Supreme Court ruled, in a precedent-setting five-to-four decision, did not constitute the unlawful advertising of alcoholic beverages to children. (Wilhelm I was on a first-name basis with the then Chief Justice Rehnquist, whose nomination he personally rubber-stamped.) Then there was the short-lived Parachute Pack Light line, from which a plastic Can-’o-py™ would deploy when and only when the projectile reached a predetermined terminal velocity. They were designed either to be hurled manually or more preferably for branding purposes to be shot out of a proprietary shoulder cannon at Wolffenbeir-sponsored sporting events. Alas, like your mother says, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Ironically it was the hauntingly lifelike mascot of Oklahoma State University, Pistol Pete — modeled after Frank Eaton, a somewhat legendary lawman and the self-proclaimed fastest gun in the Indian Territory — who fired the shot seen right up to the moment of retinal impact with sophomore communications major Shawn Kilpatrick. (Wilhelm I backchanneled an out-of-court settlement through his close personal relationship with oil tycoon and OSU mega-benefactor, T. Boone Pickens.)

It seemed that none of the six senses were safe. Not when it came to the JukeCan — inspired by the Billy Bigmouth Bass — which when opened rigged a small speaker to play the opening guitar lick to the smash hit song Smooth by Santanna ft. Rob Thomas. Man, it’s a hot one … This summer, enjoy the Smooth taste of Wolff Light. The latest innovation had been the Freshness Alert Level, wherein the eyes of the North American gray wolf emblazoned on the can would turn bloodshot red when the beer passed its Best-By date. 

At the end of this can-lined corridor was the boardroom — the very same where Wilhelm I had once mounted his Last Stand. Known colloquially around the office as the Wolff’s Den, it was your garden variety conference room. High-backed leather chairs on wheels. A full spectrum of white paint shades. Eggshell, Ivory, Vanilla, Oatmeal … all represented. As a space, it was featureless. An aesthetic vacuum. (Ever the interior decorator, Hildy resisted the urge to have it remodeled. This design of this room fulfilled its purpose, she recognized.) This apart from the painting that hung along the West-facing far wall. It was a print, in actuality. One depicting a dramatized staging of the Battle of Little Bighorn. Flanked on all sides by American Carnage, there Custer stands in the dead center frame, his saber held aloft, mightily, poised to strike down upon an encroaching savage. His golden hair, red neckerchief and tanned buckskin fringes, all flowing in parallel behind him, so as to convey a subject in forward motion for all time. An inscription beneath the painting explains that the original of this work has been presented to the Seventh Regiment U.S. Cavalry, courtesy of Wolffenbeir Company. (It still exists, by the way, although they left their mounts back at Fort Bliss, Texas, before heading out to fight the Japanese. Several conflicts on, the Seventh served as the tip of the spear, so to speak, for Operation Iraqi Freedom. They made it all the way to Baghdad without suffering a single fucking casualty.) 

 Ironically, given how Wilhelm I’s aversion to promotion in all its devilish forms was to foretell his timely demise, this very painting constituted one of his seldom few attempts at advertising. (Beside his hand-sketching the aforementioned dueling wolf sigil on the back of a paper coaster.) He had personally ordered a first run of fifteen thousand full-size replications to be distributed to bar and restaurant accounts all across the country. In eighteen subsequent editions, it’s since been copied more than a million times, according to the official Wolffenbeir Company historian, whom Wilhelm I hired and Hildy had since furloughed. It’s thought perhaps to be the most viewed chromolithograph in the history of the form. 

Hildy sat at the head of the table, across from the painting, staring up at it. In her peripheral vision was the chow line of bankers and lawyers laying in wait. Harbingers of some end soon come. 

Playing this miscast role of master of ceremonies, Gene kicked things off the way only he could. By pressing the wrong button on the little clicker thingy the A/V guy gave him for his slide show. Oh, shoot. Somehow it totally exed him out of the presentation, laying bare his open web browser for all to see. Thankfully there was nothing untoward on any of the tabs. Just the fast food delivery website he had bookmarked for ordering lunch, and the often-odd mid-morning or mid-afternoon snack. Additionally, an e-commerce website he used for buying modifications for his big honking truck. Nothing work-related, unless you count the online encyclopedia entry he searched on the Chinese culture and business etiquette, in preparation for this meeting, which had led him down this whole rabbit hole on Confucianism. The A/V guy, summoned from the basement where he shares an office with Yayo-L, presses one button, and we’re back in business. Showtime, Gene. Slide One: Background. For more than a century, the Wolffenbeir Company has been brewing beverages that unite people in celebration of all life’s little moments … Strong start. Webster’s Dictionary defines Beer as—

Slide Two: The brewing industry has evolved considerably over the last several years to become an increasingly global market … As evidence of the fact they were sitting in a room half filled with Chinese people.

Slide Three: Global Competitor’s Market Capitalization. We evaluate ourselves in relation to global competition using various metrics, including market capitalization, volume, net sales revenue, gross margins, net profits, EBITDA … here, Gene was entering his Cradle of Life; for all his faults, the man spoke fluent accountant. Zeroes and Ones, Debits and Credits, Tigris and Euphrates.

Slide Four: Our Products. We have a diverse portfolio of beloved and iconic brands, including Wolffenbeir Native, Wolff Light, Wolff Light Prestige, Pack Authentic Lager, Pack Light, Pack Ice … for the all you fancy pants out there, the Pack line of products was the Wolffenbeir Company’s entrant in the so-called Entry or Sub-Premium Category. That was the nicest possible way of saying it was the beer brand of choice for either underage binge drinkers or the most destitute of mature alcoholics. An alarming percentage of the former whom were well on their way down the rocky fucking road toward becoming the latter. In any case, it’s best enjoyed by the case, or otherwise unsafe volumes, by those to whom nothing hurts, be it yet or anymore. (If you’ve ever attended a high school keg party you’ve probably heard some riff on the urban legend: did you know Pack Light is the leftover/skunk/dregs of Wolff Light? That, actually, is not true. The truth is even more depressing/gross, as is so often the case in modern life.)

Slide Five: Our segments. In the last fiscal year, we operated in the following segments: North America and Europe … Jesus, Gene, was he reading right off the fucking Ten-K? (Yes, he was.)

Ninety minutes later, Gene looked like he had gone twelve rounds. His underarm sweat was visibly breaking the levees of not-one-but-two shirts (Gene always wore an undershirt … no exceptions), and a polyester suit jacket. All this is not to pick on the poor guy neither, because everybody on the Wolffenbeir side of the table was looking quite worse for the wear, gazing longingly into the corner, at the pro forma spread of stale pastries and soggy sandwich halves. The GloBev boys, meanwhile, hadn’t fucking blinked; by the looks of things, those sickos could go another sixty without batting an eyelash. Hearing the bell now, having given the business a powerpoint rectal exam, down to the fucking knuckle, Gene opened the floor for questions. Mister Wang didn’t waste any time, politely raising his hand.

Sheepishly, Gene called on Mister Wang, who asked that he please call him, Dave. 

In his great many American business dealings, Shenghen sometimes found it more fastidious to adopt an Anglofied, preferably monosyllabic Christian name. Usually Dave. Sometimes Tom, but only in the abundance of other Daves.

Absolutely. Dave. You know I had a favorite Uncle Dave. Hell of a fisherm—

—And thank you, Gene. Your presentation was quite thorough. However, there is one particular Wolffenbeir Company asset we’re keen to take a closer appraisal of, if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother. 

Um, which is that, Mist— er, Dave. 

Intellectual property. 

Hildy perked up hearing that. To this point, she had been exercising her authority over the proceedings by way of her withholding participation completely. A finely-tuned technique of performative indifference she perfected as a pre-teenager. (That was even before her father died. On the morning he went away, she’d been giving him the silent treatment for something or other. The memory of which she repressed but deeply internalized all the same.) Besides, the GloBev interest in IP was the first interesting thing she’d heard thus far. She chimed in: 

Pardon me, Mister Wang. To which IP are you referring? I can’t imagine how our recipes or anything else under our trademark protection could much factor in any purchase decision, as it were. 

That’s quite right, Miss Wolff. Indeed, your recipes are immaterial to our interests. In point of fact, the beer itself we don’t project to be a growth vertical. More of a rounding error, really. 

Oh, is that so, Mister Wang? I’d shudder to think you and your associates sojourned all this way — on such modest accommodations, I’m told — for something you’d consider to be, forgive me, such small beer. So tell me then, what is it you’re getting at? 

He met her eye line for the first time.

The Wolf. 

I’m sorry? Which Wolff? You’ll have to be more specific. Am I to take that to mean you want me? I’m afraid I, myself, am not on the table. Although I suppose we all have our price.

Only Gene laughed. 

No, Hildegard — not a Wolff. Not you. We want The Wolf. Or the Wolf Doctor, as it were. We want Lupus. 

[college-girl199328]

B.C. should consider ending stumpage timber fees, MLA says

More and more workers in the local lumber industry have been told to stay home now that Canfor has extended sawmill and pulp mill curtailments into late January.

Citing weak market conditions and the lack of economically viable fiber, it announced two-week extensions of its curtailments at Prince George Sawmill and Plateau Sawmill in Vanderhoof, which will keep both mills closed until Jan. 30.

That’s in addition to a three-week curtailment at the Canfor Polar sawmill near Bear Lake and a four-week temporary shutdown at the Intercontinental Pulp Mill in Prince George, which took effect on Dec. 19.

Last May, Canfor’s 94-employee Isle Pierre sawmill west of Prince George County closed permanently. The latest round of mill closures is only the start of the challenges local mills will encounter in the coming months as they grapple with reduced supplies of beetle-killed timber. December-January curtailments will reduce the lumber market by 171 million board feet.

Nechako Lakes MLA John Rustad says mills in the north central B.C. region require $9-figure investments to modernize and reconfigure their operations to be recognized as the highest-cost producers in North America.

Rustad says the answer to creating more certainty in the market might be for B.C. to scrap its stumpage fee system while it looks for ways to reduce the cost of harvesting to timber companies.

Rustad, a five-term MLA who now sits as an independent, worked for 20 years in the forest industry before he was first elected in 2005. As part of the Liberal government, he served as Minister of Aboriginal Relations and Reconciliation and was B.C.'s Minister of Forestry, Lands, and Natural Resource Operations.

In April, the province boosted its stumpage fees and timber profits revenue sharing agreements with First Nations to $131 million, more than doubling the $59 million they received in 2021.

As of Dec. 16, Madison’s softwood lumber market benchmark price for 1,000 board feet of Western-produced spruce-pine-fir was $390. Industry analysts estimate the current break-even point for producers at $500.

Because production costs are high at local mills, Rustad says whenever the market is weak enough to necessitate temporary closures, local mills will be among the first targeted for closure or curtailments.

Rustad plans to be in Vancouver next week for the annual general meeting of the Truck Loggers Association and will be unable to attend the B.C. Natural Resources Forum next week in Prince George.

[dailyfeartwdgifs]

Fear the Walking Dead showrunners preview Dwight crossover 

Fear the Walking Dead made headlines when it beamed Lennie James’ Morgan over from The Walking Dead mothership for season 4. Now the show is adding another original recipe ingredient into the mix, as Austin Amelio’s Dwight will make the trip down south from Virginia to Texas in season 5 (which premiers June 2 on AMC). Like Morgan, Dwight definitely has some sins to atone for, and his own journey plays right into season 5’s theme of redemption. We spoke with showrunners Ian Goldberg and Andrew Chambliss to get some scoop on Dwight’s arrival, as well as what else we can expect in the new season. 

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: What’s the story coming up in season 5 of Fear? IAN GOLDBERG: We ended season 4 with our group coming together and rallying behind this shared mission of helping people out in the world, and that was a mission that we saw come together over the course of season 4 with people like Madison and Polar Bear. It was about seeing our group of characters come together, this unlikely family, and using those philosophies that Madison and Polar Bear began in their own ways and using them to go forward and to help people out in the world, both as a way to make up for the bad things that our characters had done, and also just a way to make the world a little bit better. 

That’s where we left season 4, and when we come in in season 5 it is a couple months later, and we’re going to see how that help mission has been going for our group. We’re going to come in right in the middle of one of these help missions, and we’re going to see that the group has gone to some pretty extreme measures to carry out their goals to help someone in need. It’s going to take them to an entirely new and strange and dangerous environment that they’ve never been to before. It may involve a plane, and we’re going to see the difficulties that their mission presents, but also the internal things that our characters are dealing with that are maybe preventing them from fully living. That’s where we start the season, and those are the things that we’re going to be exploring. 

Will this season be broken up into two eight-episode stories similar to season 4, where you had the Vultures in the first half and then the truck stop and boxes in the second half? Or is it more just one straight story? ANDREW CHAMBLISS: It’s a little of both, and what I mean by that is there is a definite story in the front half that we will see a conclusion for, but then it is going to spin our characters into a story for the back half in a way that is very different than we did in season 4. There’s going to be a through-line in the entire season in terms of our characters’ overall mission, but how it affects them and how it affects others, that is something that is going to change from the front half of the season to the back half of the season. 

What can you say about the introduction of Dwight and how he’s going to factor into things? GOLDBERG: We love Dwight. We love Austin Amelio. We’re huge fans of his character and his work on The Walking Dead. When we started to talk about bringing Dwight over, it started in the same place for us emotionally as when we were talking last season about Morgan, and that is: Emotionally, what’s the story we’re telling on a bigger scale this season? 

This season is going to be about our characters grappling with the things they’ve done in their past and looking for redemption through the things they’re doing now, and for anyone who knows Dwight’s story on The Walking Dead, he is someone who did a lot of bad things over his time as a Savior. He hurt a lot of people, he did a lot of things he regrets, but he was given a second chance by Daryl at the end of season 8 when Daryl spared his life and sent him away and told him to find Sherry and to make it right. That’s the last we saw of Dwight on The Walking Dead, and we’re going to see how that’s been going for him and if he’s been able to achieve either of those things that Daryl told him to do.

[tribeca]

“‘That’s why I go to the movies, to feel what other people feel,’ Streep has previously said about The Bridges of Madison County. Such is the magic of Meryl Streep, who has been called on time and time again to allow us lucky viewers to understand the inner workings of a complicated heart and the difficult decisions that can determine the path our lives may take. If her performances are all working towards a single truth, it may very well be that a life devoid of difficult decisions and personal stakes is a life unlived and unfulfilled. Or, maybe it’s that, to paraphrase a line from another gloriously thwarted cinematic romance, the problems of two people — or even just a single person — do indeed amount to so much more than a hill of beans, both in the all-seeing eye of a camera and in the rapt eye of a viewer. As Francesca grapples with the handle of her husband’s truck, reckoning with the life she must live and the love she must forfeit, Streep proves yet again that there is no greater form of transportation in the movies than an actor’s miraculous ability to place us under the skin and inside the soul of another human being.” — Matthew Eng

Clint Eastwood’s The Bridges of Madison County was released on this day in 1995. Here is why it contains the definitive Meryl Streep performance, as part of John Guerin and Matthew Eng’s Months of Meryl series.

(Source: TheFilmExperience.net)

[masterofd1saster]

CJ current events 11jan22

Stay classy, Huntsville

***26-year-old Courtney Spraggins is the victim in a murder involving an off-duty Huntsville Police Department officer, her family tells WAAY 31.

That officer, 28-year-old David McCoy, is facing a capital murder charge and being held in the Madison County Jail without bond.***

Two sources tell WAAY 31 that McCoy shot a girlfriend in the head inside a parked vehicle, then called in the death claiming the woman shot herself.

Those sources said the woman recently informed McCoy she was pregnant before the shooting occurred.

Spraggins family says McCoy had known about the pregnancy.

McCoy reportedly called in to dispatch to say a woman who appears to be a suicide victim was sitting in a car in an apartment complex parking lot, both sources said.

Text messages on the woman’s phone helped investigators pin down what they say really happened Friday morning.*** https://www.waaytv.com/townnews/criminal_law/family-identifies-pregnant-woman-killed-in-huntsville-police-officer-charged-with-murder/article_4d0b0d4e-70ed-11ec-bb12-6341e0e32292.html

***

BALTIMORE (WBFF) — It's what happened in under 72 hours in Baltimore, an onslaught of shootings and killings over a violent weekend.

Since Friday night there've been six shootings, one assault, and three killed.***

Dr. Humphrey was among those who prayed for change in a New Year, nine days in only to see Baltimore's perennial problem, murder, still keeping pace with the better part of the decade that preceded it. There've been over 300 lives lost each of the last seven years.*** https://foxbaltimore.com/news/city-in-crisis/shootings-assaults-and-homicides-as-baltimore-grapples-with-more-weekend-violenc

***

Bless those firemen

A woman fleeing a domestic violence incident ran to a Minneapolis fire station on Saturday when the temps were -15º. The firemen ushered her inside. Shortly after that, 52-year-old Shawn Coates showed up.

"I’ve never been spoken to like that in uniform," Black said.

"He was very upset, he called me a couple of N-words," Minneapolis Fire Captain Bilal Atiq added.

Then Capt. Black says the man hit the gas, gunning his car right at the captain twice.

"He would’ve taken me out," Black said.

But instead the car just missed, ramming the door of the station instead, before Coates got out of the truck.

"He had his hand behind his back," Black said. "I said hey he might have a gun guys, so we all kind of scattered."

As the fire crew retreated, arming themselves with axes, he stayed on them – One man taking on six firefighters singlehandedly.

"There was all of us and two other people whom he had no fear of," Black said.***

Eventually the firefighters were able to subdue Coates.

"We had to hold legs, arms, and he fought us the whole time… we all got on top of him, and we were just able to restrain him and there were no injuries. The police arrived."*** https://www.fox9.com/news/minneapolis-firefighters-defend-themselves-from-attacker-after-woman-seeks-refuge

***

If you love someone, set him free, but not like Brit

CAPE GIRARDEAU, Mo. (AP) — A Missouri woman has been charged with killing her boyfriend with a sword on Christmas Eve.

Cape Girardeau Police said 32-year-old Brittany Wilson was found outside the home she shared with her boyfriend Friday night with blood on her clothing, and a sword was lying in the front yard.***

After officers arrested Wilson, they went inside the home and found her boyfriend, 34-year-old Harrison Stephen Foster, dead with several fresh stab wounds.

Wilson told police that she and Foster had taken methamphetamine earlier in the day. She also told investigators that she believed Foster had several other entities living in his body, and she was setting him free by stabbing him.*** https://foxbaltimore.com/news/nation-world/missouri-woman-charged-with-killing-boyfriend-with-sword-on-christmas-eve

***

Bad news at BK

A teen who had just started working at a Manhattan Burger King — and already wanted off the late shift because she was so scared — was fatally shot in the stomach over $100 early Sunday, cops and kin said.

The armed robber entered the restaurant at 116th Street and Lexington Avenue in East Harlem around 1 a.m. and pistol-whipped a male customer before punching a female manager in the face, police said.

Tragic cashier Kristal Bayron-Nieves, 19, gave the robber cash from the drawer, an eyewitness said, according to her mother. The criminal then turned to leave but whipped around again and shot Bayron-Nieves in the torso, the witness said.

The killer got away with just $100, the victim’s family said.***

Bayron-Nieves’ family *** had already asked for better security and to change to a day shift because she feared for her safety.

The victim wanted the changes “because she is only 19, and she has more than 50 homeless people sleeping in front of the store,” her mother, Kristie Nieves, 36, said *** https://nypost.com/2022/01/09/teen-gunned-down-while-working-shift-at-nyc-burger-king-cops/

+++

MILWAUKEE — Milwaukee police need the public's help finding a man they say is connected to the fatal shooting of a 16-year-old girl at a Burger King Sunday night.

The 16-year-old girl named Niesha Harris Brazell was working at the Burger King on West Capitol Drive when a suspect tried to rob the place and ended up shooting her. Brazell later died from gunshot wounds, according to family and police.***

According to a news release from Milwaukee Police, the shooting happened at about 10:12 p.m. on the 5100 block of W. Capitol Dr. Police say Brazell, a Pulaski High School student, sustained life-threatening injuries in the shooting. She was taken to a local hospital, where she later died.*** https://www.tmj4.com/news/local-news/16-year-old-milwaukee-girl-killed-in-shooting-police-say

[my-dear-hammy]

Not Fast Enough: Jamilton

Masterpost

More Jamilton

Requested Tags: @propheticnugs

Part Eleven

Aligned Interests Collide

----

Warnings: How to explain that a lot of shit happens this chapter? Let’s see, more characters. Bathing, cute fucking fluff, but no fucking..

----

The next morning, Hamilton wakes up to the smell of cooking pancakes and a conversation floating down the hallway.

“Yeah, he's sleeping still,” Jefferson says.

“When did you bring him here?”

“Yesterday. Is that a problem?”

“Of course it's a problem.”

“It's really not a big deal.”

“You should've told me.”

“Whoops.”

“I thought we talked about these things?”

“I promised. And he needed somewhere to stay. Here, watch the pancakes. I'm going to see if he's awake yet.”

Jefferson's footsteps approach from down the hallway and Hamilton has a split second decision. Fake being asleep or…

Jefferson is greeted by a pillow to the face. “Oh, sorry, I thought you came to murder me,” Hamilton grins.

Jefferson chuckles, scooping up the pillow and tossing it back on to the bed. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Absolutely.”

They seem to have unspoken agreement to just leave Hamilton in the pajamas he's wearing. Jefferson picks him up and places him into his chair. “We've got a third person joining us for breakfast,” Jefferson informs as they enter the kitchen.

Martha

“Oh wow, he is beat up,” James says, looking at Hamilton.

Not Martha

“Should've seen him three weeks ago,” Jefferson says.

“Fuck both of you, I looked like a playboy,” Hamilton says. “Why are you here James?”

James was holding a spatula which Jefferson steals back to load pancakes on to a plate. “Thomas told me you stole his phone after you texted me invitations for a good fuck. It's not a hard deduction to assume you're in trouble if he's denying not knowing where you are. I showed up unannounced to confirm my suspicions.”

“Creepy,” Hamilton says, rolling his chair over and stealing some bacon.

“I still don't think this is a good idea,” James says, returning to the previous conversation.

“Why not?” Jefferson asks.

“Because everyone thinks he's dead or been kidnapped. If someone finds out you're keeping him here, they'll jump to conclusions and you could go to jail.”

“Not if Hamilton defends me,” Jefferson says.

“If you were in jail, I wouldn't have to face you in the board meetings,” Hamilton points out.

“No coffee for you today,” Jefferson replies.

“I take it back, I'll testify in your favor,” Hamilton says, holding out a hand for his cup of coffee. Madison gives it to him.

“You'll still probably be fired,” James continues.

“Ah, pretty sure I already am,” Jefferson says.

“Fair point,” James agrees. “But that doesn't mean the S.W.A.T. won't ruin your windows breaking in here to rescue him. It'll take a day or two tops to track down Hamilton's records at the hospital and find you took responsibility for him.”

“You've put a lot of thought into this, Jemmy,” Jefferson says, placing a plate full of food on the table for Hamilton, quickly followed by one for James and himself. They all settle around the table and continue the conversation.

“You know what? Madison, give me your phone,” Hamilton says. “I'll call the police department and let them know I'm safe myself.”

“Not Washington?” Jefferson asks.

“Do you want him to know you've been lying?” Hamilton asks as he takes James’ phone. They all watch Hamilton place the call. When he gives the phone back, he smiles. “There, no longer a missing person.”

“You realize they'll call Washington and tell him you've been found?” James asks.

“Well shit. Well, at least he won't know who I'm with. The police wouldn't give him your number, would they?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then we're good!” Hamilton happily digs back into his breakfast.

“You two made this so much more complicated than it needed to be,” James sighs, rubbing his face. He stands and goes to leave. “Unlike the two of you, I actually have to go to work. I'll keep you updated.”

“Thanks, Jemmy!” Jefferson calls, waving as James leaves. “Here, eat these with breakfast,” he says once he's gone, passing Hamilton his morning meds.

“Disgusting.”

“Take your goddamned medicine.”

“Fine.”

After breakfast is when things got weird. Jefferson cleans the dishes before turning to Hamilton. “Alright. Time to change your bandages.”

Hamilton coughs. Right. Conditions. “Okay. How are we doing this?”

Jefferson thinks for a second and goes off to find his packet of papers to consult to make sure if his idea was against any rules. Apparently not, because a minute later, his voice travels down the hallway for Hamilton to follow.

Hamilton grips a wheel and moves forward, alternating sides to keep himself going straight. He finds Jefferson in one of the bathrooms, setting a chair in the middle of a walk in shower.

“Wait, bathing too?”

“Don't worry, you can do that part yourself. I'll just help with your arm and back. You're not allowed to get your broken leg and arm wet.”

“This is so complicated.”

Jefferson lifts Hamilton from his chair and into the shower. Hamilton actually can do quite a bit on his own now. Just, in varying degrees of pain. Mostly from his ribs. Ribs are a bitch.

The next thing Hamilton knows, Jefferson is kneeling in front of him, his fingers working undone the pajama button up shirt. He's mortified. Hamilton is fairly certain he can unbutton a shirt by himself. But at the same time...Jefferson is in undoing his shirt. It slowly falls open, but Hamilton is watching Jefferson's concentrated face. That's probably what stops him from doing it himself. The look Jefferson has. Like this simple task is the most important thing.

Jefferson glances up, meeting Hamilton's gaze, a smirk slowly forming on his lips. “You're blushing.”

Hamilton opens his mouth and closes it again. His eyes catch on Jefferson's ring again. “Imagine if your wife walked in and caught is like this.”

Jefferson laughs softly, undoing the last button, his fingers lightly brushing skin as he pushes it down off Hamilton's shoulders and places it outside the shower. “That would be interesting.”

The hard part was getting the pants over the cast. And now, they have to come off. Jefferson decides to just cut the fabric open and let it fall away, pulling the rest of the cloth off Hamilton's other leg. Which only makes him blush more. Hamilton's solace is thinking about Jefferson's wife.

Hamilton is officially sitting in the shower with Jefferson, wearing nothing but underwear. Well, plus he was covered mostly in bandages.

Jefferson's long fingers set to work. Gently unwrapping the bandages from Hamilton's body, revealing the road rash from sliding down the road at high speeds. The doctor said most of it wouldn't scar. Lucky him. Still isn’t a pretty picture though. Not exactly attractive

Hamilton decides he needs something to distract him from those long fingers.

“Tell me about Martha. How'd you meet?”

“An orchestra,” Jefferson answers. “We used to play together.”

“She's very pretty.”

“Yes, I love her very much.”

“So where is she? I haven't seen her. Do I get to meet her?”

Jefferson's fingers still for a second before unwrapping more. “No. You won't be meeting her.”

“Why not? Afraid I might steal her from you?” Hamilton smirks.

Jefferson softly chuckles, “Not at all.”

“Then why don’t I get to meet her?”

“She’s not here,” Jefferson answers.

“I can see that much.”

Jefferson sighs softly and realization hits Hamilton like a truck. Not here. As in...dead? Hamilton decides to stop asking questions.

Which makes the moments of Jefferson very carefully cleaning the injured skin of Hamilton's back very quiet. The water turns on after Jefferson detaches the head head from the wall to rinse his back without getting his leg or arm wet. Hamilton winces when the actual cleaning starts. It's not Jefferson's fault, he's being as gentle as possible, completely dedicated to the task.

Some stretch of time later, Jefferson rinses him off after cleaning his arm and back as promised, hand him the rag and soap. “I believe you can manage the rest,” he smiles.

Hamilton nods, trying not to notice how great Jefferson looks with water making his clothes cling to his body. Now only if he had worn white. “Thanks, Thomas,” Hamilton says.

Jefferson nods and leaves Hamilton to it, sitting outside the shower, scrolling through his phone just in case Hamilton does something stupid. Like fall out of the chair.

“Alright, Jefferson, I'm done,” Hamilton calls after a while. Jefferson comes back to Hamilton trying to rehang the shower like it's a grappling hook. He covers him in the fluffiest towel known to man. Seriously, heaven on Hamilton's skin.

Jefferson's careful touch once again brushes Hamilton's skin while rewrapping him up like a mummy.

Not long after that, Hamilton has dressed again and wheeling down the hallway as Jefferson walked beside him. Both completely dry. “What're we doing today?”

“I'd like to get some work done. I have a few things I can do from my laptop. Feel free to watch TV or something.”

“Work? You wouldn't happen to have a spare laptop, now would you?” Hamilton asks.

“Yeah, actually. Would you like me to fetch it for you?”

Hamilton nods. “I need to do something productive.”

Turns out, Jefferson is also dedicated to his work. Who knew? Both of them get lost in it. The day comes and goes faster than either of them realize. Jefferson looks ready to face plant on his keyboard with the way he's hunched over the screen.

“Hey, Jefferson,” Hamilton speaks up.

Jefferson's attention slides away from his screen to where Hamilton was curled up on the couch. “Yes?”

“Take off your glasses.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

“I need them for reading.”

“Get contacts.”

“For reading? And this late at night? Hell no.”

Hamilton groans. “Fine. What about dinner?”

Jefferson looks up. “Oh shit, I forgot.”

“Dumbass.”

“Yeah,” Jefferson chuckles, closing his computer. “See if you get any now.”

“Hey! No reason to be a dick about it,” Hamilton says, closing his as well. Jefferson makes his way into the kitchen and starts pulling out items. “Do you think Washington will question why I'm sending work in but am nowhere to be found?”

“Without a doubt. He'll probably email you now.”

“And if I email him back saying I was kidnapped by insane people?”

“Okay, first of all, I'm not insane,” Jefferson says, pointing his wooden spoon at Hamilton. “Secondly, this is entirely of your own free will.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it. No need to get defensive. You could've explained exactly what this was.”

“Hey, I was going to. Not my fault you signed the papers so fast.”

“This sucks.”

“Poor thing. Nothing is ever good enough,” Jefferson croons.

“Not this. My leg fucking itches and I can't do anything about that.”

Jefferson laughs. “Consider it punishment for crashing.”

Hamilton grumbles to himself, uselessly scratching at his cast. It isn't that long before Jefferson has a meal ready for them both. Hamilton wheels himself over to the table. It's easy, somehow, to dine with Jefferson. Conversation always flows easily, whether it's backhanded insults or a simple small debate about which is the better color. There's no awkward silence.

After dishes, Jefferson takes Hamilton back to the couch. “You know, I can do this myself now.”

“Maybe I don't want to risk it.”

“If you drop me, I'll never forgive you.”

Jefferson rolls his eyes. “I'm not going to drop you-” His foot catches on Hamilton's chair, sending him headlong toward the couch. Both of them are swearing. Jefferson manages to twist his body around so that Hamilton lands on him instead of the other way around.

Hamilton groans quietly after the impact. “Oh fuck, Alex, are you okay?”

“Shh, don't move. You'll just make it worse.”

Jefferson goes completely still, holding Hamilton against him carefully. Hamilton's head rests against his shoulder, grimacing a bit, waiting for the pain to pass. It wasn't bad, just sudden.

“You okay?” Jefferson asks quietly after a minute.

“Yeah, just, don't move,” Hamilton says, slowly fixing his position. His mostly healed leg was haphazardly tangled with Jefferson's while his broken one lay straight along with the edge of the couch. His good arm released from where it had been looped backward around Jefferson's neck to hang on for dear life, cradling his injured one instead. Jefferson's arms were around his waist from trying to protect him from the fall and hadn't moved per Hamilton's instructions. Hamilton got a strong whiff of coconuts

Closing his eyes, he took the time to just breathe. Coconuts always make him think bad things. But coming from Jefferson, currently wrapped in his warm arms, it made him feel sunshine. And that is beautiful.

“Alex? Are you okay?”

“Shhhh,” Hamilton shushes him again.

Hamilton lies still for some time. He's warm, Jefferson is staying perfectly still, it doesn't take long for him to fall asleep just as he was.

Hamilton wakes up groggy from his unplanned, four-hour nap. He finds that Jefferson had not managed to stay still. He is asleep, curly hair all over the place, some in Hamilton's face. And he had curled around Hamilton a little more. Plus, there is a blanket over them.

Why wake him? Hamilton was warm, they were both comfortable. Good enough. So they sleep there for the night.

Hamilton wakes next with one word. “Coffee.”

Jefferson's chest moves slightly as he laughs. Hamilton can tell since they were still together on the couch. “Mornin’ darlin’.”

Hamilton grumbles more.

“Can I move now?”

“Is it to get me coffee?”

“If I'm feeling kind.”

“I demand coffee for you dropping me last night.”

“I didn't drop you.”

“Close enough.”

Jefferson laughs again. “Alright, I'll make you coffee.”

“You may move.”

Jefferson carefully extracts himself from their position. “You snore, just so you know,” he says, walking to the coffee machine. Hamilton flips him off.

“It's to bless you with my voice even while we're sleeping.”

Jefferson chuckles, setting up and turning on the coffee machine before starting breakfast. “How'd you sleep.”

“Warmly. You're incredibly hot.” Jefferson raises a brow at him. “Oh, don't get me wrong,” Hamilton continues, “you're still an asshole. Just a hot asshole.”

“A hot asshole?” Jefferson asks, smirking slightly.

“Shut up and take the compliment.”

“Oh? That was a compliment? I think I missed it. Can you repeat it for me?”

Hamilton glares at him, pulling over his wheelchair and maneuvering himself into it, a long, haphazard process. He doesn't want to admit to himself he'd rather Jefferson help him. When he rolls over, Jefferson hands him a large coffee mug full of the most beautiful liquid in creation. Dark black coffee.

Jefferson pours himself another tall mug, only filling some of it with coffee and proceeding to dump various flavorful substances in. Hamilton can smell the sweetness from his chair

“That smells disgusting.”

“It smells delicious.”

“You've completely ruined it.”

“I've fixed it,” Jefferson hums.

“It's not even coffee colored,” Hamilton says.

“Still delicious.”

“Only a cunt like you drinks something so frivolous.”

Jefferson smiles sweetly over at him, taking a drink. Somehow, that is scarier than him having a retort. Food is dished up, served, and devoured. “You have a doctor's appointment today.”

“What? Already?”

“Once a week.”

“It's been three days.”

“And after that, it'll be seven days.”

“But I feel fine.”

“You're technically still supposed to be in the hospital. Would you like to go back and not do appointments at all?” Jefferson asks, getting consenting grumbles in response. “Excellent. Let's go change your bandages again and then we can go.”

Ah, yes, another session of soul searching for Hamilton. Embarrassingly revealing. It's easier after the first time though. It's practically a blur, and before Hamilton knows it, the doctor is inspecting all his injuries.

Good news, he gets to bend his leg. When it's been straight for three weeks, Hamilton can't help but be grateful. It's still in a cast, just a slightly different one that makes sitting in a wheelchair much easier.

By the time they get home again, it's late. Jefferson got them fast food on the way home. Which was delicious in the most unhealthy way and Hamilton is glad of it. There isn't much for them to do. They're both yawning, so the solution is simple. Jefferson helps Hamilton into bed and goes off to sleep in his own.

The next morning, Hamilton is unhappy to be woken up extra early. “What the fuck, Jefferson?” Hamilton complains, shielding his eyes from the light.

“Rise and shine you lazy bag of broken bones.”

“Sleep helps the healing process. Go away.”

Jefferson chuckles, picking him up anyway and setting him in his chair. “Come on, I've got breakfast prepared already.”

“This is highly unfair,” Hamilton mutters. “I'm going to start sleeping naked just so you can't do that.”

“Ew, I don't want you nasty naked ass all over my sheets.”

“Then you should let me sleep in.”

“Not an option!” Jefferson grins, taking a hold of the handles and zips Hamilton from the room and right up to the table where breakfast and coffee already waited for him.

“What's got you so full of energy today?” Hamilton asks.

“Can’t a man be happy to be alive?” Jefferson asks, joining him at the table.

Hamilton begins to attack his plate with a fork. “No, not really.”

“Who's got something shoved up their ass now? You stick in the mud.”

Hamilton cradles his coffee in his hand and drinks steadily. “At least I'll be ready for a good fuck later.” Jefferson just stares at him and Hamilton dares meet his gaze. That is a mistake. Not because of any expression Jefferson has, but because Hamilton takes that moment to randomly remember a certain picture. His body goes hot and he coughs awkwardly into his coffee. “Right. Well. What're we doing today?”

“Well, we're going to change all your bandages like normal,” Shit. “And then take a field trip.”

“A field trip?”

“Yep. You need some fresh air.”

“That actually sounds amazing,” Hamilton says, setting down his coffee.

“Wonderful,” Jefferson grins, shoveling down the rest of his food as Hamilton does the same. He can't say he's not well fed if anything else.

Hamilton opts to remove his shirt and sling all by himself. A little moment of victory in his healing progress. But Jefferson still helps with removing bandages, cleaning and applying medicinal cream wherever Hamilton couldn't reach. It is still something Hamilton found to be very revealing. He doesn't like people seeing him weak or injured. Especially Jefferson, the guy who was supposed to be pressing the advantage, not getting himself fired to care for him.

“Oh, by the way, I'm taking you to work tomorrow,” Jefferson says nonchalantly.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me.”

“Absolutely not. I can't show up in a wheelchair.”

“Would you rather I carried you everywhere?”

“No!”

Jefferson laughs. “You need to go back to work. Washington is about ready to break down my door and search my house himself looking for you.”

“Where I am is honestly none of his business.”

“It is when he's your boss and you've failed to call in for over three weeks.”

“Ah, but I've sent in my work now. He knows I'm alive.”

“Yeah? And what was his response email?”

“He demanded to know where I was and why I've been absent.”

“And you said?”

“Oh, I didn't reply.”

“I'm starting to think I'm not the only one that's going to be fired from this whole ordeal.”

Hamilton scoffs, “Washington would never fire me.”

“I would. In a heartbeat.”

“I'd bury you in a ditch.”

“How thoughtful.” Jefferson dries him off and hands him some new clothes, leaving the room so Hamilton could change in peace. When Jefferson returns to fetch him, he’s wearing what Hamilton decides is his favorite outfit on the man. That comfy looking sweater and dark jeans. It's all domestic to what he usually sees him in. Made him look less pompous.

“Ready?” Jefferson asks.

“Yep. Let's go.”

They venture into the garage where Jefferson loads up his wheelchair. Hamilton can't help but study Jefferson's own motorcycle. Brighter magenta than he remembers. He wishes they could take that instead, with his arms wrapped around Thom- nah, Hamilton would never ride something so gaudy.

When Hamilton was just sitting in Jefferson's car, going along for a ride, it seemed like things were completely normal. Well, minus the fact it was Jefferson's car. And Jefferson was driving. And Hamilton didn't mind being there.

Hamilton got into his chair by himself, since there were people around. Jefferson didn't even offer, apparently sensing it'd be crossing a line in public. Something Hamilton appreciates greatly.

They stay on the concrete paths of the park, Jefferson slowing his natural walking pace so Hamilton can keep up with only one hand to work with.

There's a problem.

They don't work very far from this park and lots of employees take their lunch breaks here. Jefferson's hair doesn't exactly make him easy to look over. Neither does a wheelchair.

“Jefferson!” He turns to find who called him, eyes landing on a trotting figure who came to a stop before them. The newcomer's eyes slid over to Hamilton. “Alex?”

“John?” Well fuck. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“What in God's name happened to you?” John asks. Hamilton didn't get a chance to reply before John's gaze went back to Jefferson. “What did you do to him?” his tone dripping venom.

“Me? Nothing,” Jefferson replies, raising his hands. “Why does everyone assume I'm the one responsible for this? Do I just seem like a psychopath to everyone or something?”

John didn't seem convinced. “You hate each other. It's an easy assumption.”

“Hate is a strong word,” Jefferson says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His hips position slightly forward unconsciously. The posture seemed relaxed, but Hamilton couldn't help but feel like it was posturing. Like animals do when trying to determine who's the alpha male. Huh. Weird.

Hamilton grabs John's wrist to catch his attention. “Relax, Jacky, he's telling the truth. This was an elk’s f-” Hamilton glances at Jefferson. “-er, my fault.” Jefferson smiles ever so slightly.

John looks between them, not backing down. “Even so, he's kidnapped you.”

Jefferson snorts. “Hardly,” he drawls.

“You've both been gone from the office for over three weeks. Without a word. It's an easy assumption. An easier one is that you murdered him,” John says, glaring at Jefferson and subtly maneuvering himself between him and Hamilton.

“Do I really seem like such an awful guy?” Jefferson asks.

“Yes,” John answers for him. He takes a hold of the handles for Hamilton's chair. “Come on, let's take you home. Washington is about to explode.”

“Don't touch my chair, John,” Hamilton says tersely. “Just because it has handles, doesn't mean it's your right to push me around.”

John's hands instantly retracted and neither of them are in the right position to see Jefferson's smug grin. “Sorry, I didn't know. You want to stay here? But you hate him.”

“I can't go back to work yet,” Hamilton says. “But I will be back. Jefferson just happened to run into me a couple minutes ago. That's all.”

John looks suspiciously between them. “Alright. But you should've at least texted me, I'm your friend. I would've been there to help you.”

“Sorry, broke my phone. I think lunch break is over, you should get back to work before you get in trouble.”

John looks slightly hurt from the obvious dismissal. He nods, “I'll tell Washington that you’re with Jefferson.”

“No, don't tell him anything.”

“What? He's worried sick.”

“I've got it under control.”

“Fine,” John huffs, jamming his hands into his pockets and walking away.

Jefferson reclaims his spot next to Hamilton. “Well then. Shall we continue our journey? Or would you rather go home?”

“Let's just go home.”

Jefferson nods and falls into step next to him. Hamilton gives up wheeling himself after ten feet, not really in the mood anymore. Jefferson picks up the silent request and takes over. Hamilton can't help but feel a little grateful. How Jefferson seemed to understand all his silent signals was beyond him.

Hamilton honestly feels a little bad. John is his best friend. But the fact that he assumes so easily that Hamilton couldn't defend or care for himself irritates him. Even though that's not what really happened. It's what Hamilton likes to think happened.

----

[fly-pow-bye]

Ducktales 2017 - “Daytrip of Doom!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow, Rachel Vine, Matt Youngberg

Written by: Rachel Vine

Storyboards by: Emmy Cicierega, Ben Holm, Jason Reicher

Directed by: Dana Terrace

Imported guitar games!

We start off the cold open of the first regular episode with Scrooge McDuck waking up, not really minding that Huey, Dewie and Louie are playing with foam dart guns. He even helps Dewey out by telling him not to shout when he's aiming at something, possibly training him for future missions. Mrs. Beakley doesn't exactly agree, as she alone has to prevent anything from getting broken.

Eventually, we get to see the far more adventurous and Mabel Pines-like Webby, doing what she does. Webby takes this game far more seriously, using grappling hooks, night-vision goggles, and even sets up a trap for Dewey and Louie to fall into. This contrast between the Webby and the boys sets up the main premise of the A plot.

After Scrooge McDuck finally draws the line at Donald Duck bathing in his washroom, Scrooge McDuck starts a family meeting to lay down two rules. 1. His space is his space, and 2. Refer to Mrs. Beakley for any other rules. While he had some character development with the nephews, he's still just as selfish as ever. He doesn't appear for most of this episode, giving more of the spotlight to the nephews and granddaughter.

This is not to say it's only the nephews and the granddaughter. Mrs. Beakley continues the meeting by flipping the blackboard to reveal a complicated diagram of rules. Much to Donald's chagrin, one of them is that nobody is above them, not even Donald, and he's not very happy about that. They get into a fight, telling the kids to leave. This sets up the B plot of Mrs. Beakley and Donald Duck not really getting along.

After they're forced to leave for what is probably not a kissing session, as they assumed. Webby wants to play more games, but the boys suggest a nap instead. Louie gives a better plan: going to Funso's Funzone! Dewey decides to invite Webby, because she's been sheltered all her life. Webby leaves to get her stuff by climbing up the wall. Whimsy!

Webby brings the usual kids stuff: grapping hooks, night vision goggles, the same kind of things she used in the foam dart scene. She tells herself that she's going to play it cool. She is not going to play it cool. From this scene, one can guess where this is going. She's going to be awkward, she's going to ruin the day somehow, the boys will shun her, and she's probably going to use these items to help the boys defeat whatever evil is going to capture them later in the episode.

While Webby gets super excited, we take a slight detour to the B plot, where Mrs. Beakley confronts Donald over him hooking up too many things and literally just holding a running water hose. There isn't much to say about these scenes. The episode just stops to show Donald Duck failing to get power. I've watched this episode a lot; I don't really remember what was funny about these scenes. For the record, Scrooge is nonexistent in this episode beyond the first scene, though he seems to be on Donald Duck’s side by virtue of not really caring. That's not necessarily a bad thing; he didn't need to be in this episode.

Webby gets to go on a bus for the first time in her life. Huey tries to prepare her, among other things, not to lick anything. Let's see how that works out!

Not well. She couldn't even follow the "no licking anything" rule, though thankfully on a pole. Apparently, she was so annoying, even the boys get thrown out, even though they didn't do anything. They seem fine with it, seemingly giving her quite a few chances. However, they have to walk through a seedy part of the neighborhood to get to their destination. Where people write "flatulence" on the wall, ducks play hopscotch on crime scene chalk outlines...

...and, of course, where three of the Beagle Boys are mugging some poor bird and stealing his truck. If you're familiar with the original show, they certainly have more distinct designs. One of the major differences is that Burger, the fat one that loved to eat in the original cartoon, is now a skinny guy who only speaks in grunts. It looks like they just took his admittedly "not cool nowadays" personality away, but maybe it'll get better in future episodes.

After the commercial break, they're finally at Funso's Funworld, and this episode turns out to be a "kids visit the Chuck E Cheese clone" episode. Each of the nephews seem to have their own way of having fun. By each of them, I mean just Louie and Dewey.

Louie takes her to the Pizza Pier, and he continues to be the sleaziest of the three. He clearly knows everyone in the pier, and is able to talk his way into free tokens and free drinks. Specifically, asking for water cups, and getting fruit punch. Webby is horrified, but Louie asks her to try the same thing.

Of course, her lack of social skills and inability to lie, outright telling the server what she intends to do with the water cup, only ends up getting the manager, who happens to be a pig, to kick both of them out. There is a really good joke that really plays into Webby's new character that is really subtle, but it's mostly just the expected scene otherwise.

Meanwhile, the Beagle Boys are. A man in a Funso costume tells them that no adults can come in unless they're accompanied by a minor. Big Time points backwards, and we see Bouncer in an ill-fitting outfit and holding a lollipop.

Now, how is this any different from those awful drag jokes in certain lesser cartoons? First, it's not a drag joke. The joke isn't just "look at this wacky villain in a costume", they play up now nobody would actually buy this. He actually says that line. An actual joke, if simple.

Speaking of simple jokes. Dewey introduces Webby to Uke or Puke, an obvious Guitar Hero parody. The joke is vomit.

Dewey: Behold! The best game ever created! Japanese import, there’s only one in the U.S., and I have the top ten scores...so I’m pretty much the best in the country.

Oh, so it's a GuitarFreaks parody! Despite never playing a video game before, she easily gets the hang of it. Yeah, that's definitely not accurate to real life, especially with those Japanese rhythm games. In fact, considering arcades nowadays, especially considering Chuck E Cheese, I'm surprised tickets never get involved.

We never get to see if Dewey's high scores get beaten by the utter magic of Webby, because this is all interrupted by Big Time and Bouncer in the Funso costume they stole by force in the previous scene. It ends as soon as it begins, as Webby instinctively hits the person sneaking up on her with the fake ukelele. Unforunately, not only do people see her as beating up Funso, he happens to land in a way that unhooks the game, getting rid of all the high scores.

As said before, they don't really think of a thing she could do to ruin Huey's enjoyment, so he just joins in to show that they aren't really that mad, subverting our expectations. Of course, this doesn't last long, as an acccident involving a deep part of a ball pit and the grappling hook causes Webby to accidently cause a fire. Even the boys get banned from Funso's, even if only one of them actually did anything wrong.

As for that prediction, while the boys never shun her directly, they sure think it loudly. Thankfully, as the manager calls Funso to take them away, it turns out Funso is still the Beagle Boys in disguise. Tying them up with rope, something proven on this very blog to keep superheroes from escaping, Big Shot has them call...

Ma Beagle, their boss. One of the main aspects of Ma Beagle is that Big Shot really wants her to give him praise, but Ma Beagle just isn't having it. He tells Ma Beagle all about his plan to kidnap the McDuck Brats, and have Burger throw a ransom note at Donald Duck, letting the B plot converge into the A plot for the benefit of the episode.

While the Beagle Boys are different from the original, they're still not too bright, as Ma Beagle tells them they just painted a giant target on themselves. Not only could Scrooge McDuck come in and give some a whollop rather than dollars, but possibly Mrs. Beakley as well! They don't get into too much detail, but the fact that the maid has a reputation says a lot about her.

Sure enough, Mrs. Beakley and Donald confront the Beagle Boys, and everyone's preparing for Mrs. Beakley to finally show what she'll do in an adventure situation. Unforunately, we're just going to have to wait.

Instead, it's Donald Duck that takes him down with his trademark outburst. The disappointment is most replaced by knowing how Donald Duck probably took care of things back when he was adventuring with Scrooge and Della. As for the other two, and how the nephews and Webby get out of their situation, I like being more vague when it comes to shows I actually enjoy, so I'll just spoil at least one things: Webby at least knows how to get out of rope, which was made believable by her previous actions.

Needless to say, I was mostly correct about my initial assumption, as Webby learns it's okay to be the odd one even if it caused them to be banned from a place they really loved. They seem to be okay with it, so everything turned out alright.

While this episode does a good job in building up Mrs. Beakley as this amazing person, both in how the Beagle Boys and Ma Beagle talk about her and a little joke in the end, we never actually see her do anything beyond her keeping the house safe from the nephew’s dart gun game in the beginning.

Teasing things that may happen in future episodes is happening a lot with this show, and it will happen in the next episode as well. Clearly, they want to be watching. I want to watch these potential episodes, so...mission accomplished?

How does it stack up?

Obviously, this wasn’t going to be as epic as the special that started this show. There’s still some good jokes, and one of my worries, that Webby would become this invincible can't-do-anything-wrong-unlike-those-icky-boys character in an effort to try to make her not as unmemorable as the original Webby, didn’t entirely come true. On the other hand, while not everything has to be a part of a major plotline, this is a cartoon after all, most of this episode felt like a throwaway.

According to Comcast, this episode was meant to be episode 3. Having seen The Great Dime Chase so I can have some sort of comparison for my ratings, I can probably see why they decided to swap the two. Not that this episode is bad, far from it, but let's just say, the next episode will have more of a bang than this one.

Honestly, this is the most skippable episode I've seen of the show so far, even if it's still entertaining. In the Fly Pow Bye economy, with its show-specific bell curves, Neutral Nephews are worth a little more than a Happy Buttercup.

Next, let's get to the chase!

← Woo-oo! 🦆 The Great Dime Chase! →

[healthbolt-blog]

New Post has been published on Health bolt

New Post has been published on http://www.healthbolt.net/blog/healthy-cooking-magazine-2/

Healthy Cooking Magazine

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Find quick and healthy recipes, nutrition tips, entertaining menus, and fitness guides to help you make smart choices for a healthy lifestyle from Cooking Light magazine.

[democratsunited-blog]

Democrats running for governor call for more road funding in debate

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=7310

Democrats running for governor call for more road funding in debate

Democratic candidates for Wisconsin governor: (Top row, left to right) Tony Evers, Paul Soglin, Josh Pade and Kathleen Vinehout. (Bottom row, left to right) Kelda Roys, Mike McCabe, Mahlon Mitchell and Matt Flynn.(Photo: handouts from candidates)

The eight Democrats running for governor called Friday for investing more in the state’s roads, with all of them backing higher gas taxes to do so.

“We must increase the gasoline tax — there is no question about that,” Madison Mayor Paul Soglin said.

“Anything is on the table for me, believe me,” said state schools Superintendent Tony Evers, adding that he believes raising the gas tax is likely the best way to get more money for roads.

All eight said they supported putting in place automatic annual increases in the 32.9-cent-per-gallon gas tax to account for inflation. Many of them also called for other increases to help pay for highways, local roads and bus systems.

The candidates made their comments at a debate hosted and moderated by Milwaukee County Executive Chris Abele. The forum was held at Ward4, a co-working space in Walker’s Point owned by Abele.

Abele is a Democrat known to funnel large sums into elections who has taken criticism from some liberals for his willingness to work with Republicans on certain issues.

He said he was unlikely to endorse in the Aug. 14 Democratic primary. The winner will face GOP Gov. Scott Walker in November.

Abele used the debate as a way to quiz the candidates about their views on transportation and other issues affecting local government.

The candidates sided with Abele in calling for providing more funding and autonomy for local governments. But one of them, former state Democratic Party Chairman Matt Flynn, used the talk about local control to take a swipe at Abele for his support for a 2013 law that curbed the power and pay of Milwaukee County supervisors.

“The principle issue for me is local control. … And by local control, I mean the County Board and not as much power in the county executive,” Flynn said to applause. “We’re going to restore proper balance.”

Afterward, Abele said he didn’t take issue with Flynn disagreeing with him on that issue and said he considers Flynn a friend.

Road funding could prove potent in the governor’s race. Republicans in the Legislature have been divided on increasing highway funding, while Walker has strongly opposed raising the gas tax or vehicle fees. 

In a Marquette University Law School poll last month, 59% said roads in their areas were fair or poor and 40% said they were excellent or good. 

Flynn called for letting local governments impose wheel taxes based on the vehicle values. Now, they must apply the same fees to all vehicles. 

“If someone has a Maserati, they’re going to pay a lot more than a 20-year old car,” Flynn said of his plan. 

Former Rep. Kelda Roys of Madison praised Milwaukee County officials for increasing the wheel tax for local services.

“Thank you for taking on that really tough issue and grappling with it,” she said. 

Roys also called for raising fees on heavy trucks to help pay for the state’s roads. 

State Sen. Kathleen Vinehout of Alma called for raising the gas tax by 5 cents and tying future annual increases to inflation. She also called for putting more state funding into local bus systems.

“Our transit budget needs to be increased 22% to keep up with inflation and that is something I will commit to doing,” she said.

Liberal activist Mike McCabe said he wanted to see higher fees on heavy trucks.

“I am open to anything (to increase funding for roads), but I have to say tolling is my very last and very least-favorite option,” he said.

Firefighters union president Mahlon Mitchell said he would establish regional transit authorities that would be funded with local sales taxes and property taxes. 

“It costs money to move people around,” he said.

Miilwaukee lawyer Josh Pade said he believed local governments should be able to charge wheel taxes based on vehicle values, saying it wasn’t fair for those scraping by to pay as much as the wealthy. 

Alec Zimmerman, a spokesman for the state Republican Party, blamed Democrats in part for the state’s transportation woes because of decisions they made 10 years ago when they were in power. 

“This field of Democrat candidates is showing that they would rather raise your taxes to fix problems their party helped create instead of working toward real solutions for Wisconsin,” Zimmerman said in a statement.

The debate came as the candidates make their final push for votes.

Mitchell was hosting a block party Friday with U.S. Rep. Gwen Moore to drum up support. Roys was touting her endorsement from the Eau Claire indie rock band Bon Iver and recently crossing the $1 million threshold in fundraising (after earlier putting about $350,000 of her own money into her campaign).

RELATED: What you need to know about Wisconsin’s Democratic candidates for governor

RELATED: Democratic candidate Mahlon Mitchell confronts GOP tracker, sending him away

Last month’s Marquette University Law School Poll found most voters don’t know enough about the candidates to decide who they will vote for.

Evers led the field with 31%. He was followed by Mitchell (6%), Vinehout (6%), Flynn (5%), Soglin (4%), McCabe (3%), Roys (3%) and Pade (0%).

Four of the candidates — Evers, Flynn, Mitchell and Roys — recently began running TV ads.

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Here’s how to register and vote in Wisconsin Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

Friday’s debate was divided into two parts because of the size of the field. The first panel consisted of Evers, McCabe, Soglin and Vinehout. The second one consisted of Flynn, Mitchell, Pade and Roys.

The groups were determined randomly.

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Read full story here

[robertvasquez763]

New York City Takes Space from Cars, Redistributes to Pedestrians and Bicyclists

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Traffic in New York City can be intense. In Manhattan, where the daytime population surges to four million and pedestrians can outnumber cars by an 18-to-1 margin, city officials recently conducted a months-long experiment on a single block along Broadway. Pavement that was used exclusively for cars was redistributed, allotting more space to bicyclists and pedestrians. The speed limit was slashed to 5 mph. Dedicated bike lanes were added. The city’s Department of Transportation deemed the experiment so successful that it has made the changes permanent.

–

The “shared street,” near the iconic Flatiron Building, occupies a sliver of Broadway where it intersects Fifth Avenue, just west of Madison Square Park. Viewed from above, it looks like a buffer zone between the leafy park and bustling Fifth Avenue, with tables and umbrellas beckoning pedestrians to sit down and take in the open air.

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–

“

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“We’re seeing cities across the U.S. embrace innovative -street designs, like shared streets.” -– Alex Engel, National Association of City Transportation Officials –

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”

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“When we met with the local community to hear their concerns, we weren’t surprised to learn of the changes they wanted to make this area safer for pedestrians and cyclists,” Luis Sanchez, Manhattan borough commissioner for the New York City DOT. “It’s a space where motorists, pedestrians, and cyclists all travel together safely, with cars traveling at a reduced speed and pedestrians having more options to circulate in an area.”

–

Jennifer Brown, executive director of the Flatiron/23rd Street Partnership business-improvement district, said her organization has been working with DOT for several years to improve the area, beginning with reclamation of public space from Broadway. The plaza that brought the café tables to the area was built in 2008.

–

“The actual shared street—this little part of Broadway—was part of a larger project,” she said. “The plaza program was very successful in our neighborhood, and it was very new at the time. I think it was a good idea then to take it a step further.”

–

New York is like many other big cities across the globe grappling with congestion and with growing urban populations that are demanding safer streets and new mobility options. In Paris, officials have proposed doubling the number of bike lanes and will limit certain streets to electric vehicles by 2020. In London, mayor Sadiq Khan wants to prohibit the building of new parking spaces, and officials are considering lowering speed limits.

–

–

While speed limits in New York have already been reduced to 25 mph in recent years in an effort to reduce traffic fatalities, the shared-street program further lowers vehicle speed limit to 5 mph. Construction on the shared-street project narrowed pedestrian crossing distances on Fifth Avenue and included protected bicycle lanes.

–

Brown said one of the big challenges DOT faced in altering traffic patterns was to avoid choking access to several large buildings on Fifth Avenue that rely on truck deliveries to support building operations. “Keeping access open to those buildings was very important, but there was so little traffic there anyway, it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference,” she said. “It’s still early—we just had the ribbon cutting—but so far, so good.”

–

–

Cities Need to Wake Up and Plan for Self-Driving Cars, Study Says

–

Idea of Removing Urban Freeways Gains Fresh Traction

–

Some Cities Are Better Than Others for Self-Driving Cars

–

–

Shared-street programs have been tried in other parts of New York City, including Lower Manhattan and Jamaica, Queens. Another in Manhattan is planned in 2018 on 43rd Street between Lexington and Third Avenue. Pittsburgh, Seattle, and Cambridge, Massachusetts, have commercial shared street programs aimed at reducing congestion and creating a lively public realm with pedestrian-first designs.

–

“We’re seeing cities across the U.S. embrace innovative street designs, like shared streets,” Alex Engel, a spokesman for the National Association of City Transportation Officials (NACTO), said in an email. “In part, this is from having a codified resource in tested street designs, which we provide in the NACTO Urban Street Design Guide, which has been endorsed by over 50 jurisdictions in the U.S.”

–

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via WordPress https://robertvasquez123.wordpress.com/2017/12/06/new-york-city-takes-space-from-cars-redistributes-to-pedestrians-and-bicyclists/

[eddiejpoplar]

New York City Takes Space from Cars, Redistributes to Pedestrians and Bicyclists

e

-

Traffic in New York City can be intense. In Manhattan, where the daytime population surges to four million and pedestrians can outnumber cars by an 18-to-1 margin, city officials recently conducted a months-long experiment on a single block along Broadway. Pavement that was used exclusively for cars was redistributed, allotting more space to bicyclists and pedestrians. The speed limit was slashed to 5 mph. Dedicated bike lanes were added. The city’s Department of Transportation deemed the experiment so successful that it has made the changes permanent.

-

The “shared street,” near the iconic Flatiron Building, occupies a sliver of Broadway where it intersects Fifth Avenue, just west of Madison Square Park. Viewed from above, it looks like a buffer zone between the leafy park and bustling Fifth Avenue, with tables and umbrellas beckoning pedestrians to sit down and take in the open air.

-

-

“

-

“We’re seeing cities across the U.S. embrace innovative -street designs, like shared streets.” -– Alex Engel, National Association of City Transportation Officials -

-

”

-

-

“When we met with the local community to hear their concerns, we weren’t surprised to learn of the changes they wanted to make this area safer for pedestrians and cyclists,” Luis Sanchez, Manhattan borough commissioner for the New York City DOT. “It’s a space where motorists, pedestrians, and cyclists all travel together safely, with cars traveling at a reduced speed and pedestrians having more options to circulate in an area.”

-

Jennifer Brown, executive director of the Flatiron/23rd Street Partnership business-improvement district, said her organization has been working with DOT for several years to improve the area, beginning with reclamation of public space from Broadway. The plaza that brought the café tables to the area was built in 2008.

-

“The actual shared street—this little part of Broadway—was part of a larger project,” she said. “The plaza program was very successful in our neighborhood, and it was very new at the time. I think it was a good idea then to take it a step further.”

-

New York is like many other big cities across the globe grappling with congestion and with growing urban populations that are demanding safer streets and new mobility options. In Paris, officials have proposed doubling the number of bike lanes and will limit certain streets to electric vehicles by 2020. In London, mayor Sadiq Khan wants to prohibit the building of new parking spaces, and officials are considering lowering speed limits.

-

-

While speed limits in New York have already been reduced to 25 mph in recent years in an effort to reduce traffic fatalities, the shared-street program further lowers vehicle speed limit to 5 mph. Construction on the shared-street project narrowed pedestrian crossing distances on Fifth Avenue and included protected bicycle lanes.

-

Brown said one of the big challenges DOT faced in altering traffic patterns was to avoid choking access to several large buildings on Fifth Avenue that rely on truck deliveries to support building operations. “Keeping access open to those buildings was very important, but there was so little traffic there anyway, it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference,” she said. “It’s still early—we just had the ribbon cutting—but so far, so good.”

-

-

Cities Need to Wake Up and Plan for Self-Driving Cars, Study Says

-

Idea of Removing Urban Freeways Gains Fresh Traction

-

Some Cities Are Better Than Others for Self-Driving Cars

-

-

Shared-street programs have been tried in other parts of New York City, including Lower Manhattan and Jamaica, Queens. Another in Manhattan is planned in 2018 on 43rd Street between Lexington and Third Avenue. Pittsburgh, Seattle, and Cambridge, Massachusetts, have commercial shared street programs aimed at reducing congestion and creating a lively public realm with pedestrian-first designs.

-

“We’re seeing cities across the U.S. embrace innovative street designs, like shared streets,” Alex Engel, a spokesman for the National Association of City Transportation Officials (NACTO), said in an email. “In part, this is from having a codified resource in tested street designs, which we provide in the NACTO Urban Street Design Guide, which has been endorsed by over 50 jurisdictions in the U.S.”

- from Performance Junk Blogger 6 http://ift.tt/2zT7PhG via IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

New York City Takes Space from Cars, Redistributes to Pedestrians and Bicyclists

e

-

Traffic in New York City can be intense. In Manhattan, where the daytime population surges to four million and pedestrians can outnumber cars by an 18-to-1 margin, city officials recently conducted a months-long experiment on a single block along Broadway. Pavement that was used exclusively for cars was redistributed, allotting more space to bicyclists and pedestrians. The speed limit was slashed to 5 mph. Dedicated bike lanes were added. The city’s Department of Transportation deemed the experiment so successful that it has made the changes permanent.

-

The “shared street,” near the iconic Flatiron Building, occupies a sliver of Broadway where it intersects Fifth Avenue, just west of Madison Square Park. Viewed from above, it looks like a buffer zone between the leafy park and bustling Fifth Avenue, with tables and umbrellas beckoning pedestrians to sit down and take in the open air.

-

-

“

-

“We’re seeing cities across the U.S. embrace innovative -street designs, like shared streets.” -– Alex Engel, National Association of City Transportation Officials -

-

”

-

-

“When we met with the local community to hear their concerns, we weren’t surprised to learn of the changes they wanted to make this area safer for pedestrians and cyclists,” Luis Sanchez, Manhattan borough commissioner for the New York City DOT. “It’s a space where motorists, pedestrians, and cyclists all travel together safely, with cars traveling at a reduced speed and pedestrians having more options to circulate in an area.”

-

Jennifer Brown, executive director of the Flatiron/23rd Street Partnership business-improvement district, said her organization has been working with DOT for several years to improve the area, beginning with reclamation of public space from Broadway. The plaza that brought the café tables to the area was built in 2008.

-

“The actual shared street—this little part of Broadway—was part of a larger project,” she said. “The plaza program was very successful in our neighborhood, and it was very new at the time. I think it was a good idea then to take it a step further.”

-

New York is like many other big cities across the globe grappling with congestion and with growing urban populations that are demanding safer streets and new mobility options. In Paris, officials have proposed doubling the number of bike lanes and will limit certain streets to electric vehicles by 2020. In London, mayor Sadiq Khan wants to prohibit the building of new parking spaces, and officials are considering lowering speed limits.

-

-

While speed limits in New York have already been reduced to 25 mph in recent years in an effort to reduce traffic fatalities, the shared-street program further lowers vehicle speed limit to 5 mph. Construction on the shared-street project narrowed pedestrian crossing distances on Fifth Avenue and included protected bicycle lanes.

-

Brown said one of the big challenges DOT faced in altering traffic patterns was to avoid choking access to several large buildings on Fifth Avenue that rely on truck deliveries to support building operations. “Keeping access open to those buildings was very important, but there was so little traffic there anyway, it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference,” she said. “It’s still early—we just had the ribbon cutting—but so far, so good.”

-

-

Cities Need to Wake Up and Plan for Self-Driving Cars, Study Says

-

Idea of Removing Urban Freeways Gains Fresh Traction

-

Some Cities Are Better Than Others for Self-Driving Cars

-

-

Shared-street programs have been tried in other parts of New York City, including Lower Manhattan and Jamaica, Queens. Another in Manhattan is planned in 2018 on 43rd Street between Lexington and Third Avenue. Pittsburgh, Seattle, and Cambridge, Massachusetts, have commercial shared street programs aimed at reducing congestion and creating a lively public realm with pedestrian-first designs.

-

“We’re seeing cities across the U.S. embrace innovative street designs, like shared streets,” Alex Engel, a spokesman for the National Association of City Transportation Officials (NACTO), said in an email. “In part, this is from having a codified resource in tested street designs, which we provide in the NACTO Urban Street Design Guide, which has been endorsed by over 50 jurisdictions in the U.S.”

- from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 http://ift.tt/2zT7PhG via IFTTT

[lifeontap]

New Post has been published on https://www.lifeontap.com/bbc17-the-beer-industry-in-milwaukee-and-wisconsin/

#BBC17 - The Beer Industry in Milwaukee and Wisconsin

“Why is Dan covering the third session first?”

Well due to the cascading delays from the round of thunderstorms around the country, my flight’s crew was delayed so long that those same storms finally hit NYC. Hence, GROUNDED. The torrential rain not only caused a delay, but I found out later that my suitcase (and presumably most on the flight) were left outside for at least a few minutes. The seemingly never-ending downpour soaked every article of clothing in my bag…including the jeans I had intended to wear later that day. There was a silver lining in that none of the beer, packed ever so carefully, was affected.

For every Beer Bloggers Conference I have attended, I always had the pleasure of Julia Herz ( @HerzMuses ) to kick things off with poise, data, and new perspectives. I also missed the welcome from John Kimes of the Pabst Milwaukee Brewery which no doubt was full of energy and joviality. Many of my fellow bloggers covered this well via social media and blog coverage, so I will leave it to them.

After spending nearly forty minutes hanging up the wet clothes, carefully inspecting the beer, and using a hair dryer on my damp jeans, I hopped in a Lyft to head straight to lunch, hosted at the newly-renovated, former church — Pabst Milwaukee Brewery. I grabbed a few delicious bites care of Chef Rebecca Berkshire (those deviled eggs were AMAZING), a Biere de Mars, a Barleywine, and quick catchup/hello with previous attendees.

As I walked into the Great Hall, I feasted my eyes on the polished yet hearth-like appeal of the room. I saw more familiar faces as I scouted out a seat where I could plant myself and finally take a load off while listening to some interesting viewpoints that would paint the theme of my weekend: Milwaukee is a must-visit beer destination that should be better recognized for its role in American beer history, the brewing community’s attention to beer quality from grain to gulp, and their sincere commitment to hospitality.

#BBC17 Panel – The Beer Industry in Milwaukee and Wisconsin

  The Beer Industry in Milwaukee and Wisconsin

  The Panel

Anne Sprecher of Sprecher Brewing Company

Executive Director Mark Garthwaite of the Wisconsin Brewers Guild

Russ Klisch of Lakefront Brewery.

Kathy Flanigan from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Moderator

  A Little History

While I will not recount everything said by the incredible panel, one phrase was consistently repeated that deserves mentioning. New breweries in Milwaukee (and Wisconsin as well) were “in the large breweries shadow” for quite a while. We first heard about how German brewing culture came to be present, and how Wisconsin communities mostly revolved around their hometown brewery’s beer garden. In 1836, the first brewery opened in West Wisconsin (the capital of Madison). A local beer history lesson would also be remiss if “Prohibition Tales” were not mentioned, which reminded me of Schell’s own stories told previously on The Session. Hell, even the baseball team in Milwaukee are Brewers (not just in name, as three collaborated on a beer for the park).

Fast forward to the 1970s, filled with the repeated woes of brewery shutdowns and consolidation by the Big Three. Looking back at this, one could draw many comparisons between Milwaukee and fellow beer city St. Louis. I was in awe to learn that out of the 76 breweries that remained at America’s low point, 11 of them were located in Wisconsin. Now there are 30 in Milwaukee alone! Mark correctly identified LL Cool J when he said to the room, “Don’t call it a comeback…we’ve been here for years.” I, or even huge LL fan Fudge’ems could not have said it better ourselves.  

The Craft Beer Scene

Russ and Anne spoke about the evolution of the local craft beer scene, as Lakefront turns 30 and Sprecher turns 33 this year. It was not until 2005 that investor money became plentiful. All craft breweries were start-ups who frequently would create “Frankenstein” systems out of old dairy equipment and whatever else they could get their hands on. Now as well as then, you need to have passion to get into this game.

Craft Beer has always been a disruptor to the American macro-breweries, but I did not know that they were an equal or bigger disruptor to distributors as well as the Three-Tier System. Mark was able to further explain that brewery licenses included wholesale and retail identities, which in essence bypasses our current legal setup for all alcohol. The word “dissonance” was thrown out, as while all wanted to extend the category, the level of trust to do so may not have been present. After hearing from other people over the course of the weekend, it appears that a new balance is being sought after by some. I would like to believe that many have the sincere interest of offering higher levels of quality and choice to the consumer, but previous news stories (outside Wisconsin) have shown that some will do anything to get market share and money.

The Wisconsin Brewers Guild (and other regional guilds) are banding their resources together to lobby for their rights, just as other interest groups do the same for distributors and retailers (the other two tiers). Some on the panel were concerned that the creation of additional guilds may dilute the power of the guilds. This trend will be another interesting one to watch not just in Wisconsin, but in every state.  

Festivals, Festivals and More Festivals?

Anne alluded back to the initial history remarks as well as their efforts to bring the beer garden back to the community. Sprecher works with Milwaukee County Parks and employs “traveling beer gardens” complete with converted old fire trucks armed with taps instead of hoses and such. They also sponsor programs like “Pass Me A Pint” and “Roll Out The Barrel Tour” to additionally support the local beer culture. Since Sprecher’s foray into this area, MillerCoors and other breweries jumped in and donated a lot of money as well. A key result: incidents of crimes have gone down in all parks where beer gardens are present.

Believe it or not, Wisconsin leads the nation in festivals…there are sometimes three a week! The biggest is “Great Taste of the Midwest”, of which Mark has been the Chair (it’s his last year). All panelists noted that “Festival Fatigue is a real thing” as is “Craft Beer Week Fatigue”; from April through September, all the brewers and authorized representatives struggle to attend and represent their brand at every fest. While everyone agreed there is room to do festivals well, each brewery needs to make hard decisions on which ones to attend. One additional constant is that all festivals (including charitable and non-profit) pay for the beer, and that it is never donated. Russ added, “if all brewers gave it, they themselves would become non-profits.”

Other noted comments on festivals was that some mandate that an official representative (brewer or owner) must be present for festivals, such as Glendale’s. Mark chimed in saying, “Personal connection” is important at festivals and wherever beer is poured. I cannot tell you how many beer festivals I have been to that the persons pouring do not know anything about the beer except what they have been told. For me, speaking to someone who brewed or helped with the process in some way is much more valuable. So has the novelty of festivals worn off? Not for the organizers obviously, who constantly push breweries with the promise of additional or enhanced exposure. Mark quickly quipped, “You can die of exposure.” Too true.  

Diversity and Craft Beer

All panelists mentioned grappling with this topic. I will be the first to admit that it is not easy to approach, but if we all agree to talk openly and honestly we can make real strides. The Pink Boots Society already does an incredibly service for women in craft beer, and actively encouraging and educating anyone interested should still be the focus according to the panel. Seeing more minorities and women at the helm of craft beer enterprises help provides role models and mentors for our future brewing generation.  

What’s The Biggest Opportunity for Wisconsin Beer?

Russ: More sessions, more fun beers, more education, more collaborations

Anne: Educational opportunities through Cicerone, Hop School, etc.

Mark: Collaboration across beer, wine and spirits (barrel-aging is just the beginning)  

Audience Questions

How should we review bad beer as a blogger?Two approaches were offered here: ranking and omission. If you rank all the rauchbier you have tasted and rank one at the bottom, you are in essence not saying it is bad beer. You are simply stating there are a bunch that are better. If I feel that a beer is not the best representation (accidental infection, questionable storage/transport etc.), I generally will not post a review. I also will reach out to the brewery directly with my concern, for which most of the time I am thanked for the notification. In the end each and every blogger or writer will need to be consistent in their approach.

Mixing beers/blending between breweries?A Schlitz/Pabst combo was mentioned, which obviously drew jeers from the audience. The panelists did not seem that excited or interested at this prospect, but some of us out here might not say no if one was handed to us.

What are the most popular tours now that there are more taprooms – will tours need to evolve?While curious people like bloggers and homebrewers (about 1% according to Anne) might be more inquisitive about recipes, setups and the technical end of things, most people go on tours to be entertained and sample beer. Most breweries and brewpubs seek guides who can relate to people, and work the crowd. The more unique of an experience, the more memorable and that will be key to evolving tours.

  Looking Forward

The panel offered various paths and/or opportunities for stakeholders in local craft beer communities to expand brands as well as the overall category reach amongst alcohol drinkers. Russ reminded all of us that the Nielsen reports on actual SKU purchases show that while craft has made waves, it is by no means a major portion of market share. As previously mentioned, bloggers and writers play a unique role in developing our local beer culture and we collectively need to step up to evolve and preserve it and its history.

  Cheers and remember:

Life’s a tap…drink up ’til it’s dry.