#trailer rentals lowes

[bhamtrailers]

B'ham Trailer Rentals LLC

Trailer rental service in Alabaster, Alabama

Bham Trailer Rentals LLC At Bham Trailer Rentals, we are dedicated to providing exceptional trailer rental services in Birmingham. Our focus is on delivering reliability, affordability, and outstanding customer satisfaction. Every rental comes equipped with all the necessary supplies, including straps, axle straps, a winch, wheel chocks, a 12-ton bottle jack, a 4-way lug wrench, tire pressure gauge, work gloves, and a safety vest, ensuring you have everything you need for a safe and efficient haul. Whether for personal or commercial use, we ensure a smooth and hassle-free rental experience.

Business Hours: 24 hrs 7 days

Payment Methods: Stripe

Year Establish: 07/2024

Contact Name: Gwyn Wood

Contact Us:

B'ham Trailer Rentals LLC

Address: 315 Grove Hill Ln, Alabaster, AL 35007 USA

Phone: +1 205-839-7802

Mail: Bhamtrailerrentals@gmail.com

Website: https://bhamtrailers.com/

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[intelvehicle]

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[tgcommercials]

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[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 84

Part 1 Part 83

Eddie drives. He’s got no destination in mind, but away. Away from the screams. Away from the trap Steve had sprung. No, no, not Steve. Never Steve. That thing inside of him that hijacked his body and has been taking it for a joy ride. Away from the bodies that thing had left behind. Just –

Away.

His hands are shaking enough that the car shakes along with it.

***

His hands are shaking. There’s so much blood. What did he do? There’s so much –

***

“Eddie, sweetie.” He darts his gaze to the side quickly before pulling them back to the road. Mama Byers hovers in the space between driver and passenger seats, hand outstretched like she wants to put her hand over his on the wheel. “Pull over, okay?”

Eddie nods, jerky, wheel jerking with it, but it takes a minute before he can get his foot to move from gas to brake pedal. It’s an abrupt stop.

He doesn’t even pull to the side. Just, stops.

For a second, he thinks the car is still moving. The road in front of him shakes and blurs, like an earthquake in rain, but it’s Eddie shaking. Mama Byers uses soft fingers to brush tears away, smiling up at him even as new ones take their place.

“Let me drive for you,” she says, quiet. “Okay, hun?”

Eddie nods – doesn’t move. He continues to not move until Mama Byers reaches down and pulls him up, small arms straining to pull him to the back and settle him down on the carpet.

He doesn’t want to be back here, with a Steve who both is and isn’t.  But he sits, letting Will snuggle into his side like they’re just in the trailer for another movie night. Eddie keeps his eyes closed and lets himself imagine.

They’re sitting on the couch, fighting over overdue video rentals, slapping them out of each other’s hands, hoping none of the plastic cracks on impact.

They’re cuddled up on the couch, and Steve is still Steve, and they’re tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths, movie forgotten entirely.

Steve and Will are asleep on the couch, heads and bodies pooling onto Eddie as he tries his best not to move. Sleep never comes easy to any of them anymore.

They’re safe. Danger looms behind them, not in front.

But then Will says, “where are we going?” and Eddie opens his eyes.

Steve’s not looking at him. He’s looking up past the dashboard like he’s trying to answer that same question.

Uncle Wayne grunts out a quiet, “don’t say it aloud,” before levering himself up to kneel in front of Steve.

***

Blink. Give them proof of life. Just – blink. Do something. Do anything. It’s so dark. Please  

***

Shrugging his favorite red flannel off his back, Wayne uses the sleeves to tie it securely around Steve’s head, obscuring his blank eyes. “Soon as he knows, he’ll lead ‘em right atop us.”

“A spy,” Will says, nodding like it all makes sense. Eddie still feels his brain just ticking and stalling. A spy. “If Steve knows, he knows.”

Wayne nods. Mama Byers drives. Eddie stalls out.

It’s the Byers house they end up at, gravel crunching beneath their tires. Once the car is parked, and turned off, silence bleeds into the spaces between them. No one moves. What’s the point? When there’s no action plan, no moves to take. Nothing to send them propelling forward.

No life-saving throw of the dice to pull Steve back into himself and yank the shadows out.

So, they sit.

And they wait.

It’s Will who moves first. He rushes out of the van and into the house without a word. They all just stare after him.

“I’ll go check on him,” Eddie says, sighing as he shuffles, hands and knees past the bench Steve sits atop, and out the same door Will had left ajar.

But Will comes rushing back out before he makes it to his feet, dashing back to the van and sliding over and past Eddie, knee hitting him painfully in the hip.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry,” Will replies.

Eddie turns, laying on his back on the hard metal of the van’s floor. Even the creature comfort of a scratchy carpet denied to him at this, his lowest of lows.

Will’s hovering in front of Steve. There’s a familiar walkie talkie now sticking out of his pocket, and a pair of bulky headphones in his hands. He settles them gently over Steve’s ears. Even in moments like this, Will’s the gentlest of them.

Will switches on the off-brand cassette player he’s got in his hands. Steve jerks as something moody and too-loud blares out from the headphones.

“You’re gonna make ‘im deaf,” Wayne says, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the bench across from Steve.

“Better deaf than dead,” Will says, but he’s grimacing looks he’s not sure if that’s true. “Now, he can’t hear what we say.”

Steve’s gone placid again as the music washes over him. Eddie can’t help but wonder if music, the most human thing of all, could bring Steve back into himself. But then he recognizes the sound of The Clash, and the thought falls right back out of his head. Even if the transformative power of music could save Steve from the abyss, he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to this moody shit.

“We should still plan our next moves away from him,” Mama Byers says, punctuating her words by opening the driver-side door and stepping out.

Everyone else scrambles out after her. Eddie takes an extra second, staring at the little bit of Steve’s placid face that’s visible past the make-shift blindfold and headphones.

He studies the shape of his mouth, the curve of his cheekbones, the breadth of his shoulders, memorizing his shape, as if everything that is Steve Harrington isn’t already branded into his mind. As if Steve Harrington hasn’t made himself home in his heart and mind, rooted deep enough that Eddie couldn’t carve him out even if he wanted to.

“Ed!” Wayne calls.

Eddie goes.

It’s quiet. Eyes shifting back and forth, placing pressure on person to person to come with any sort of plan for this.

“We should call Dr. Owens,” Mama Byers says, looking at Wayne already, like Eddie and Will’s opinions are the lesser in the situation.

“No way in hell!” Wayne snaps, glaring. “You think they’ll take kindly to that boy when they realize he led so many of their own to their deaths?”

“It wasn’t him!”

“I know that!” Wayne replies, heated the way he only is when he’s worried about his kids. “Do you think a bunch ‘a government goons are gonna give two shits?”

It’s like every planning session they have, they’re working to beat the last one for the worst ideas in the world. Or in the case of not having any ideas at all, passing off the responsibility to someone they in no way should.

Eddie tunes it all out, looking back toward the van, pulling, pulling, pulling on the line between them. It’s still there. Steve’s still there.

“He tried to save us,” Eddie says, quiet voice cutting through the arguing. He doesn’t look to see what everyone’s face looks like, too afraid to find pity there. Or worse, sympathy. “He tried to save us.”

He’s looking at the van, swears he can see Steve sitting, bound, and blindfolded, and deaf to the world around him, even through all that metal.

“He’s still in there.”

Something settles into him like conviction.

He storms to the van, ignoring the calls to stop, to explain. It’s like he’s being pulled to where he belongs – at Steve’s side. Always. ‘til death do they part.

Steve’s cheek is scratchy beneath his palm, the way he never lets it get. Not since being trapped in the Upside-Down with no usable water or razors. He rubs his fingers against it, watches the skin redden.

He leaves the flannel where it is, sleeves trailing down and tickling his arms. He takes the headphones off, doesn’t turn the player off, just lets it ring quietly through the van, a terrible soundtrack to this terrible moment.

“Remember that first night?” Eddie says, clutching Steve’s face harder, trying to push the memories back into him. “You saved me from the Demogorgon, pulled me into your bedroom, and hid me away with you.”

He ignores the sounds of the rest of the group clattering into the van behind him. They’re not here at all. Neither is he. Steve and Eddie are still in that closet, tucked away and safe from the dangers of the world.

Eddie smiles, undeniably fond of what had then been the scariest moment of his life. “Even when you were an asshole, you were still a good dude.”

Will moves up beside him, pushing him to the side and sliding one of his hands beneath Eddie’s so he can cradle the left side of Steve’s face while Eddie cradles the right.

“Remember when we first met?” Will asks, quiet, reverent. “You saved me from the Demogorgon, too.” He bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s but doesn’t look away from Steve. “Guess that’s just something you do.” He laughs, wet but real. “And then you just kept saving me.”

As if the weight of the words are settling too heavily into him, Will’s head drops down, chin settling onto his own chest, free hand clenching uselessly. “Now it’s my turn, and I don’t know how to save you.”

***

“– to save you.” The words echo through him. There’s reverb through his whole body (How does he know that word? How does know that voice? Who is –

***

There’s a flicker, so faint Eddie’s not sure he felt it at all. But Will gasps, hand clenching his sternum in the same place Eddie feels the connection between them all.

“Steve?” Eddie calls, breathless. It doesn’t flicker again.

Wayne drops down, bullying his way between them to look up at Steve’s obscured face. “I remember the first time I saw ya,” he says gruffly. “You were half-dead, and still kicking up a big ol’ fuss.” He clears his throat. “I knew right when ya opened your eyes in that hospital room that you were as good as my own boy.” His voice breaks around the word boy, and Eddie’s heart breaks along with it.

***

“—as good as my boy.” …who?

***

Flicker. Tug.

Mama Byers kneels slightly behind Will, the room in front of Steve all taken up with their bodies stacked one on top of the other. “You saved my Will,” she says with that quiet conviction that always rings through her voice when she knows she’s right. “You’re a sweet boy, and you need to come back. Okay?”

***

“—come back. Okay?” Where? It’s dark. Where is he supposed to go?

***

Flicker. Tug.

Eddie scoots impossibly closer, Steve’s knees digging uncomfortably into his ribs. He wants to kiss him. He wants to merge their bodies until they’ll never be separated again. He wants Steve back. He just— wants.

“Angel,” he says, voice thick with all the things he’s never said. “I have loved you—”

***

“—I have loved you—”

***

“—since the first time I thought I’d lost you.” He hears Will’s quiet gasp. The words had come out, truthful and sure, but he wonders, just for a second, if this is the moment he loses Will. But then he remembers the reverence he’d looked up at Steve with when he’d been bathed in all that light. The way he talks about Mike Wheeler of all people like he hung the moon in the sky.

Wayne leans into him on one side, Will on the other, Steve in front, and he lets that pressure settle into him. Enough that he opens his mouth to continue speaking.

“I never want to lose you again,” he chokes out, warbling over the words as the tears, never far from his eyes these days, spring free once more. “Please.”

***

“Please.” He wants to go to the voice, that begs in the dark. Wants to…wants to…but it’s cold. And he’s lost.

But someone’s thrown him a line, no two. They’re glowing, a beacon of light in the darkness. Something to hold onto. So, he does. He takes hold and pull, hoping against all that cold nothing that it’ll lead him home.

***

“No, it was even before that.” Eddie says, smiling despite it all. They’ve always been the people to find that bright spot of light in all the darkness, him and Steve and Will. It’s a skill they curated in the musty red of a world they’d been sent to die in. They’d had to.

“You remember when we saw the lights in the Upside-Down for the first time in Mama Byers house?” Everyone’s quiet breathing shores him up, lets him linger in that bright spot of ethereal joy. “They surrounded you, like you were on fire.”

He hears a grunt from Will, wonders if he’s picturing that moment, too. If he can remember the way the light had haloed Steve’s face just as clearly.

***

“You looked like an angel, Stevie.” Stevie? He follows the line, follows the voice, wants out of this darkness. “I’ve been falling—”

***

“—for you ever since.” The words linger. Eddie lowers his hands, Will’s coming down with it, to look up at Steve’s inflamed cheeks, wishing it was a blush from Eddie’s words and not his body heat burning him up.

He wants Steve to say it back, to tell him he doesn’t feel the same, to punch him in the face, anything as long as it’s Steve. But he doesn’t. Because Steve’s still not there.

***

That voice. That— Eddie? He repeats it like a mantra, never wanting to forget again. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. The words are warm, they linger. Reverb in this dark place. He clutches the ties that bind and holds on. Eddie, and…

And…

And…

But then the warmth fades. It’s dark. And cold. And he’s so very alone.

Part 85

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[gatheringbones]

[“Herself a landlord, Karen paid attention to how someone looked at her unit. This point was repeated in the thick training manual landlords received at registration: “Do they check out each room?…Do they mentally visualize where the furniture will go, which room the children will sleep in, or how they’ll make best use of the kitchen layout? Or do they barely walk in the front door before asking to rent, showing a surprising lack of interest in the details? People who make an honest living care about their home and often show it in the way they look at the unit. Some who rent for illegal operations forget to pretend they have the same interest.”

The small act of screening could have big consequences. From thousands of yes/no decisions emerged a geography of advantage and disadvantage that characterized the modern American city: good schools and failing ones, safe streets and dangerous ones. Landlords were major players in distributing the spoils. They decided who got to live where. And their screening practices (or lack thereof) revealed why crime and gang activity or an area’s civic engagement and its spirit of neighborliness could vary drastically from one block to the next. They also helped explain why on the same block in the same low-income neighborhood, one apartment complex but not another became familiar to the police.

Screening practices that banned criminality and poverty in the same stroke drew poor families shoulder to shoulder with drug dealers, sex offenders, and other lawbreakers in places with lenient requirements. Neighborhoods marred by high poverty and crime were that way not only because poverty could incite crime, and crime could invite poverty, but also because the techniques landlords used to “keep illegal and destructive activity out of rental property” kept poverty out as well. This also meant that violence, drug activity, deep poverty, and other social problems coalesced at a much smaller, more acute level than the neighborhood. They gathered at the same address.

For people familiar with hunger and scarcity, addiction and prison, that often meant being isolated from job networks and exposed to vice and violence. But it also meant people could air problems; swap food, clothes, and information; and finish one another’s sentences about lousy jobs or social workers or prison (“They put gravy—”…“On everything!”). It meant that, should they be in the early stages of opiate withdrawal, they could take a walk around their trailer park to calm the shakes and run into a fellow junkie who could give them what they needed.

Some landlords neglected to screen tenants for the same reason payday lenders offered unsecured, high-interest loans to families with unpaid debt or lousy credit; for the same reason that the subprime industry gave mortgages to people who could not afford them; for the same reason Rent-A-Center allowed you to take home a new Hisense air conditioner or Klaussner “Lazarus” reclining sofa without running a credit check. There was a business model at the bottom of every market.”]

matthew desmond, from evicted: poverty and profit in the american city, 2016

[idolatrybarbie]

series masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader, marcus pike & f!reader

word count: 7.8k

rating & summary: mature - 18+ only! | You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut.

tags: heavy dubious consent - kissing, lies and manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse, discussion of canon acts of violence, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, misogyny, allusions to stalking. dead dove; do not eat.

notes: the behaviours of marcus pike are based upon the misogynistic and predatory philosophies of pick-up artists (link) and personal experiences with stalking. i would like to emphasize that these are bad people doing bad things. thanks to @wannab-urs for the beta and for being my revisionist history expert.

You drive to the car rental business housed in a hovelling little building next to the runway. The airport itself is huge for such a small place devoid of anything else, though you figure things worked out that way for that very reason. Lubbock Preston Smith treats you just fine, and your short flight to Dallas is distinctly unmemorable. The layover lasts a little over an hour before Southwest Airlines is herding you back onto another airplane.

It’s been a day and a half. You haven’t called Marcus back yet. What are you supposed to tell him?

Hey, I’ve decided that I want to help this criminal because…it’s what I want to do?

Terrible.

You wonder what Frankie’s life would look like, now that you’ve been in it for all of one week, if you weren’t in contact. Probably the same as it has been for the last eight months: quiet. Blow-your-brains-out quiet, solemnity trapping him inside his busted trailer. Seriously, that thing needs a bath.

The moon keeps you up. Truly, you let it. One slide of a curtain and you could fall asleep in half darkness, dead to the world. But you can’t. You don’t want to. Growing back into having that word—want—after years of doing what’s best is about as strange as Francisco is.

Somewhere between twinkling stars, your phone buzzes next to you on the nightstand. It usually stays silent, your alarm the first thing to wake you right before sunrise. When you pick it up, an unknown number is scrawled across the screen. You can’t quite place the area code.

“Hello?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hey.” Frankie.

“How did you get this number?”

“Luck?” he asks. When you don’t say anything, he gives you a real answer. “Aren’t too many of you in this digital copy of the New York City phone book.”

Setting that aside, you say, “It’s late, Frankie.”

“I know that.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That’s what television is for,” you say. “Or…porn.”

“Trust me, you’re a last resort,” he says. Then he asks, “Is it weird for you?”

You resign yourself to having this phone call. “Is what weird?”

“Knowing I’m guilty.”

Is it? Surprisingly, no. In the eyes of the law, you’re just about as bad as him. Just about.

“What answer will make you sleep better?” you ask instead.

“I don’t know,” Frankie says. “Honestly, I had no clue what was goin’ on. Will told us to lay low for a while—”

You want him to continue, but you have to stop him. For both of your sakes. “Stop.”

“What?”

“You have to stop. Might not want to incriminate yourself over the phone. It’d be better if you—”

“Stop? Yeah,” Frankie agrees.

“What else can I do?” you ask him.

“Well, if you can’t listen,” he says, “…stay. On the line. Just like this.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

For an hour, you listen to Frankie Morales breathing. You can tell when he slips unconscious, exhaustion winning out. Your heart beats a little faster when you hang up, tempted to re-dial only to hear him pick up. You don’t, of course; doing that would wake him. When you fall asleep, you picture Frankie dreaming. It’s peaceful.

In the morning, you gather your notes on Frankie Morales together. Here is what you know so far:

The government is planning to extradite him and his retired special operations team members and friends, Will and Benny Miller, and Santiago Garcia for their illegal actions in an unsanctioned operation in Colombia. Their travel spanned into the Peruvian Andes, leaving jurisdictional territory a little murky without legal help.

Frankie Morales is single, fourty-two, living (or hiding out) in Lubbock, Texas. He’s lived there for eight months after having his pilot’s license revoked a second time for an apparent relapse using substances. So far, you haven’t noted any signs of addiction or using, but he could be hiding it. God knows his closet is crammed full of skeletons already.

He grew up in Texas, just like you did. He had a little brother (status and whereabouts unknown) and a mother (deceased). He was in the flight academy straight out of basic training, finishing his degree in mechanical engineering at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. Frankie’s mother died two months after he got home from a second tour in Iraq.

He’s guilty: of the espionage, the theft, the murder. All of it. The government has photos, surveillance footage, and probably a haul of eyewitness testimonies. The odds are unequivocally stacked against you—against him. Yet for some reason, you still want to try and save him.

This is it. You’ve officially gone insane. You’re going against everything Marcus has ever told you, any reason you’ve ever learned or logic that has managed to worm its way into your head. All on a whim. What? Because he’s nice to you sometimes? Anyone can whip out a pitcher of fucking lemonade!

No, this is something else. A pull, a fascination. The darker parts of you are drawn to him. You are so sick and tired of everyone else saving you. You want to be good because you are good. Not because Marcus tells you so. Not because your mother can finally bear to flash you a smile at annual family dinners these days. Because of something you have done; earned and given to you by yourself.

A text from Marcus interrupts your thoughts.

Are you still alive?

Rolling your eyes, you pick up the phone and call him. It starts to ring. For some reason, you seem to be able to hear both ends: your dialing, and his obnoxious Mick Jagger ringtone. The song is muffled, sketchy pop beats stowed away by the limits of sound travel.

A knock at your front door surprises you. Getting up, you tie your robe at your waist, unlatching the deadbolt before unlocking the door.

“Marcus?”

"Would it kill you to answer your phone?" he asks.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't call me back."

"I was getting to it."

"I thought you were dead," Marcus says. "You hang up on me, and you were still at that Francis guy's place..."

"Frankie," you correct him.

"Yeah, him. Whatever." You don’t know why the dismissal in his tone irks you so much.

"I can't talk about this right now."

Marcus huffs out your name, staring out at your kitchen before facing you. Him in his work suit and you in pajamas, you rest on uneven footing. “I told you he’s bad news. Get yourself out of this.”

“Can we reconvene for this lecture later? I have to go to work.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Marcus—” You already know he won't budge.  “Okay. Fine,” you say. “But you have to behave.”

“Me? Always,” he says.

You roll your eyes, shooing him to the couch as you start to get ready.

There are two sides to your identity as a journalist now: what you’ve been sanctioned to do, and everything else that you haven’t. The job you fill at the Post is pretty mindless. You’re a staff writer, barely entry-level enough to get you acknowledged by upper management. You write up quick stories pulled from blind lead wires about how the economy isn’t doing well, or submit story ideas on housing that always get shot down. All of this means it lets you focus way more time on Frankie than you should.

When you're ready, Marcus takes your purse from you, freeing up your arm. He leads you to the street, hailing a cab. When the vehicle rolls up to the curb and sloshes a mix of rainwater and slush onto his shoes, Marcus doesn’t even blink. He opens the door for you, letting you get in first. Chivalrous, gentlemanly. Laying it on a bit thick, but when is he not?

The ride is quiet. You watch slick streets pass by from your window, listening to the cab’s tires rolling through dirty snow and pools of water. When you glance over, Marcus is doing the same. You're dreading the conversation waiting for you, but you can't bring yourself to regret the decision made. Marcus was right about your gut. You believe that Frankie deserves a shot at redemption. Each piece of the puzzle pulls you closer to him. He reminds you of yourself. The road ahead won’t be easy, but with the help of people like you and Marcus, maybe he can rebuild a life after all this—whatever is to come.

You get out of the car first, leading the way inside the statuesque building as you shake off the soggy snow that’s settled over your jacket. Taking the stairs two at a time in your shoes is a struggle.

“Here,” Marcus says. He offers you his hand halfway up to the second floor.

Seven flights of stairs later, you welcome him to the Post’s offices. The floor is barren of another living soul, just as you’d predicted.

Marcus stops short, standing next to the Tetris maze of cubicles. You shake your head, beckoning him around a shadowy corner to your cozy nook of the building.

“An office?” he asks.

“You're surprised?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?”

You put on an exaggerated frown, unable to keep a straight face when he holds his hands up in surrender. “They seem to like me around here.”

“You make that part easy.”

“For now,” you say. Taking a seat in your plush rolling chair, Marcus sits down across from you. “I have a feeling the story ideas I push aren’t exactly winning me any favours.”

“‘Cause you want to write about something real?”

“Exactly,” you say. “I’m sick of business puff pieces and reports on the next Amazon stock shift. I want to write about the people. What’s going on, what they’re going through? I’m working at the fuckin’...diet Financial Times.”

“When what you want is full sugar Wall Street Journal,” Marcus says.

You sigh. “A pipe dream.”

“Not for you.” Fixing him with a hard stare doesn’t stop him. “Look at what you’ve done with only a couple years under your belt. In another five? Ten? You’ll be running this place, babe.”

You let air punch out from your nose, ignoring the pet name. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Marcus says.

He sounds so confident, unshaken in his sureness. But you don’t live in Marcus’ world. You don’t get the things you want. You work for them. Not that he doesn’t, but of course Pike’s the guy to get a promotion that seemingly falls from the sky.

“Alright, Mr. Agent Man. Enough optimism from you,” you say.

The next hour is all but silent as you open up a spreadsheet, scrolling through digital receipts stored in your work email. You continuously switch between the two browser tabs, reading numbers and typing them in. The expenses of your White House trip trickle into their appropriate boxes as software organizes everything automatically. Marcus sits with you, eyes caught on something through the glass side wall of your office. He gets up and leaves, returning moments later with red licorice vines.

“Want some?” he asks, offering you the bag.

You bite your tongue between your teeth, dialed into your task. “Pass.”

“More for me.”

When your neck starts to hurt from hunching your spine, you sit back, shoulders stretching wide. You don't know if Marcus has been watching you this whole time, or if the movement caught his attention. The intensity of his gaze has your heart jumping to your throat. The moment you take notice, the force in his stare melts away.

"What?" you probe.

"You ditched the case, right?”

"Seriously? Right now?" Marcus doesn't speak, waiting for an answer. "I didn't. We can’t just give up on him.”

"You never listen to me."

“Since when have you been my boss?” you ask.

A beat of silence. “Since when have I not?” Marcus retorts.

You scoff. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“It’s always—Marcus, I don’t know what to do. Marcus, please help me. And it’s fine—”

“Sounds like it isn’t. I thought we were friends,” you say.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“This is my wheelhouse. You don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. On this, I know better,” Marcus says. “And honestly? You know it too.” 

You know what I’m talking about.

“That’s low,” you say.

“But it’s true.”

You stand up, walking away from your desk—from him. He follows you out of the office, his dress shoes catching on the carpet tile. Marcus won't let up that easily.

“I want to make it all go away,” you say. “The indictment, the investigation. All of it. And if we can’t do that—”

“We can’t,” Marcus interrupts you.

“Then I want to make sure that Frankie stays here. In America. No extradition.”

"I don't think you know how this works," he says.

"I've worked in this business just as long as you have.”

"As a journalist. You are not a political animal. You are not a monster. You can't rip this apart for yourself. For him."

"And you?" you ask.

"This favour stopped being for me the moment you stepped on his porch," Marcus says. "You are not one of them—you are not a senator, you are not the District Attorney. Most importantly, you are not a lawyer. The girl who gets the congressman of Rhode Island's coffee every morning has more political clout than you do."

"Well I'm glad to see you have so much faith in me," you say.

"This isn't about faith! You think this is about belief? It's about not getting yourself fucked over in the process. You are not the thing that goes bump in the night, or makes a phone call to execute a cell block over in Oklahoma. You play the game. I play the game. Frankie played, too. And then he stopped playing, and he went against their rules which is why we're standing here, discussing whether or not we can save him when that's not for us to decide!"

You've never seen Marcus this angry. You've never seen him this anything. His emotions never really leave gift box range: happy, nicely wrapped, and convenient when you need them.

"You imagine yourself as the immovable object to the unstoppable force. You're not. You're a little girl who has no clue what she's doing."

"And you do?" you spit back. "You did? Didn't we all learn our lesson the first time? Or is your memory so short that you've forgotten sitting at that table with me."

He remembers. That temper of his liquifies, Marcus' eyes soft before he coaches his face into a hard mask once again. "An innocent man doesn't run."

"Bullshit. Innocent men run all the time. It's how they get shot in the back," you say. "Just because you have made up your mind about what he is doesn't mean that I have to."

"You should. It's all laid out there in front of us both."

"You are the one who led me to this case."

"I didn't have all the facts then. Going to San Antonio was rash. I wasn't thinking," he says.

"You were thinking. You were thinking that these men didn't deserve extradition. You were thinking that I owed you a favour, and it was the perfect time to call in. And now what? Now that you know they're not cookie-cutter American patriots, what? This is what they're owed?"

"Yes."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's what he deserves. All four of them. It's what's right. What's fair."

"When has anything we've ever done been right or fair? You think what I do here is saving lives? Feeding the public articles about how billionaires fucking the everyman is a good thing?" you demand. "And you? Is sending another crime boss for a cushy plea stint at club fed saving the day? We aren't in the business of right or fair, Marcus. I thought you knew that."

"So what, you and this pilot? You think saving him is gonna right all your wrongs?" There's an edge creeping into his tone. He's hedging too close into the territory of implication.

"I never said stopping that extradition order was the right thing to do," you say.

"It's selfish," Marcus says.

"And so what?" you ask. "We're already here, aren't we?"

The two of you in this room, you're both shiny and candy lacquered to hide the filth on the inside. Sometimes you used to wonder if Marcus was the exception to that rule, but you know better now. Good people don't do what you do. They never make it this far.

Marcus is simply better at hiding it.

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Roles reversed, you would do the exact same thing."

"Hell would freeze over first." He spits your name out with an edge that's not an edge, but a tender hint of concern—no, pity. A dichotomy only Marcus Pike could manage. "You're not a fixer. You can't fix this."

"And you're not my keeper. I'm not asking you to save me this time, Marcus. I'm asking for your help."

"What if I say no?"

"You don't want to do that. You don't want to make me do that."

Marcus scoffs, walking towards you. He's in your space in an instant. Instinctively, you step back. He meets you there despite it. Marcus is so close now; you've never seen him like this. You don't want to.

"So you're all big and scary now?" he asks. His whispered breath over your lips makes your skin crawl.

He takes your jaw between two fingers, forcing you to look at him. The touch prods at that empty part of you, dark and deep, exposing you. When Marcus kisses you, a ghost of connection, you let him. It feels wrong; your stomach churns in the two seconds between its start and end. Marcus doesn't kiss you like he wants you—at least, not in the traditional sense. This isn't about love. It's for power.

He lets you go, walking away without another word. You hear the door to the stairwell swing open with a whine. You can only breathe again when it clicks shut.

You stay frozen in time for the next twenty days. Every blink has you reliving that moment. Your dreams are precariously empty. Marcus is gone again.

Hot breath chafes at the back of your neck, a delusion your mind has concocted to justify the fear that pumps through your blood at a constant. You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut, swaying every thought and decision you make. Marcus has you, but not in any way that’s comforting.

He doesn’t call. Frankie does. A lot. Twice one week grows to twice a day. The worst starts when he grows bolder, leaving messages. He sounds about as scared as you are, more desperate with each voicemail. You start to really worry when he stops calling altogether.

You find a little bit of wiggle room in your vacation days, flying back to Lubbock close to Presidents’ Day. Texas has taken on uncharacteristically moody weather, the sky swampy and grey as rain drowns out any hope for sunshine. You get the same truck to rent, filling it at a Gas n’ Sip on the way out of town.

The backroads flood with rainwater, puddles gathering into small ravines on the scarred asphalt. You splash through them at sixty miles an hour, racing in the rain. After taking your sweet time to get here, a sense of urgency floods you. Scraping together the last minute trip, your mind filled itself with nightmare scenarios. Maybe he’s gone even further off the grid; maybe you’ll never find him again. Or worse, maybe he’s taken up all of that mindblowing quiet literally.

The trailer park is about as flooded as the roads, if not worse. The sea of gravel has been swallowed up by water. All you can see in pretty much every direction is a gathering of murky liquid. The truck is absolutely drenched by the time you park in front of Frankie’s home. His own truck is there too, a weak flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the truck, your shoes are immediately submerged. It soaks through to your socks, but you can’t muster up enough care to notice. Trying to dodge the wind, you rush up the steps of the trailer and pry the screen door open. You knock five times in quick succession, then step back and wait. Air blows violently against the right side of your face. Squeezing your eyes shut only does so much; you’d rather press your face against grimy siding and get out of its path entirely.

When the wooden door behind the busted screen opens, Frankie’s face goes on a journey. Moody to shocked in a millisecond, and shocked to something you can’t quite parse in the next. He’s still in his pajamas.

“Hi,” you say. His eye has recovered, for the most part. The last remnants of a yellow-green bruise smear his skin.

“You’re back,” he returns.

“Can I come inside?”

Frankie seems to think about it, giving you a onceover. You almost think he’ll tell you no. When his eyes land on your sopping wet shoes, he frowns. Leaning forward, he opens the screen door towards you.

Inside, you take your shoes and socks off.

Frankie says, “I guess you got my messages.”

“You stopped calling.”

“You stopped answering.” Touché.

“I got worried,” you say.

The words make Frankie freeze, pausing his ambling through the kitchenette. Facing the broad expanse of his back, you watch his shoulders relax. He turns to you. His jaw ticks before he sighs.

“If you don’t wanna help me, you could just say that. Not hearing from you—”

He worried. Well, you knew that. But this is different. Nothing selfish here, it’s not anxiety over the situation at hand. Just you. Frankie worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Things got complicated.”

“In New York?” Frankie asks. “City girl too busy for a poor old country bumpkin, eh?”

It’s a joke, you realize, a laugh hiccuping from your chest. “Something like that.”

Frankie smiles then, mustache hiking his lip up to show you a flash of teeth. “I was just about to make lunch,” he says. An offer.

“Sure,” is all you give him.

You sit at his table once again, flipping through notes stuck together with raindrops. Frankie silently cuts up part of a head of iceberg lettuce right against the peeling surface of his countertop, the thick noise of chopping lulling you into focus. You haven’t looked at any of this in a while; time to play catch up.

A light clatter distracts you. By the time you look up, Frankie’s already standing at the sink, water running. A plated sandwich sits in front of you, lettuce and lunch meat jutting out at each side. Frankie finishes up in the kitchen, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he finds you staring.

“What?”

“You didn’t make one for yourself?” you ask.

“I’m not that hungry,” he says.

Disregarding any manners, you pick up the sandwich—already sliced in half—and take a bite. It’s a little more leafy greens than anything else, but you aren’t one to complain. Frankie sits across from you, waiting.

You say, “I wanted to circle back to what you said on the phone,” with bread still in your mouth.

Frankie shakes his head. “Don’t chew with your mouth open,” he says.

All you do is blink at him, swallowing the bite before you speak again. “You mentioned something about Will Miller a few weeks ago.”

“Right. Will, he told me to get outta dodge for a while. All of us to go dark. I’m living my stupid fuckin’ life, and then a few hours later my sergeant is giving me orders again.” Frankie prods his tongue into the side of his cheek, silent in thought. “I did it. Of course I did it. You get an order, you take it.”

“Even if you’ve been retired from Special Forces for almost a decade?” you ask.

“It’s not an if,” he says. “It’s an always.”

“And why is that? William Miller hasn’t been your army sergeant in—”

“Look, I’ll level with you. I get that you don’t understand. It’s not something I can explain for you to understand,” Frankie says.

You like a challenge. “Try me.”

“The training…it’s like a switch. Once you turn it on, you can’t—The people, your team. They’re family. They’re more than family. Your mother isn’t operating an AR-15 to save your life or dragging you to safety from a frag. I owe that man my life. That’s never going to change. They are the men that will always have you, no matter what. So when he asks you to do something, you do it.” He pulls at the whiskers of his moustache. “There’s no turning that off.”

Hot pants of breath beat down the stretch of your neck, your eyes stuck wide as you try to reign in the flood of sick crawling up your esophagus. Frankie looks confused as the quiet draws on longer than socially appropriate. Clicking your pen once, twice, three times, the beast at your back disappears.

“Could I use your bathroom?”

“Uh, sure,” Frankie says. “First door that way.”

He points further into the mobile home, down what’s barely a hall with two doors on either side. Spotted wood flooring turning to chipped tile as you step inside, the door pulled shut behind you. Your knee knocks against the lip of the sink, oddly low to the ground; you have to hunch to reach the tap. Cool water pours over your hand after a moment of anticipation.

The cold flow relieves some of the burning in your body, splashes of it against your eyelids running to your lips and tongue. Your mind is scattered, heartbeat in your ears. You can only grasp one thought through all the noise. This is what it feels like to be haunted.

Marcus owns you. You aren’t sure when exactly that happened. When you let that happen. So many moons ago, back in Austin? Or that diner, maybe, when he got you back after years of interim silence.

He was right. You are not a monster. He is. The world of politics is an ugly one, full of ugly people. Still, you don’t like to get acquainted with things that go bump in the night. You never noticed there was already something under your bed.

The door opens again with a creak. Frankie slouches in his seat, chin resting against the heel of his hand that’s propped against the table. You watch him, spotting the way he shakes out his shoulders. His arms let the fabric of his t-shirt loose before pulling it taut again. You want to trace your hand along the line of his spine.

Frankie refuses the rest of your sandwich, so you finish it alone. You ask him to recount the whole story, beat by beat: how he got involved, when, what the original plan was. He says that after the recce, they were supposed to hand off their gathered intel to Colombian authorities, but Santiago—Pope, he calls him—had other ideas. They went into Lorea’s estate expecting your average narcos cash stash, and wound up with a mansion spilling American dollars from the drywall.

You can see the anger in his eyes when he talks about the helicopter, the crash. Frankie slips in a mention of some pretty Colombian girl, but she’s gone from his story as quickly as she appears. The helicopter was overweight, sending them into a tailspin over the grassy plains of Peru.

“There were people there—villagers. We, uh… They were scared. A bunch of big Americans drop down from the sky with guns yellin’ English at them.” Frankie takes a long pause, staring at his hand. “I don’t know if Tom shot first, or if I—”

Oh god.

“There were a few of them dead. Pope worked out a deal with their leader. Gave him some money. We took a pack of mules, and we were on our way.” Frankie looks up at you. “I thought I’d never think about it again, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. And then Tom died. It all just went to shit.”

“Your friend died. You killed some people. In the process of all this, you broke some laws. From the sounds of it, that’s been your whole life. So what makes this different?” you ask.

“We didn’t…” he trails off. “There was no flag on our shoulder this time.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not it,” you say. “That’s the reason the government is after you. That’s not why you are the way you are about it.”

A well of anger and loneliness. Self-pity has stained the man known as Francisco Morales.

Frankie bristles. “Maybe it’s just sad, hey? Maybe I wish I’d done better. Been better. Maybe Redfly wouldn’t be dead.”

Redfly. Tom Davis. From what you could unearth of the man all those months ago, you don’t think it would have mattered. He seemed more likely to stick a shotgun in his mouth than Frankie, probably in one of those shit condos he was trying to sell. Better to die in those mountains.

“What happened to the money?” you ask.

Frankie shakes his head again. A silent no.

“You know I could just find it. Make this easy.”

“We gave it to his kids. Two daughters.”

“Offshore accounts?”

Frankie gives you a look: what do you think?

You hold his gaze, half challenge and half fascination. Abruptly, you switch gears. “I’ve got one rule.”

“A rule?” Frankie asks.

"I don't give a shit what you tell the D.A., or your lawyer, whoever. But you don't lie to me. If this is going to work, it's because you're honest. And I'll be honest too."

"Fine," Frankie says. "But I have some terms of my own.”

“Such as?”

“I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven't told me a thing about you and this case," Frankie says.

“There is no me and this case, Frankie. I didn’t do anything illegal here.”

“But you know about it,” he says. “If the government was going to move on me right now, I’d already be in a cell somewhere…which means they haven’t. And yet, here you are.”

You wish he was as stupid as he looks.

“And?”

“How do you know about this case?”

“I know someone at the Justice Department. He brought the case to my attention,” you say.

“Brought it to your attention,” he says flatly.

“Yes, Frankie. He brought it to my attention.”

“Bullshit.”

“Frankie—”

“I think that your friend went looking for something he shouldn’t have. And fuck, did he find it,” he says. “The only thing that doesn’t make sense to me is how you’re the one sitting here, not him.”

“It’s complicated,” you say.

“Don’t lie. You’re bad at it.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’ve painted yourself into a corner here, no way out.

You deflate, tired of keeping up the brave face. “Everyone’s got their marching orders.”

Anything left of that unsure sense of judgement in your chest melts away as Frankie’s face falls. He’s a good little soldier. So are you.

“Marcus Pike…he wanted me to drop this. You. He thinks you deserve jail, that you aren't any better now than the man you were in Colombia. Probably worse. He says it’s the right thing.”

“And what do you think?” Frankie asks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You don't want to see him go away for it. The Colombian government will demand to see him rot, but that's never sat right with you. Now the thought makes you sick, gut rolling whenever it crosses your mind. But like it or not, Marcus has gotten into your head. You need something to drown him out.

Frankie takes your empty plate and puts it in the sink. He pulls a bowl out of his cupboards. You grab your phone, tapping at the screen to wake it up. No messages, no missed phone calls.

“I should go,” you mumble, already reaching for your shoes. A warped water line has formed on the canvas upper, like brown and grey watercolour paint. You shove your damp socks in your pocket.

Frankie stops what he’s doing, pouring milk into floating bits of instant oatmeal.

He says, “It’s still raining like hell out there.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” Frankie doesn’t have a pithy comeback for you, simply standing by. “I’ll be back tomorrow—early. So be up this time.”

Frankie nods wordlessly, putting his bowl of brown sludge into the microwave. He stands in the kitchenette, watching it spin and spin behind glass. You head for the door, looking down into your purse in search of the truck’s keys. When you look up again a few steps from the exit, Frankie is there too.

His nose is inches from yours now. Frankie looks at you with something—a feeling you can’t quite grasp. It rolls off him in waves, overwhelming. He’s standing just out of reach. He is always standing just out of your reach.

When you stretch a hand up to his jaw, it feels normal. Natural. Like you were meant to hold him, like he was meant to be held. His stubble is prickly against the skin of your palm.

Frankie leans into your touch, his hand moving to hold your own in place. With your fingers splayed across his cheekbone, you can feel the fine lines around his eyes. Up close you can see the tiniest of sun spots along the column of his throat. The loose collar of his shirt creeps up and back down again with every rise and fall of his chest.

He turns his face, still in your grasp, and presses his lips to the skin of your wrist. Immediately, you yank the limb back to your own body. Like a jolt of sparking electricity, his face flashes through your mind. Marcus and his ugly, docile kiss. The scent of his cologne, eyes so close they could burn through flesh.

The memory of him this close, closer… It holds you in a tight grip, overtaking the present and launching you into the past. Back to the cost of doing business. The price of helping Frankie. But you cannot do this—this with Francisco Morales. Neither of you get that luxury.

You say, “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”

Then you watch him expectantly, waiting for Frankie to step aside. The trailer door squeaks open at your pull, whining when it slams shut again. You feel eyes at your back crossing the short distance to the truck. Whether they belong to Frankie or Marcus, you aren’t quite sure.

You eat again at a place called Taqueria Jalisco. The chicharron en salsa feels like an undeserved treat. You eat half of the food, washing it down with two strawberry mojitos.

Your waitress—Carla—comes back around to your table in the middle of a staring contest with the remnants of dinner. You order a Long Island Iced Tea for dessert, smiling politely as she clears your dishes. The alcohol settles a hum in your body. You feel like a live wire, unrestrained in your power to damage and destroy. So far, you seem to be your only target.

The Palm Tree Lodge happily accepts your business again, even giving you the same room as your last stay. Wrapping yourself in bedsheets, you close your eyes. The first thing that appears behind them is Frankie’s face, soft and careful as you held him. You feel a whisper of touch where his lips had been against your skin, rubbing over the spot with your thumb.

You should be scrolling through your phone, dredging your mind for any of your old classmates that went on to law school and owe you a favour. You should be thinking about any lawyer at all, but you aren’t. You can only think of him. Sweet brown eyes staring out from that despairing face. The look that makes you want him.

He is failure, primed and bottled. That makes you want him more.

Focusing, you find a place for his trailer in your mind. You’re standing by the steps, but it isn’t raining here. The sun-mottled sky shines blue and canary yellow as a glass of something cool sweats in your hand. You urge yourself to advance, taking careful steps up to the door. Before you can pull it open, you slip inside all on your own. Frankie sits at the kitchen table with his back to you, shoulders stretched beneath the thin fabric of an undershirt.

You go to him, taking a sip of the drink you’re carrying before you set it down on the table. Candied cranberries wash onto your tongue, fizzing up in your mouth. Hands empty, you rest them over each one of Frankie’s shoulders. He leans into the touch, the whiskers of his moustache brushing against your fingers as he sets a kiss to your skin.

You’re chasing a disaster. You shouldn’t want him. Wanting has only ever brought you bad things. You get the sense that if you told him to, Francisco would do it, no matter the ask. It’s hard to tell if that is a scare or a solace.

You and Frankie are the same in the exact way that you and Marcus are two of a kind. Fair is foul and foul is fair.

It continues to rain, worse today than before. You make good on your promise, knocking on Frankie’s door again at nine o’clock sharp. The door opens two seconds later. Frankie is dressed, just like you’d told him to be; a pink button up that’s been through the wringer, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest as it reveals a white undershirt like the one haunting your imagination. He lets you in without much fanfare, offering you something hot and warm from the brewing pot of coffee.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says. “I don’t have any creamer, only sugar. It went bad a few days ago.”

“No worries. I like it black.” You do not, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You and Frankie continue this stilted little dance as he sets down the mug on the table, not even trying to hand it to you lest your fingers touch. He seems to sit a little further out from the table today.

From your bag, you produce a scribbled list of twenty names you could scrape up on the drive here, eyes dividing their time between the paper and the splashy roads ahead.

“What hoop am I jumping through today?” Frankie asks you.

“No circus tricks for you. It’s all on me right now.”

“That’s a relief.”

Typing out the first name to locate them in your contacts, you say, “I’m sure it won’t stop you from being a clown.” You hit dial as a snicker wriggles its way out of him. Let’s hope you can find Chuckles a lawyer.

By the fifth phone call, neither of you are laughing. Pacing across the stretch of floor between the kitchen and the living room, you listen to another one of your peers professionally shoot you down.

“No, Alex. I get it. Thought I’d try anyway, right?” you ask. “Thanks. Yeah, bye.” You hang up, hand sliding from your forehead to your jaw. “Fuck.”

Frankie’s crossing out the names on the list for you, drawing a squiggly line through the name of your old friend from Rice.

“Who’s next?” you ask.

“Aditi Patel. Oregon area code,” he says. Frankie feeds you the numbers as you type them in, both of you waiting on the dial tone. She doesn’t even pick up, sending you straight to voicemail.

This cycle continues for the better part of two hours: another phone call, a rejection or an answering machine, followed by another line on the page.

Hanging up again, you ask Frankie who follows Ryan Treho on the list.

“No one,” he says. “That’s it. That’s all of ‘em.”

“Let me see.”

He hands it to you, gazing up as you look it over. Frankie is right. Every name on this list has been called, every one giving you some variation of no. The hum you thought was Frankie’s ancient-looking fridge ratchets up an octave in your ears, noise crowding around you as you stare at the piece of paper.

You can barely hear Frankie’s question of, “What do we do now?” as the rattle reaches a peak, squealing like static. You’re drawing a complete blank, breath halting as you will yourself to fix this.

Frankie grabbing your hand pulls you out. You’re standing beside his seated form, facing forward while he slouches in his chair at an angle.

“I’ll figure something out. Call some people. Don’t worry about it.”

“A little difficult, don’t you think?” Frankie asks. “What are you going to do?”

Call Marcus.

You don’t want to tell him that, though. You know your eyes are glossy, hot tears threatening to spill at any time as you try to put on a brave face. Cool, calm, and collected; that’s who you are supposed to be. Strong in the face of an adversary. So why do Frankie’s brows knit together, his face coloured in concern?

“I don’t know.”

The chair drags loudly against the floor when he kicks it out, nodding at you to take a seat. You do, folding yourself in half the moment your ass hits the chair as you duck and hide from him. Saltwater streaks down your cheeks, never making it past your lips as you wipe harshly at your skin.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” Frankie says. It feels warped for him to be comforting you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—”

You can call him. He could help you. You already know he would.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Him.”

Living in this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nightmare has turned your life inside-out. There’s nowhere to run, no one to go home to. There is no home anymore.

You try to backpedal, mumbling a quick, “I’m being dramatic,” as Frankie takes in your broken face. “It’s fine. I’ll have to call Marcus. Figure out a new game plan.” The very last thing you ever want to do. More likely than not, you’ll have to see him; he’ll want to see you.

“I never told you why I punched out my neighbour’s grandson,” Frankie says.

“You didn’t. What does that matter?”

“Can you just—?” Frankie purses his lips, restarting his story. “He was talking about…you. Calling you names and—it was offensive.”

“So you beat the shit out of him,” you say. “That’s great, Frankie. I can’t pummel the fact that no one wants to represent you.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m saying, if your friend at that fancy Justice Department ever did anything to you…y’know.”

“You’d go to prison for assault on a federal officer,” you say.

“Seems like I’m headed there regardless,” Frankie says. He waits on you for an answer.

“I’m fine. The stress is fucking with my head.” Lie. You know it, and Frankie knows it too, judging by the scowl on his face. “I’ll be okay.”

You grab your things, making for the door.

“What happened to being honest with each other?” Frankie asks.

“This is me being honest. And the truth is, I’m going to be alright. Okay?” He doesn’t anything. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Rushing to the truck, you yank open the door to get out of the rain. Settling yourself, you put the keys in the ignition. You reach to turn them…and then you don’t. Nothing you want is at the other side of this truck’s engine rumbling to life. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to leave. You don’t.

Time passes blindly, the rain and the sky staying the same as water beats against metal. It seems almost everflowing, like it has always rained and it always will. The sound of precipitation lulls you into a dead stare, the upholstering of the steering wheel suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You don’t notice Frankie at the opposite window until he pulls the passenger side door open, scooting in along the leather bench seat.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Frankie runs a hand through his hair, dotted with wet drops as he smooths it over. This is the closest you two have been physically since yesterday, heat from his thigh radiating against yours. With the crown of your head against the headrest, you watch water through the windshield. 

“I have a wife. And a kid.” The words appear from nowhere.

“Oh.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Well, had. I’m sure they think I drove off to shoot myself, wash away on the beach. We lived in Florida…Miami. Not great for the recovering addict.”

“Okay…”

“I thought I’d tell you because of the whole honesty deal. You know, and not to say—fuck.”

You start to ask him if he’s alright.

“Are you a friend?” he blurts out.

“Uh…” You fix your gaze on the dashboard.

“Sorry. Thought I’d ask.”

“I don’t know what I am. To you or to anyone else.” Dragging your eyes to his face, you meet Frankie’s baby browns. “Do you want me to be that? A friend?”

“I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this,” Frankie says.

The sky continues to pelt the truck with rain at all sides, heavy drops sounding off against the roof. Reaching up, you smooth out a crease in his forehead with your thumb. Worry ages him.

Your ring and middle finger cradle the ridge of his jaw. “You smoke?”

A curt nod. “They’re back inside.”

Next thing you know, Frankie’s jogging to the trailer as you wait under the short overhang, out of the wet. He comes out with a carton of Camel Lights. You take it from him, along with the butane lighter he offers. There are no chairs on his tiny porch. You opt for sitting right in front of the screen door, spine sliding against the mesh.

Frankie joins you on the ground. It doesn’t really surprise you. Keeping a cigarette pinched between your lips, you hold it between a peace sign and light it with an inhale. Then you put the lighter back in Frankie’s hand. After the first few drags, Frankie takes it from your lips with careful fingers. You watch him smoke, lips wrapping around the stains of your saliva. Instead of handing it back to you, he slips the cigarette back into your mouth.

When he lays on his side, head falling softly into your lap, you don’t even blink. A puff of white smoke leaves your lungs, the slow wind taking it up into the clouds. Frankie’s coarse curls slot easily between your fingers.

I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

[lupinuslepidus]

fieldwork incident # ??? / ???: in retrospect, we should've turned the car around when we drove past the abandoned and apparently unoccupied husk of a trailer that had "THIS IS OUR HOUSE, LEAVE" and a frowny face painted on the side, and reached the closed wire gate with a cow carcass lying in the scrub nearby. (you come across those sometimes where there's ranching areas. i don't wish the experience on anyone.) in our defense, the other road we could've taken also had a closed wire gate across it, and Google Maps was assuring us that this was an alternative that would get us where we were going. the rental vehicle has 4WD, but low clearance. and the dirt road is flat but has occasional water benches and isn't particularly tended and suddenly there's a bump and the car bottoms out. a couple of the service lights come on, briefly. at this point i'm a little sunk cost fallacy and we try to keep going anyway, then the dirt road starts to disappear into dry creeks and scattered shrubs, to the point where i have to get out of the car to figure out which direction we're going. we're at the bottom of a sage scrub basin and it's hot out -- this happened to be in the middle of the record-breaking heat wave. there's turkey vultures circling, off to the side. i can see all the way to the horizon in all directions, mountains rising up at the edges. i see a jackrabbit streak off into the brush. i don't know if you've ever encountered a jackrabbit out in the sage scrub. they feel like omens every time.

we turn the car around and make it back to the main road. we realize a couple crucial things:

the open gate we'd passed through initially actually had a "NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE RANCH PROPERTY" sign strung up on it. why was it open? not sure.

there's very much four different service lights on, including the "check engine" light.

we're supposed to be going up another dirt road to do a couple more days of fieldwork in the middle of nowhere and then do a long drive to Utah. the rental agencies are both a 2.5 - 3 hour drive in either direction. mechanics are similarly too far or closed for the day already.

(i did call our postdoc to update her on our situation and get advice. she'd later send a text saying "I looked it up and scraping the bottom of the car wouldn't cause the "check engine light' to turn on, so it must be just an old car problem!" and after that i decided to rely on my own judgment instead.)

sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do and sometimes that means using an increasingly sketchy car for three more days of fieldwork I GUESS.

[lesbienneanarchiste]

Not to get nostalgic about physical media on main again but gd truly unparalleled to go to Blockbuster in my teens and early twenties and feel like there were so many things for me to explore and discover. We had two in our town, a big one and a small one. The small one was limited but had more Displays of the "Nikki's Favorites of the 90s" type. When it died, they put a wall down the center of its corpse and turned it into a driving school and a vape shop. The big one was one of those places you could just wander around for a while and look at all these movies you've never heard of. A lot of my favorite movies as a kid/teen were things I picked off the shelf randomly bc I liked the look of the spine. My spine was not so happy from me being bent sideways at the waist to read the titles but sacrifices must be made. That Blockbuster got turned into a surf and turf restaurant that was too expensive for my family (and tbh most of the families in that town) to eat at. You used to be able to walk into a big warm yellow room and see your friends, enemies, and countrymen renting the most unpredictable shit possible, for the low price of a couple bucks a DVD. They even had video games after a while so you could play stuff kids at school were talking about even if you couldn't afford to buy it brand new. You could find out about new movies coming out bc the trailers would show on the mounted tvs in the days before youtube. The big Blockbuster even had music CDs you could rent for a hot minute when I was in high school. If you liked a movie enough you could buy it for half cover price bc it was used. Sometimes much less than half cover price if it was something that didn't get rented very often or they had a ton of copies they needed to shift.

Like yeah, Blockbuster fucked over smaller independent video rental stores and that sucks but I still mourn it's demise. The way I can hate how Borders kicked all the indie book shops out of the malls and still be pissed the fuck off that they shut down and all became forever 21s.

Don't even get me started on CD shops and FYE 😭😭😭😭

[dreamwatch]

Thank you to @greenlikethesea for the tag! I LOVE BEING TAGGED!

It’s WIP WednesdaySaturday Tuesday Friday. Time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works: In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names. Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share. That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited! If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

File Names:

Like A Stone

Dustin & Eddie

Eddie Hands One Shot

Steve & Eddie 90s

Prison Fic

Snippet from Like A Stone Below:

****

“Hey dickhead I brought you a gift,” Steve grabs Eddie by the shoulders steering him over to Dustin and Eddie’s not sure if that’s for support or to stop him running away.

Mike looks genuinely excited to see him and gives him a crushing hug. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other lately, but it’s usually at Eddie’s place and saying he’s been low energy would be an understatement. They come to the trailer for him more than themselves, as if they think bringing him video rentals will somehow bring him to life again.  He wishes it was that easy. 

He pats Mike on the back to break the hug before making his way over to Dustin.

“Happy birthday, Henderson.”

Dustin manages to muster up an unconvincing smile, and Eddie will give him a few points for effort. “Thanks, Eddie.”

They hug awkwardly before Steve steps in to save him. “You want your present? Unless you’ve already stolen it from my room.”

“Of course I haven’t!” Dustin rounds on him. “I have manners, Steve. My beautiful mother raised me well.” Eddie watches as Dustin beams at his mom, blowing her a kiss, and she beams right back and catches it in her hand, puts it in her pocket. It’s incredibly sweet and a younger version of himself would be too bitter and jealous to appreciate such a sickly display of affection, but this Eddie is older and has seen some shit so he smiles at Dustin despite the pang of longing in his chest.

He hands over the bag while Steve heads off to get his. 

“Uh, you don’t have to open it now, or anything, you know. Just. Like, whenever.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward. His eyes are darting around the room, half looking for exits and half looking to see if he’s being stared at. There are a couple of kids trying to get a glimpse without looking too obvious, and a couple of adults in the kitchen giving him the stink eye. He’s getting increasingly itchy to leave.

Before he can think about that further Steve wanders back to save him. And isn’t that a weird fucking thing to be thinking right now? That Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington is the person he’s coming to see as a beacon in a dark sea. Jesus.

He watches Dustin rifle through the gift bag.

“My Little Pony, Steve? I’m sixteen you asshole!”

“That’s just the paper, dickhead, I didn’t actually buy you a doll.”

Eddie smiles. “How do you feel about the Care Bears?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin shakes his head as if he’s talking to children. 

Eddie grabs a coke and heads into the backyard. The Henderson’s living room isn’t exactly huge and it’s stifling and honestly just being here and showing up is a big deal, right? So he heads off into the yard hoping to find a space to breathe.

It all feels very weird. He was barely out of the hospital this time last year and he had bigger concerns than Dustin’s birthday. It must be hard for Dustin, with half the party missing, along with the extra additions they bring with them - Erica, Nancy, Jonathan. Eddie knows how that feels. He misses the band, more than he will admit to anyone else. And he misses Hellfire, and the huge hole it left behind. The guys, yeah of course, but the sticking up for the guys. The lunch time rabble rousing. God it was fun. 

He misses having fun. He misses feeling light, unburdened. He misses not being frightened.

He misses his life.

He finds a ratty lawn chair that looks like it should take his weight  and lowers himself into it. There’s a couple of women out here he doesn’t recognise, likely friends of Mrs Henderson, and a few more kids. Eddie can’t fathom having this many friends anymore. Did he ever?

“Eddie?”

Fuck. 

“Hey man,” Eddie says, moving to stand up, and… what? Shake his hand? Who is he that he can’t interact with his friends anymore? (Are they even still friends?)

Gareth waves him off, “Sit down, dude. Dustin said your leg is still fucked, you don’t need to stand.”

Right. Was it naive to think they wouldn’t be talking about him? Probably.

The atmosphere is fucking thick with unsaid words and unhealed wounds. He hasn’t seen Gareth in months. It’s been bad enough trying to fight his way through with Dustin and Mike, but Gareth is a different ballgame. They have history. 

****

As always, no pressure, I know some of you guys aren't writing right now, but have a friendly boop on the nose from me. (also, genuinely - if I tag you and you really never want to hear from me again, like cease and desist and shit, please say and I will start keeping a list, because my old fart brain just never remembers!).

@farahsamboolents @cchapsticck @devilyouwere @thisapplepielife @hbyrde36 @cuips-not-cute @occasionaloverboy

And opposite applies, if you're thinking 'bitch never tags me' please let me know and I will legit make a list. I'm always worried about annoying people and they ⬆️ haven't told me to fuck off yet so I keep tagging them. 🤣

[grandballoontriumph]

Necessary Materials-- What Do You Put In All-time Low Of A Porta-Potty?

When you think about porta-potties, your mind could jump right to ideas of outdoor occasions, building and construction websites, or outdoor camping journeys. These portable bathrooms offer an essential feature in making sure health and comfort in places where typical restroom centers are inaccessible. But have you ever before questioned what really goes into all-time low of a porta-potty? Well, you're in luck! This write-up dives deep into the crucial materials used in mobile bathrooms, their relevance, and responses lots of typical questions bordering their use.

Understanding Portable Toilets What is a Portable Toilet Rental?

A portable commode service entails renting out a self-contained toilet system for temporary use at occasions or worksites. These units are typically furnished with basic amenities to provide a sanitary remedy where basic bathroom facilities can not be accessed. In the rental arrangement, various options might be offered based on the occasion's requirements-- like typical devices, deluxe trailers, and even ADA-compliant options.

How Much is Porta Loo Hire?

The expense of renting out a porta-loo can differ significantly based on aspects like location, duration of leasing, and type of system required. Generally, leasing a conventional porta-potty might set you back between $75 to $150 http://glendaleportapottyrentalwdg288.theburnward.com/is-a-porta-potty-the-like-a-porta-bathroom-clearing-up-terms for a one-day event. Nevertheless, extra fees can get shipment and servicing.

Hand Sanitizer: Although not literally in the storage tank itself, several mobile toilets include hand disinfecting terminals as component of their configuration to advertise health amongst users.

Ventilation System: Some high-end versions may have integrated air flow systems that help maintain air distributing and decrease smells further.

[bluewonderlandgardener]

Necessary Products-- What Do You Place in The Bottom Of A Porta-Potty?

When you think of porta-potties, your mind might leap directly to thoughts of outside occasions, building websites, or camping journeys. These portable commodes offer a crucial feature in guaranteeing hygiene and ease in position where standard restroom facilities are not available. Yet have you ever before questioned what in fact goes into all-time low of a porta-potty? Well, you remain in luck! This short article dives deep into the vital products made use of in mobile bathrooms, their value, and answers numerous typical concerns surrounding their use.

Understanding Portable Toilets What is a Portable Bathroom Rental?

A mobile bathroom service involves renting out a self-contained commode system for temporary use at occasions or worksites. These devices are usually geared up with standard features to provide a sanitary service where basic restroom centers can not be accessed. In the rental agreement, numerous options might be available based on the event's requirements-- like conventional systems, luxury trailers, or perhaps ADA-compliant options.

How Much is Porta Loo Hire?

The price of renting out a porta-loo can vary dramatically based upon aspects like place, period of service, and sort of system required. Usually, renting a conventional porta-potty may cost between $75 to $150 for a one-day event. However, extra charges can make an application for delivery and servicing.

How Several Portable Toilets Do I Need for 2000 People?

When preparing an occasion attended by 2000 individuals, it's important to make sure appropriate bathroom facilities. A general rule of thumb is to provide one porta-potty for every single 50-100 visitors over a four-hour period. For that reason, https://longbeachadacompliantportapottiesemv.bloggersdelight.dk/2024/10/28/how-much-does-it-expense-to-rental-fee-a-premium-porta-potty/ for 2000 attendees, you'll likely need around 20 to 40 mobile bathrooms depending on the event's length and nature.

Essential Supplies-- What Do You Place in All-time Low Of A Porta-Potty?

So now we come to the crux of this write-up: what do you place in all-time low of a porta-potty?

The bottom area of a porta-potty is made to collect waste and take care of smells effectively. It's normally full of a number of vital products:

Holding Container Liquid: This blue fluid serves several purposes: It deodorizes waste. It breaks down solid waste and bathroom paper. It decreases odor via chemical reactions that reduce the effects of unpleasant smells.

Bio-enzymes: These aid damage down organic matter quicker and minimize odors normally. They are eco-friendly choices to severe chemicals and are safe for a lot of environments.

Toilet Paper: While it's not put directly in all-time low tank, supplying bathroom tissue within very easy reach guarantees users have what they need without triggering blockages.

Hand Sanitizer: Although not literally in the tank itself, many portable bathrooms consist of hand sanitizing stations as part of their arrangement to promote health amongst users.

Ventilation System: Some premium designs may have integrated air flow systems that assist keep air distributing and minimize smells further.

Maintenance Supplies: Regular serv

[dumptrailrent8]

Dump Trailer Rental

Dump Trailer Rental: Why You’d Need It and How It’s Great

When tackling large projects, whether they involve home renovations, landscaping, or construction, the need for efficient waste management becomes paramount. One solution that has gained popularity in recent years is dump trailer rental. This versatile option can make your cleanup efforts significantly easier, allowing you to focus on what truly matters: completing your project. In this article, we’ll explore why you might need a dump trailer rental, the advantages it offers, and how it can be an excellent choice for both residential and commercial applications.

Introduction

A dump trailer rental provides a convenient way to transport and dispose of large amounts of debris or waste. Unlike traditional trucks or pickup vehicles, dump trailers are specifically designed to handle heavy loads and simplify the dumping process. Whether you are a homeowner embarking on a DIY project or a contractor managing a construction site, having access to a dump trailer can save you time, effort, and even money. Understanding the benefits of this rental option can help you make informed decisions for your next project.

Versatility for Various Projects

One of the primary reasons to consider a dump trailer rental is its versatility. Dump trailers come in various sizes and can handle a wide range of materials, making them suitable for multiple projects. Whether you're clearing out a garage, landscaping a yard, or renovating a bathroom, these trailers can accommodate everything from soil and mulch to construction debris and household junk.

For instance, if you’re landscaping your yard, a dump trailer can be used to transport soil, gravel, or plants to your site. After the job is done, you can easily load up the trailer with old sod, branches, and other yard waste for disposal. Similarly, if you are involved in a home renovation, a dump trailer can help you manage the debris from tearing down walls, ripping out old flooring, or disposing of outdated appliances.

This versatility makes dump trailers a popular choice for both residential and commercial projects. Contractors often rely on dump trailers for construction sites, while homeowners appreciate their utility for smaller-scale endeavors.

Cost-Effective Solution

Renting a dump trailer can also be a cost-effective solution compared to other waste disposal options. While hiring a full-service junk removal service can be convenient, it often comes with high fees, especially for large loads. On the other hand, renting a dump trailer typically involves a flat rate based on the size and duration of the rental, which can be much more budget-friendly.

Additionally, having a dump trailer on-site allows you to manage your waste disposal on your own schedule. You won’t have to worry about waiting for a service to arrive or paying for multiple pickups. Instead, you can fill the trailer at your own pace and return it when you're finished, giving you control over both time and cost.

Easy Loading and Unloading

Another compelling reason to consider dump trailer rental is the convenience it offers in loading and unloading materials. Most dump trailers are equipped with hydraulic systems that allow for easy dumping of materials. This feature is particularly advantageous when dealing with heavy or bulky loads that would be challenging to lift manually.

For example, if you’re disposing of concrete, bricks, or dirt, the ability to tilt the trailer and let gravity do the work can save you considerable effort and reduce the risk of injury. This ease of use can also streamline the process, allowing you to move quickly from one phase of your project to the next.

Moreover, the design of dump trailers often includes low loading decks, making it easy to load items without the need for additional equipment. This accessibility is especially beneficial for DIY enthusiasts who may not have access to specialized tools or equipment.

Increased Safety and Efficiency

When working on large projects, safety is always a top priority. Dump trailers can help increase safety on job sites by providing a designated area for waste and debris. This organization helps keep the work area tidy, reducing the risk of accidents caused by tripping over scattered materials.

Additionally, by utilizing a dump trailer, you can minimize the number of trips required to dispose of waste. Instead of repeatedly loading your vehicle and making multiple trips to the dump or landfill, you can consolidate your waste into one trailer. This efficiency not only saves time but also reduces fuel costs and wear and tear on your vehicle.

Environmentally Friendly Disposal

Using a dump trailer rental can also contribute to environmentally friendly waste disposal practices. Many rental services offer guidance on proper disposal methods for different types of materials, helping you ensure that you’re following local regulations and guidelines. This awareness can be particularly important for hazardous materials, as improper disposal can lead to environmental contamination.

By utilizing a dump trailer, you can more easily sort materials for recycling or composting. For instance, many landscaping projects generate organic waste that can be composted, while construction projects often produce materials that can be recycled, such as metal, wood, and concrete. By taking advantage of the dump trailer's space, you can separate these materials and reduce the amount of waste sent to landfills.

Convenience of Short-Term Rentals

Another significant advantage of dump trailer rentals is the flexibility of short-term rentals. Many companies offer daily, weekly, or monthly rental options, allowing you to choose the duration that best fits your project timeline. This flexibility is particularly useful for those who may not require a trailer for an extended period but still want the benefits of having one on hand.

Short-term rentals can be perfect for seasonal projects like spring cleaning, yard work, or preparing for holidays when extra waste may be generated. Being able to rent a trailer for just a few days can help you avoid the costs associated with long-term ownership, making it a practical solution for occasional use.

Conclusion

In summary, a dump trailer rental can be an invaluable asset for anyone undertaking large-scale projects that involve significant waste management. Its versatility, cost-effectiveness, ease of use, safety features, environmentally friendly options, and convenient rental terms make it a superior choice for both homeowners and contractors alike. Whether you're renovating your home, landscaping your yard, or managing a construction site, the benefits of using a dump trailer are clear.

By renting a dump trailer, you can simplify your cleanup efforts, reduce project timelines, and ensure that your waste is disposed of responsibly. The next time you find yourself facing a big project, consider the advantages of a dump trailer rental—it might just be the solution you didn’t know you needed.

[mint-moon25]

KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE | Official English Trailer

LABRE PLACE - APARTMENTS

REQUIRE - RENTER’s - INSURANCE

13 YEARS - OLD - 90 UNITS - 1 BEDROOM - APTS

9 STORIES - BECAUSE - OLD - INSURANCE - YES

IS - MORE - THAN - WINDSOR - LUNDHAM TRAILS

FR - MEMORY - TOTAL - $96.83 - MONTHLY

THAN - $72.92 - WAY - CHEAPER - 4 SAME

Personal Property

Your stuff got stolen or damaged? This is the maximum amount you’ll be able to claim. Add Extra Coverage to protect your high-value jewelry, cameras, bicycles, art, or musical instruments.

$50,000

Personal Liability

If someone gets hurt on your property and decides to take legal action, this is the max amount we’ll pay to cover damages you’re legally required to pay.

$100,000

Loss of use

We hope this never happens, but if your place is unlivable, we’ll put you up in a nice hotel or similar rental home. We’ll also include living expenses to get you back on your feet. This is the max that we’ll pay in such an event.

$20,000 - HILTON - HOTELS - I - WANT - THIS - CAN’T - CHANGE AMOUNT

Medical payments to others

We’ll cover medical expenses up to this amount if a guest or neighbor is injured on your property.

$1,000

DEDUCTIBLE - $250 

AMOUNT - U - PAY - FIRST

FIRE AND SMOKE

A faulty Christmas light or your attempt at deep frying can cause some smoke and fire damage. We cover you for both.

Bad Weather

Wind, lightning, and hail are scary. You're covered for all of them. Flood insurance isn't part of the basic policy.

CRIME AND VANDALISM

Your home is full of stuff: furniture, clothing, appliances. We cover you if any of it is stolen or damaged.

Medical Payments to Others

Your date cuts a finger while chopping veggies for dinner at your place and needs stitches, or the babysitter sprains an ankle running down the stairs to answer the door. Don't worry. These medical expenses are covered.

Liability

A person slips and falls at your party breaking a leg. Your friendly dog Fido bites a guest. Stuff happens and you get sued. Not only do we hire a lawyer to defend you, but we cover the costs to get you out of this jam.

WATER DAMAGE

Your pipes may be feeling a chill, or your neighbor's bathtub is leaking through your ceiling. Aka, if there's sudden or accidental water damage, you're covered.

RENTERS . LEMONADE . COM

RENTERS - INSURANCE

GETTING - MY - THINGS - 2ND - FLOOR

I’M - NOW - PREPARED - 4 - JOBS - YES

STANDING - LIKE - HILTON - RECEPTION

DESK - BUT - IN - LAS VEGAS - NEVADA

WILL - B - CHECKING - HOTEL - JOBS IN

LAS VEGAS - DESSERT

CHECKING - BOTOX - PRICES

LAS VEGAS - APP

WILL - DO - 6,500 - FREE - SUITE - IN - MGM

KATHY BATES - NEW - CBS - SHOW

CBS TV

SURVEYS

$50 - $250 - NEW - CASH

SO - CAN - REPLACE - ALL - APPLIANCES

WITH - LG - DELUXE - FR - LG . com

LIGHT - FIXTURES - $209 - $199 - BUT

ELECTRICIAN - REQUIRED - FIRST - VISIT

IS - FREE - NEED - LAS VEGAS - NEVADA

2 - GIVE - ME - THE - MONEY - 2 - REPLACE

APPLIANCES - HARVARD - LAW - WILL BUY

LABRE PLACE - BY - LAW

THEN - THE - RENT - $0.25 - PER - DAY

NO - PROOF - OF - INCOME - NEEDED

NEED - SPEAK - IN - TONGUES - 2 - REMAIN

BECOMING - FREE - EXERCISE - OF RELIGION

REQUIREMENTS - 2 - STAY

MAKING A - SMARTHOUSE - SMART APT BLDG

BUYING - LABRE PLACE - APARTMENTS

UNDER - INCOMPETENCE - 2 - MAKE - SUFFER

BIBLE - ‘RICH - RULING - OVER - THE - POOR’

THIS - LOW - INCOME - APT - BUILDINGS

CHANGING - FIRST - FLOOR - NO - SOUND

CONSTRUCTION - 2 - INTERNATIONAL AND

AMERICAN - BUFFET - FREE - 24/7 - HOURS

ALL -  HOLIDAYS - CHRISTMAS 

MORE - KIDS - IN - THE - BUILDING

BUYING - THIS - APARTMENT

$0.25 - PER - DAY

$0.25 - PER - WASHER

$0.25 - PER - DRYER

BETTER - FURNITURE - FOR - FURNISHED

BETTER - FLOORS - BETTER - LIGHTING

HILTON - STAY - WHILE - CONSTRUCTION

NO - SOUND - CONSTRUCTION

MET - CUTE - BLK - MALE - IN - WHEELCHAIR

CUTEST - BLK - MALE - I’VE - MET AND NICE 2

ELEVATORS - WILL - NOT - REVEAL - FLOORS

2ND - FINGER - AND - GLOSSY - CARD - PUT

ON - ELECTRONIC - BOX - OR - SMARTPHONE

APP - 4 - ELEVATORS - AND - NO - ONE - CAN

GO - 2 - ANY - FLOOR - ANY - TIME - THEY YES

WANT - APP - 2 - SHOW - HALLWAYS - FLOORS

OF - WHERE - U - LIVE - BIGGER - MAILBOXES

BUYING - LABRE PLACE - APARTMENTS

SENIORS - MOVING - 2 - BETTER - PLACE

FLORIDA - MAKING - BETTER - GATED - PLACE

GATED - COMMUNITIES - NO - PERSON - YES

GATES - BEAUTIFUL - GOLF - COURSES

MINIATURE - GOLF - ALL - 24 HOURS - AND

ANIMATED - JAPANESE - TUTORS - 4 - ALL

AGES - KIDS - TEENS - SENIORS - ADULTS

SO - FUTURE - EXPELLING - JESSICA

NO - MORE - PROPERTY - MANAGEMENT

SMART - BUILDING - MORE - KIDS - AND

MORE - DISABLED - BETTER - ELEVATORS

BUYING - LABRE PLACE - APARTMENTS IN

FUTURE - FIRST - FLOOR

BUFFET - FREE - ALL - AGES - PRIVATE YES

CHEFS - BEST - FOODS - FRESH LOBSTERS

SUSHI - HUGEST - NY - PIZZA - UNCURED

PEPPERONI - AND - CHEESE - ALSO - TOO

24 HRS - FREE - BUFFET - COMING - TRUE

[jcdavispower983]

What Are Common Applications for Generator Rentals in Commercial Settings?

Businesses rely on having consistent access to electricity to power operations, equipment, lighting, HVAC systems, and more. However, power outages frequently occur and can bring productivity and revenue generation to a standstill. Many companies turn to generator rentals to ensure business continuity when the lights go out.

Generator rentals provide a flexible, cost-effective way to supply temporary or emergency backup power to commercial and industrial facilities. Rather than investing in purchasing and maintaining generators that may sit idle most of the time, renting allows for scaling power needs up or down as required. Rental generators are available in a wide range of sizes and fuel options to match specific facility requirements.

So in what common scenarios might businesses look to rent a generator? Here are some of the most popular applications:

Construction Sites

Construction projects require power for tools, heavy machinery operation, temporary office and break room trailers, lighting, and more. Rental generators give the flexibility to scale power production as needs evolve across different construction phases. They also provide reliable backup electricity if problems occur with the main utility feed. Diesel generators tend to be preferred at most commercial construction sites due to low fuel costs and the ability to provide prime and continuous power outputs.

Special Events

From concerts and festivals to trade shows and outdoor markets, special events need generators to temporarily electrify the venue. Electrical loads can include sound and lighting systems, vendors’ point-of-sale systems, food storage/prep, video equipment, and general site illumination. For planned events that occur on a routine basis, working with the same local generator rental company each year allows for continuity and helps ensure the right generator package is supplied based on prior load requirements.

Disaster Response / Business Continuity

Natural disasters like hurricanes, tornadoes, and floods can cause crippling power losses right when communities need electricity the most for response and recovery efforts. Government facilities, hospitals, gas stations, grocery stores, data centers, wireless towers, water/wastewater plants, and other critical operations turn to generator rentals to keep essential services operational when the grid goes down. Having emergency generator rental contacts in place before disasters strike enables faster response times.

Remote Worksites

Worksites in rural areas or locations far from utility connections often have no ready access to grid power. Rental generators empower distant projects like oil/gas drilling sites, mining operations, utility installation, post-disaster rebuilding, scientific research, and more. Fuel options like diesel, gasoline, propane, and natural gas equip these generators for diverse work environments. Trailer-mounted units enable easy transport and positioning.

Supplemental Power

Some manufacturing facilities operate specialized equipment with intensive power draw that can trip breakers when operated concurrently with other machinery. Periods of peak production may also overload the available utility capacity. In such cases, bringing in rental generator units to supplement the grid supply provides needed redundancy. The facility’s average base load runs off normal electricity, while generators handle peak demand spikes.

Load Bank Testing

Prudent facilities conduct load bank testing before relying on emergency generators or newly installed backup power systems. This involves renting a load bank unit and connecting it to generators or UPS systems in order to simulate drawing real-world electrical loads. Such testing verifies performance and reliability before an actual utility outage occurs. Diesel generators commonly undergo an annual load bank test as part of routine maintenance.

Beyond the major examples above, creative applications for rental generators emerge all the time. Any business facing a temporary power deficit, future uncertainty around electricity demand, or lack of generator ownership can likely benefit from exploration into rental options. Professional rental providers offer specialized technical expertise guiding you to the optimal generator solution for your commercial setting. With the flexibility of tailoring the rental period month-to-month, you mitigate the risk of overspending while keeping your facility electrically self-reliant.

Ready to discuss your power rental needs? Contact the specialist team at JC Davis Power today!

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Discover Why the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer is Essential for Wharton, NJ Businesses

Running a business involves a plethora of logistical challenges, especially when it comes to storage and transportation. For business owners in Wharton, NJ, finding an efficient and economical storage solution is paramount. The 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer stands out as an ideal choice, offering ample space, durability, and flexibility. This blog will explore why this trailer is the best option for businesses looking to streamline their operations and enhance productivity.

Investing in a 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer sales New Jersey can bring numerous advantages to your business. First and foremost, it provides a cost-effective way to expand your storage capacity without the need to invest in permanent infrastructure. Unlike warehouses, which can be expensive and time-consuming to build, these trailers offer immediate, flexible storage solutions.

Case Studies

Real-life examples illustrate the practical benefits of the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer. Take, for instance, a local wholesaler in Wharton, NJ, who faced storage shortages during the holiday season. By investing in a 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer, they were able to manage excess inventory efficiently and meet increased customer demand without delays.

Another example is a construction company that needed to store equipment and materials securely. The trailer provided a mobile, secure storage solution that could be transported to various job sites, significantly enhancing their operational efficiency.

These case studies demonstrate how businesses across different industries can leverage the versatility of the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer to improve their operations and achieve greater efficiency.

Key Features and Customization Options

The 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer boasts a range of features designed to meet diverse business needs. Security is a top priority, with robust locking mechanisms and durable construction materials ensuring that your valuable goods are protected against theft and weather conditions.

Accessibility is another notable feature. The trailer is designed with easy access in mind, featuring wide doors and low floors to facilitate loading and unloading. This is particularly beneficial for businesses that handle large volumes of goods regularly.

Customization options allow you to tailor the trailer to your specific requirements. Whether you need additional shelving, climate control, or specific interior configurations, the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer can be modified to suit your business needs perfectly.

Comparing the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer to Other Storage Solutions

When compared to other storage solutions, the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer consistently outperforms. Traditional warehouses, while offering significant space, require long-term commitments and substantial financial investments. In contrast, storage trailers provide a flexible and cost-effective alternative.

Portable storage units may offer mobility but often lack the durability and capacity of the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer. Similarly, self-storage facilities can be convenient but come with recurring rental fees and limited accessibility.

In all these comparisons, the 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer stands out for its combination of space, security, and versatility, making it the superior choice for business owners.

The Process of Acquiring a 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer

Acquiring a 53 Ft. Great Dane Storage Trailer Sales Wharton NJ is a straightforward process. Begin by conducting research and identifying your specific storage needs. Once you have a clear understanding of your requirements, reach out to local dealers who specialize in storage trailer sales in New Jersey.

The process typically involves selecting the trailer model that best suits your needs, discussing customization options, and finalizing the purchase or lease agreement. Many dealers offer flexible financing options to make the investment more manageable for businesses.

After completing the paperwork, your trailer will be delivered to your specified location, ready to be put to work. The entire process is designed to be hassle-free, allowing you to focus on running your business.

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Tips for Low Budget Moving

Moving from one location to another can give you jitters, especially when you are on a budget. Moving entails a lot of tasks right from planning to safe arrival of your goods. Although there are many professional movers and Packers and Movers Gurgaon to Mumbai offering comprehensive moving services, it may cost you a fortune if you choose to hire their services. Such service providers usually leave nothing in your hands whether it is packing, loading, unloading or unpacking. However, such a hassle-free experience comes at a price. If you are looking for cheap moving, you need to take things in your own hand.

If you plan wisely, cheap moving can be possible without causing you any inconvenience. Here are some useful tips that can help in ensuring a low budget move without letting you go through any troubles. Everything can be as smooth as you wanted the experience to be.

Start planning well in advance: When you plan in advance, it becomes easier to decide your moving budget and also to stick to it. If you are planning for cheap moving, it is advisable to make a list of all expected moving expenses first. It usually includes cost of hiring movers and packers, storage fees, pet deposits, rental expenses and tips for moving crew. This will help you decide the budget for your moving and take appropriate measures to make sure you do not overshoot it.

Search for Affordable Moving companies Online: Moving needs experience and expertise. So, you need to look for professional help. It is advisable to search for an affordable moving company that can meet your moving needs without straining your pocket. There are many moving companies with online presence. They also provide free, no obligation quotes for their services online. You may request for quotes and compare them to find the most cost-effective service provider in the moving industry. Some companies also provide complimentary storage facility at the destination for a limited period of time. This helps in saving money on storage you may need on arrival at the destination.

Take Packing and Loading in your own hands: Prepare to spend a hefty amount if you choose to hire a moving company to do all your packing and loading. If you are looking for cheap moving, you can save a good amount by packing most of the household stuff yourself, leaving only critical items for the movers and packers to handle. You can take help of your family members as well. Ask them to prepare a list of all items they want to take to their new home. Let each of them fill their items in their moving boxes. If you plan well in advance, it becomes easier for the moving crew to load the packed goods without wasting any time. This could save you huge bucks. If you could do the loading yourself, that will further increase your savings.

Arrange for Moving Supplies: It is advisable to start collecting moving supplies well in advance. Look out for discounts. You can also ask a friend or colleague who may have recently moved to give or sell their moving supplies to you. This way you can save a good amount of money on moving supplies. You may also save by using your own blankets, rugs and newspapers to pack fragile or breakable items.

In case of most cheap moving companies, a professional driver delivers a trailer or truck to the client's residence. The client can load the goods onto the trailer and also ensure their safety using easy-to-use, lightweight partition provided by the company. As a result, they pay only for the space they use. This proves to be an economical option.