Valley Forge Casino Resort - Updated COVID-19 Hours

continuing
As I was picking myself up off the shooter’s shack floor, I glanced over to the TV.
The ballplayers were all wandering around the field, looking skyward. Evidently, there was this hellacious explosion…even the television sports commentators were speculating as to what happened.
Whoops.
I looked out into the quarry. The wall that I had charged had receded some 75 feet.
There was rather a large amount of shattered, blasted dolomitic limestone now in the quarry. Enough, I found out later, for a full month’s worth of orders.
We never did find the blasting mats. I think they sort of evaporated.
Luckily, the quarry is essentially an open amphitheater in plan view; basically a big hole in the ground with vertical limestone walls. The shockwave of the blast that didn’t spend itself shattering the limestone into which it was housed, blew out laterally, hit the opposite quarry wall, rebounded, and then dispersed, rather energetically, vertically upward.
I set off car alarms for a 20 block radius.
There were no broken home windows, as the lion’s share of the shock wave was redirected upward.
Good thing there were no low flying zeppelins or dirigibles in the area...
I waited the requisite time to allow for any loafers. There were none, so I jumped into the nearest wheel loader and began clearing the quarry floor. Hell, I had to so I could open the front gate.
As I was clearing the floor, making pile number eight of the loose rock I had liberated, I heard the characteristic whoop-whoop of emergency vehicles.
I parked the wheel loader, opened the front gate, and raised the green flag. That was enough blasting for one day.
A few minutes later, three police cars zoom into the site. Two were local city cops, and one was a state trooper.
“Hi, guys!” I waved, “Nice day, innit?”
“Doctor Rock! We should have known.” One of the local boys groaned.
“Hey, I did call you beforehand, as per procedure,” I said.
Polack the cop walks up, just knowing I was responsible. “Yeah, but we didn’t figure on you terrorizing the entire city.”
“Polack! How goes it?” I asked.
The other local cop and the state trooper look to Polack, “You know this maniac?”
“Oh, hell yeah. For years. Don’t worry, the good doctor is mostly harmless.” He chuckles.
“Damn. OK. I guess everything’s OK. Just no more shooting today, please, Doctor. It’s going to take hours to calm everyone down.” He laments.
“Yes, sir. I’m done for the day.” I reply, snickering slightly.
The one local and state trooper depart, shaking their heads in amazement. This left Polack to follow me over to the shooter’s shack to mooch a cigar and whatever else he can find.
“Jesus Hula-Dancing Christ, Rock. What the hell was that? I was all the way out in Whitewatosa and heard you.” He asks as he sneakily snakes a smoke out of my case.
“Just some common chemicals in the proper proportions.” I snicker.
“Which were?” he asks.
I go in the back of the shed and toss him an empty container of one of the parts of the binaries I used. He catches it, reads the label, and drops it like a live grenade.
“Binaries? Fuck! Like what you used at the tower?” he asks.
“Yep. I used just a little more.” I reply.
“Little more? Damn, as I said, we’ve been briefed on the stuff. This shit’s nasty.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah. Fun, too.” I reply.
Polack grabs a Sprechler’s Cream Soda out of the fridge as I opt for a cold Cream Ale and shot of potato juice. Hell, I was done for the day, so…
We sit around and have a chat, just shooting the shit, as it were. Manly topics, so the conversation eventually steered over to guns.
“Hey!” Polack remembers, “That’s right! You fucking owe me. Let me borrow that fucking cannon you carry. I want to show the chief a thing or two.”
“Yeah, that’s right”, I agree, “When do you need it?”
“This Friday, after shift. It’s the monthly qualifiers for us.” He notes.
“Are pyromaniacs allowed in?” I ask.
“To observe? Sure. To shoot? Nope. Insurance regulations.” He says.
“What time?” I continue.
“1800 hours.” He tells me.
“I’ll be there. I’ll bring my gun and an assortment of loads. Hey, this could be fun!” I evilly smile.
“Doctor. You’re doing that thing again. You’re grinnin’ like a shithouse rat. You know how much that scares me. Stop it.” He pleads.
“No worries. Friday at 1800 hours.” I reply, grinning.
Polack slurps down his Sprechlers, snitches another stogie, and squeals out of the quarry in a cloud of dense dolomitic dust.
I arrive back at our flat, after stopping for two frozen custard Turtle Sundaes, to go. I give one to an appreciative wife and I ask her about her day.
“Oh, went shopping with Oma. Got the cutest shoes, and a new purse, and…oh well, never mind. You’ll see.”
Between bites of Turtle Sundae, she asks how my day went.
“Oh, my dear. I had a real blast.” I replied, not lying in the least.
Monday, after my first classes, I’m back in the faculty lounge, savoring a Greenland Coffee.
There was the usual instructor chatter when Dean Vermiculari walks in.
“Good morning, Dean!” I say. “Care for a sit-down and a coffee?”
“Good morning, Doctor Rock. Yes, please to both.” He replies.
I fix us both a fresh Greenland Coffee and return to our table. I hand him one and sit down to savor my soupçon.
“How was your weekend?” I ask the Dean of the College.
“Oh, very nice. Had a fine time catching some perch and crappie out on Lake Genever. I see you had a victorious weekend as well. Twice.” He smiles.
“Twice?” I asked.
“Well, your handling of the tower demolition made all the papers. Very, very well done, Doctor. I congratulate you.” He smiles.
“Thank you, Dean. That means a lot. Just doing what I can with what I’ve got. But twice?” I replied.
“It wasn’t front-page news, but I saw there was some, well, let us just say, ‘energetic activity’ out at the Silurian reef limestone quarry yesterday.” He grinned.
“Oh, yes. I had a job to do and well, as I always say: ‘Nothing succeeds like excess.” I smile back.
“Quite. This beverage you’ve created is really rather extraordinary, Doctor. Again, I thank you.” He tips his mug my direction in the age-old Midwestern salute.
“It’s a little recipe I picked up on my last expedition to the northlands. I grew rather fond of the concoction.” I replied.
“Ah, I see. Marvelous.” He smiles.
“Thank you, Dean. High praise indeed.” I reply.
“Which leads me to…ah, Doctor Rock. I have another favor to impose upon you.” He says, all serious.
“Yes, Dean? How can I be of service?” I ask.
“We, as you no doubt know, have many, many fine extractive mineral company connections. We actually receive quite a large amount of funding and endowments from them. They recruit here extensively for our young geoscientists. Now, since Dr. Pataariki has left for industry himself, I would like to appoint you as the College of Natural Sciences corporate liaison.” He explains.
“Indeed?” I replied, too stunned for words for once.
“Yes, indeed.” He continues, “It will require travel, mostly domestic, and delivering symposia at various companies on differing extractive geological subjects. You will also serve as host and university coordinator when they are present on recruiting tours. There will, of course, be additional remuneration to accompany the added responsibilities.”
I slurped my coffee, thinking furiously.
“Could I please first discuss it with my wife before I answer?” I ask.
“Oh, Doctor. Of course, of course. Take your time. I will not require a reply until… tomorrow.” He smiles, finishes his coffee, thanks me again, and toddles out.
“Yow, Es!” I exclaim, “This is one hell of an opportunity. It’s never before been offered to a junior professor. This will cement my tenure-track. It’s going to be a bitch with time, though. What do you think I should do?”
“Well, Rock, honey, I think you should do…” Es begins.
“No! None of that ‘do what you think is best’ stuff. I want your own thoughts, just like when I decided to go after my doctorate.” I explained.
“OK, then.” Esme looks all serious like she’s going to deliver a bipartisan political speech.
“Yes.” She says, firmly
“That’s it?” I ask.
“Yep. You asked I answered. We’ll make it work. We always do. You can’t let the Dean down. You will accept tomorrow without fear or qualms of your wife’s hesitations, of which I harbor none.” Esme proclaims.
“Did I ever tell you of the myriad reasons I love you so?” I ask.
The next morning I meet with Dean Vermiculari. He’s pleased that I accept and hands over to me the charter. Then the lists of company representatives, their contact information, and some other secret stuff that I can’t divulge right yet.
A raft of oil companies will be coming in the late spring semester, so I need to contact each and every one to solidify dates, times and positions for which they’re recruiting. But that’s for then, I have something more proximal for now.
I have a Friday appointment with Polack the cop at the town police shooting range.
I arrive spot on time with my Casull .454 Magnum pistol, in its carry bag, along with a small duffel crammed with Pyrodex, Tannerite, and selection of specialty loads I had Herman the German, the inveterate gunsmith, create.
Herman the German, his actual sobriquet, was this incredible gunsmith, craftsman, and all-around artillery specialist. Have any sort of problem with a rifle, shotgun, or pistol? See Herman. Gun holding too high? See Herman. Barrel warped? See Herman. Need solid gold projectiles for a certain one-off job? See Herman.
Herman the German can sort it out.
Just never ask him: “How?”
“Ach! I’ve lived so long to learn, and you want it free? I’ll fix it, you pay, but I am only one knowing how!”
Herman was a cranky old Kraut, and has lived here for as long as anyone can remember. Even my Grandfather had deferred to Herman when he had some particularly delicate machining operation that need special attention and was unique.
As far as anyone knew, Herman had no family, but was never at a loss for friends. He was one of the most popular, and well known, but still oddly really unknown, kind of mysterious, old bastards in the entire community.
Herman the German liked me because I could obtain for him certain high-energy things he couldn’t. All were entirely legal, but some were sort of out there in the gray zone.
He also liked that I was educated, as he held education in the highest esteem. He also liked that I was of German extraction myself.
I often made it a point to drop by with odd and unusual high-octane potables while never expecting anything in return other than a story or a shared cigar.
Herman created some special loads for my .454 Magnum, which he prized.
“I like your gun, Doctor Rock, it is so big! I can still see well enough to build things for it.” He told me one day over cheroots and Schnapps.
Herman was a character to be certain. It must have been the pixie in him to dream up some of the specialty rounds he created for me to share with the local constabulary.
He lived out in the county by himself in an old farmhouse. He had a full machine shop in his basement, complete with forge, metal handling equipment, and a firing test range.
He handed back my .454, rather solemnly.
“Doctor, I am afraid to say I couldn’t test all the special rounds I’ve created for you. I need to patch the hole in the cinder blocks in the downstairs range. Your gun punched right through the back…” he apologized.
Now, Herman does all sorts of work on the local’s deer rifles, the police’s ordinance and has even worked some with the Baja Canada National Guard. Some of the little novelties he’s dreamed up for me are the first to escape his homemade basement test range.
I felt oddly honored.
After proving who I was to the nice range officer, I looked around trying to find Polack.
“It’s 1550. Where the hell is Polack? I wondered.
“Rock! Over here.” Polack calls to me.
He motions me outside to the police department’s tactical outdoor range. I had thought all along he was referring to the indoors police target range. This might pose some problems.
The tactical range was a series of clapboard shacks, all setup and designed to represent some downtrodden urban inter-city landscape. There were a couple of junked cars, broken sidewalks, storefronts, houses, bus stops…in short, all things necessary to replicate the seediest sections of a settlement where malefactors live and breed.
The cops all run around this range, shooting at bad guy pop-up cut-outs and avoid the not-bad-guy pop-up cut-outs. They’ve got music blaring, firecrackers going off, all trying to re-create a shady deeply urban environment. Points are awarded by the accuracy of fire on the run, time to maneuver the course, and the ability of not gunning down innocent bystanders.
It is not the best place to test a .454 Cusall. This hand cannon recoils like a fundamentalist Christian being solicited for donations to Anton LaVey, shoots flames and incandescent gasses like Smaug after a hard night of drinking and a stop at the Taco Bell buffet, is louder than a dime-store Karen demanding to see a Manager, and more powerful than a Ghost Pepper suppository.
To quote Joe Piscopo: “It shoots through schools.” Especially faux-schools made of plywood.
A .32 or .38 cop special is the correct weapon here; even a 9mm is a little heavy. Enough power to make a serious dent, easy on control, light on the recoil…a good tactical weapon.
But, nothing succeeds like excess.
Polack’s Chief is running around, capping off his ‘big ol’ .44 Magnum, and making the valley echo. He punches considerable holes in the pop-up cut-outs, but has such a hard time handling the recoil, his score is barely passable.
Polack runs his test with his standard 9mm sidearm and qualifies easily. However, he’s nowhere near done with his Chief yet.
I suggest to Polack we have a shoot-off. And since a .44 Magnum bullet ‘is so close to a .454 Magnum’, which it isn’t…the .454 Casull generates nearly 85% more recoil energy than the .44 Magnum; that we’d need something other than holes punched in plywood to judge the efficacy of each.
We are literally just down the road from Max Yazzer’s farm and market. They’re the place you go for your Halloween jack-o-lantern. However, now, he has a surplus of melons.
I think you can see where this is headed…
I borrow Polack’s personal conveyance and run down to Max’s farm. I return with a trunk-load of elderly, overripe, cheap as chips, melons. Watermelons, Honeydews, Musks, and Casabas.
We place them in strategic areas on the course, five for the Chief to find, and five for Polack.
A .44 vs. a .454 melon-wise results in pretty much the same sort of mess: high-velocity fruit spatter. Although, the Chief was very impressed by the report of the .454. So, after running the tactical-melon course, clear demarcation of a winner was elusive.
OK, OK, clever dicks. How about this? A standing shoot-off? We’ll set up 3 melons each at 30, 20, and 10 yards. Beginning at 30 yards, your time will be until you take out all three melons. But, they’re not going to be in a straight line, we’re going to make them somewhat camouflaged. You will stand in one small demarcated area, hunt those miscreant melons, and bring them to justice. Fastest time and greatest display wins, as determined by the Police Peanut Gallery.
Polack and the Chief agree.
The Chief goes first and dispatches the melons, with a fair amount of spatter, in 15.3 seconds.
Not bad.
Polack is next. He wipes out all the melons and creates some thoroughly impressive displays with Herman’s ‘special’ rounds. Normal ballistics for the .454 are, for a 250 grain (16 g) bullet, a muzzle velocity of over 2,400 feet per second, developing up to 2,800 ft-lb of energy.
Herman’s hot loads are double that.
Polack wins the day on impressive high-velocity melon distribution, but misses, so close, with a time of 17.0 seconds.
Recoil’s a bitch.
Then there are Herman’s ‘specialties’.
The Chief is duly impressed and even comments that his ears are ringing even with the ear protectors. He asks to inspect the weapon. He is even more than duly impressed.
Polack knows what’s up and asks the Chief if he’d like to give a whirl.
Of course, the Chief can’t back down.
Polack loads the .454 with 5 of Herman’s specialties: hollow-point rounds loaded hot, compressed, and tipped with alkaline earth metals, like metallic sodium and metallic potassium…
We set up the nastiest, glorpiest, just barely-holding-together, overripe, laced with Tannerite (an impact-actuated low-explosive) watermelon at the ‘Concealed Carry’ distance of 5 meters.
We slowly fade back into the distance to avoid the inevitable ‘Gallagher reaction’.
The Chief fires one, and just nicks the top of the melon. Don’t laugh, with the type of recoil and heft of the sidearm, and tensing up in anticipation, it’s easy to be off the mark initially.
The second round impacts dead-center. Now, alkaline earth metals and water don’t get along really well. In fact, their relationship is explosive. Especially explosive when delivered at 2,900 feet per second.
The Chief catches a huge smattering of vitamin-packed watermelony back blast goo.
He’s not entirely happy. He looks positively grisly with all that blown-up melon schmoo on his nice, neat uniform.
He returns my gun and bans me from ever showing up at the police range again.
Polack is on traffic duty for the next month.
He figures it was well worth it.
Back at the flat, Esme is shaking her head and wondering if I’ll ever grow up.
“I may grow old, but I’ll never grow up.” I reply.
I see I have several missed phone calls. Ah, me; no rest for the weary. Back to company-university liaison duties.
After I had contacted these companies, I receive no less than 12 requests for symposia, talks, and seminars to be given to various level of industrial scientific employees in their respective companies.
I am now slated to give academic conferences on stratigraphy, sedimentology, and seismic structural geology to different companies in Houston, Oklahoma City, Denver, Casper, Corpus Christi, New Orleans, and Tulsa. In the next 12 weeks, I’ll be giving no less than 8 talks in seven cities.
I speak with Dean Vermiculari on how best to handle the situation. He understands and appoints two graduate student teaching assistants to handle my classes while I’m on the road. That relieves me of being physically there, but I still have to grade papers, compose lesson plans, and keep things running smoothly until finals.
Besides giving the talks, there’s travel to oil fields, production facilitates, manufacturing plants, hotels, restaurants while I’m in town…the pace is excruciating. I’m gone more than I am at university. Plus in my time back home, I’m still the ad hoc master blaster for the limestone quarry.
Then, there’s the companies arriving on campus, and the roles are reversed. Now I’m the welcome wagon and have to sort out the logistics of receiving the company representatives. I need to set up the colloquia to introduce the companies to the prospective students, arrange lodging, arrange passes for the university, transportation, “Meet-and-Greet’s, ad infinitum.
I knew this was having a bit of effect on me when I came back to the flat after one particularly grueling ordeal of canceled flights, full hotels, missed connections and lukewarm reception by the company workers.
“Hello”, I said, as I walked in the flat, “I believe you have a reservation for…”
Esme just stood there, wondering if I was having a laugh.
No, I wasn’t. I was completely hallucinating from road weariness, lack of sleep, jet lag, and total disorientation. This continued on for the next approximately 18 months.
Esme was beginning to have second thoughts about all this.
My teaching load was diminished by one whole introductory course. However, I was still flying hither and yon, delivering symposia, meeting with young geoscientists and getting to know the ins-and-outs of the Oil Industry.
I found it particularly fascinating.
Time marched on and it was once again it was the recruiting season. We had no less than eight oil companies visiting the university in their quest to swell the roster of their junior scientists.
I’m still busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a windstorm, but have settled into a groove of sorts. I know the company recruiters and they now know me. I’ve actually struck up friendships with several. Particularly since I take them to the best local restaurants and bars after their recruiting duties are finished.
I’ve met with recruiting representatives of Shrill Petrol, Mexxon, Nobil, Nocono Oil, Flug, Geddy, Brutish Petroleum, and Qexaco.
The recruiting season is winding down and I find myself with Red (not Adair), of Nocono Oil.
“Well, Doctor Rock”, Red states, “Another fine recruiting run. We’ve snagged two of your young geologists and one geophysicist. I’d say it was almost a perfect score.”
We’re sitting in the Norton’s Steakhouse. After a couple of prime pink porterhouses, we’re working on the post-dinner double vodka and bitter lemon for me, and Lagavulin for Red.
“Almost perfect?” I ask.
“Yeah. There’s been this one small nagging concern from our company higher-ups.” Red continues.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“We need some more senior people. For one thing, we’ve recently opened a new petroleum laboratory down in our Houston office. Going to need some serious talent to run that show.” Red says.
“I see”, I reply, “And…?”
“We need mentors. Those with varied and far-flung knowledge. They must be well educated, global in experience and stature, with an [ahem] diverse set of skills.” Red notes.
“Whew”, I agree, “That’s a tall order. You want my help with names of possible candidates? Is that it?”
“Not as such, Doctor.” Red drains his drink, motions for me to do the same, and orders another round.
Our drinks arrive and Red downs half his in one gulp.
“Well, then”, I continue, “How can I help?”
Red chuckles, “For someone so educated, you can really be thick as two short planks at times.”
I sit back, and sip my Old Thought Provoker.
The mercury-vapors light off.
“No!” I say, incredulously.
“Oh, yes.” Red smiles.
“No?” I ask, slowly taking in the possible effects of what he’s hinting at…
“OK, Doctor Rocknocker”, Red gets all serious and corporate, “We’d like to offer you a position at Nocono Oil as Senior Laboratory Manager and Head of Corporate Continuing Education.”
You could have knocked me over with a grenade. I was stunned. I fumbled with my drink.
“Red, you old con artist” I reply, “Is this a set-up?”
Red, serious as a heart attack, looks directly at me and replies, “Doctor Rock, absolutely not, it’s a genuine offer.”
He slides over a folder with some papers inside. “Here are the particulars.”
Reeling, I accept the folder. I open it and right after the corporate logos and legal bullshit, I see a tall figure with a whole raft of zeros trailing behind it.
I read furiously. The job would be both interesting and challenging. It would be in Houston, with travel and teaching at all other company outposts on a regular basis. I reexamine that figure from before and verify that I’m not now hallucinating.
The job comes with furnished, corporate-paid housing, incredible benefits, loads of opportunity for advancement, more opportunity to travel, really generous vacation time…
“Right. On the level?” I ask again.
“Yep.” Red bluntly says.
“Well”, I gulp, “you know I have to discuss this with Esme”, whom he’s met several times previous.
“Of course, and you probably want to finish out the semester, correct?” red asks.
“Oh, yes.” I reply. There would be a monsoon of paperwork and other grunt work I’d need to conclude or hand over if I were to accept this offer.
“OK, then”, Red finishes his drink, motions for me to do the same, a real rarity; but I was in another dimension at this point. He orders another round and sits back, waiting on a refill.
“You have two weeks to reply” Red states.
“I know that’s not a terribly long time, but we need to fill this position ASAP. Can I ask for that? Your answer, yea, or nay, within a fortnight?” Red demands.
“Yes”, I reply. “I at least owe you that.”
And that was the end of the discussion for the night about me joining the private sector. We stayed a few more hours, chatting, smoking my cigars, and discussing everything but the lumbering elephant in the room.
We part outside as I need to head back to our flat. Red wants to go downtown to one of those “Gentleman’s Clubs” he’s heard were so famous at the time.
I was flummoxed the whole cab ride home.
It was late when I returned, but I simply had to wake Es with the news.
“Rock, for pity’s sake, its 2 o’clock in the morning!” Es protests. “Can’t this wait until later?”
“Sorry, my dear” I reply, probably as serious as I ever had with Esme. “This is a potential game-changer.”
“What is it? Are you OK?” Esme trembles.
“Oh, I’m fine. Better than fine.” I reply.
She’s relieved.
“Then what’s so important?” she asks.
“Um…how would you like to move to Houston?” I ask.
“You going to teach at Cougar High (University of Houston)?” she inquires.
“Nope. Brace yourself. I’ve been offered a job with Nocono Oil.” I finally spill the beans.
Esme is slightly stunned and sits down.
I go to the wet bar, fix me a bracing potato juice and citrus and Esme a stiff white Zinfandel.
I hand her the wine and she is still semi-dazed and digesting the information.
I slurp a good portion of my drink, retrieve her Sobranjes and me a cigar from my Turkmenistan humidor.
I sit on the couch next to her and hug her soundly.
“Esme? Es? Earth to Es? You in there?” I joke.
“Oh, Yeah. Rock. Really? Hang on”, she leaves, returning with her housecoat as this might take a little time.
“So?” I ask, “Your thoughts. Now! Immediately! Initial reaction!” I try to jar her back into reality.
“Well, what do you want?” she asks.
“C’mon, my dearest. You know I hate that. No, what do you think? What do you honestly think?” I reply.
We both fire up our smokes, and I refresh our drinks. We return to the dinner table where Red’s folder lies.
“Es, here. Look at this.” I say, sliding the portfolio over to her.
She reads like a hungry man at a Vegas casino buffet. I can tell where she was stopped by something extraordinary.
“This is for real?” she asks, “Red’s not pulling a fast one?”
“Nope. It’s the genuine article”, I tell her, “He needs my reply within two weeks.”
“Rock, Rock…I just don’t know. It’s a lot to process at 0230 in the morning. Let’s go to bed and have a think in the morning. You have the luxury of at least that amount of time.” She notes.
“Right again, as usual”, I say, “Stuff it. It can wait.” We toddle off to bed.
The next morning, over Cuban omelets and Greenland Coffees, we sort through the particulars.
“Rock, it’s an extraordinary offer. But, do you want to leave teaching? I remember how you got all animated by Dean Vermiculari giving you the corporate liaison job and how that would improve your shot at tenure.” She notes.
“I just don’t know. I’m still shell-shocked.” I tell her. “Let me go to school and we’ll pick this up tonight. We both have work to do no matter what. Oh, bloody hell. I hadn’t considered your job. Another wrinkle in the mess.”
“Don’t you worry about that”, Esme smiles. “One catastrophe at a time.”
“I do so love you.” I hug her soundly. “Think I should mention this offer to anyone at school?”
“No. Definitely not.” Esme shakes her head. “Let’s figure this out on our own.”
“I agree”, I say, kiss her and depart for school once again.
The next week was a blur. Recruiting duties were dragging and I was being preoccupied.
Even my students noted the lack of in-room explosions lately.
I spend the next Saturday at the quarry, doing some small amount of blasting. I quiz the quarry owners about their progress in acquiring a new master for the quarry’s operation.
“Oh, Doctor Rock” they gush, “You’re doing such a fine job, we haven’t really looked. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason at this time, I reply, “But perhaps you might want to begin looking”
The chinks in my armor were finally starting to show.
Sunday was spent out on Sliver Lake, with Esme and me chasing the elusive crappie, perch, and bucketmouth bass. It also gave us a chance to clear our heads from work, school and other such intrusions. We both needed a bit of downtime.
Later that night, after a meal of beer-battered fillet of crappie and perch on the barbie, we sit down at the dinner table.
The portfolio sits there, taunting us.
I get up, makes us both our drinks, sit down and declare that this is it.
“Es, darling” I say, “its nut-cuttin’ time. We need to make our decision.”
“You’re right.” Es agrees, “Time for risk-reward analysis. Get some paper and some pencils.”
We spend the next few hours listing the pros and cons of accepting the Houston position or staying here and pursuing my tenured professorship.
After several hours, I stretch, stand, and go to the fridge. I retrieve the bottle of Bollinger Les Vieilles Vignes Francaises I had purchased the other day.
I return to the table with the wine and the glasses, pop the cork and pour us both a glass of high-brow bubble water.
I hug and kiss Esme like I had just returned from a long, solo expedition.
“Esme, my darling. I’d like to propose a toast. First to us. Hа здоровый!”
“Cheers!” Esme replies.
“Secondly to Red, Dean Vermiculari, the quarry guys, Polack the Cop, and all the others that makes our life weird around here.”
“Seconded”, Es echoes.
“Finally: to Houston, Texas. Our new home!” I finally add.
The next morning, Dean Vermiculari peers over the top of his pince-nez glasses. He’s not looking overly happy with me right now.
“Why is it, Doctor, that everyone that receives the job of corporate liaison ends up going with corporate?” he asks.
“Perhaps it’s just the exposure to another world that exists beyond academia.” I reply, truthfully.
“Doctor Rocknocker,” the Dean gravely states, “I am not at all happy about your decision. We had great hopes for you here and you were riding right up the tenure track. Another five years and it would have been assured.”
“Five years is a long time, Dean”, I state the obvious.
“Yes, indeed.” The Dean replies frostily. “However, you are young. Perhaps you need to get this private sector nonsense out of your system, then you can return to academia where you belong.”
“Perhaps, perhaps”, I reply.
“Please, do consider this option down the road. You and your antics will be missed here, by students and faculty alike.” He says.
“I will, Dean, I promise.” I reply “However, for now, it’s time for my boot heels to be wanderin’.”
“Doctor, I will miss your strange and unique way of looking at life. I reluctantly accept your resignation at the end of the current semester and wish you all the best in your newest endeavors. Please remember us when corporate support for academia is mentioned in your new company.” he says.
“I promise you, Dean, I will not forget what I’ve learned here and what you’ve taught. It’s the least I can do,” I reply. “I will never forget my roots.”
“All I can ask”, he concludes. He stands to shake my hand. We shake and my audience is over.
I resign from the quarry a week later. They haven’t found a new blaster but wish me well on my new journey. I tell them I’m here until the end of the semester, so I won’t leave them high and dry.
I tell Polack the Cop about all the goings-on.
“Who the hell can I roust for beer and cigars now?” He whines. “Let me know when you get to Texas if they need any cops. I wouldn’t mind trying’ that. Hell, maybe a Texas Ranger!”
“A Cheesehead Ranger…?” I assure him I will and pass a box of cigars to him as a parting gift. He gives me a mayoral-signed get-out-of-jail-free card.
“Now you can drive that old Harley just as crazy as you want.” He chuckles.
“Thanks, Polack.” I say, shaking his hand. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I sold my bike a week earlier.
Red was very chuffed with the news.
“Snagged me a big one this time!’ He laughed, over the phone.
There was enough paperwork, considerations and decisions to be made to last the remaining time Esme and I had in-state until our move. Already, a moving company had arrived, done inventory, and was preparing for our move to Houston.
Esme resigned her position and decided she wanted to take some time off. She wanted to be a housewife, a colleague, and not have to work for once at an outside job. My new position allowed for that in spades. Besides with her credentials, anytime when she wants to re-join the workforce, there are myriad opportunities in the Bayou City.
We made the choice of housing out west of town, in Katy, Texas. We could have chosen Sugarland, Addicks, Greenspoint, Greenway, or the Memorial area. However, these west Houston company properties were closest to the job and largest in square footage.
My students got wind of my resignation and relocation. They threw me an unexpected farewell party at the Gast Haus. It was nickel-beer night and since they were footing the bill, it all worked out just fine.
I would miss the old place. The camaraderie, the seasons, the university; hell my home these last many years. I’ve been on many, many expeditions, but I always returned home.
Now, home was moving and was awaiting our arrival.
Esme and I said our farewells to our families as well. We were the first through college, the first ones to travel international, the first Doctor in the family, and the first to leave the state.
That’s a lot of familial firsts.
I had to keep reminding everyone it wouldn’t be the last. Hell, we’re just moving to Texas, it’s not like we’re off to Greenland or Mongolia…
[Gasp]
We saddled up Es’s old Chevy Nova, took one last, lingering look in the rearview mirror, and said fare thee well to our previous lives.
“We’ll be back. Someday. I promise” I told the city of our youth and young married adulthood.
We decided to drive to Houston because we had the luxury of a bit of time. We needed the stretch to chew over some interpersonal and private things on the way to the next chapter in our lives. Besides, the weather was good, the roads ahead open and clear, and Texas had no ‘Open Container’ law, yet.
We pointed the old Nova south and hit the gas.
A week later, we’re wandering around our new house in Katy, Texas. Our belongings, scant though they may be, arrived the day after we did. Esme and I spent the next couple of day rearranging the house, buying necessary domestic bits and pieces, and getting to know our new neighborhood.
First thing, though, Esme wanted to replace the old Nova. I concurred, but insisted we keep it as a second car and went out to purchase our first new car as a couple.
I wanted a Land Rover. We ended up with a glossy black Toyota 4-Runner. Close enough.
I was scheduled to show up at my new job the next Monday.
I had my own parking spot, complete with “Reserved for Dr. Rock” painted on the bumper block. I was shown my new lab and was introduced to my seven laboratory assistants. I was shown the catalogs I could use to order what I needed and went over the requisition procedures.
I was trotted around to meet the company CEO, CFO, CIO, VPs and many, many more company executives and managers. I’ve met with presidents and heads of state, I was impressed but not overly. They seemed like a more or less nice bunch of chaps.
Almost exactly five weeks to the day from our arrival in Houston, I come home, yelling “Darling, I’m home!”
Esme comes to greet me with a rib-rearranging hug. She tells me to sit at the dinner table, where my long hard day at the office drink, cigar, ashtray, and lighter are already set.
“How was work, dear?” she asks, sitting down with her Perrier water.
“Oh, it’s going great. The knotheads let me have an open-ended budget until I get the labs sorted just the way I want it. These guys pay their bills on time and I have carte blanche at Wards Scientific, and other supply houses. My crew is great, no interpersonal crapola, and hard workers. I can smoke in my office and no one dares give me shit about my cigars. I’m getting to know the exploration department quite well. They’re really interested in our expeditions and are more interested in my opinions of their new exploration directives.”
Esme just smiles and sips her water.
“Odd”, I thought.
“That’s great, dear.” She says. “I am so glad to hear it.”
“Me too”, I say, “How are you holding up after all these weeks alone?”
“Oh, I’m getting used to it.” She smiles.
And smiles. Beatifically. Glowing.
“What?” I ask.
“Remember what we talked about in the car on the way down here?” She asks.
“We talked about a lot of things…” I say, suddenly my eyes grew very, very wide indeed.
“Yes. You’re going to be a father. I’m pregnant, Rock.” Esme smiles.

King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, if you've never been there, is a weird little 'burg with a weird (not so little) name. We have a big fucking mall, a shitty casino and a national park that people misconstrue as a battlefield (no fighting ever actually occurred, just rampant starvation).
About a twenty minute drive west of Philly, it's the sort of small town that has a quaint shell appearance that disappears rapidly the moment you meet one of its shining citizens. As a local reporter, I get to meet a lot of them actually (and, some might say, unfortunately).
For example, if the crack heads and daytime drunks don't scare you away, our resident boogeyman Lucid Larry sure as hell will.
A sort of local wandering curiosity, Larry is actually an okay guy if you manage to talk to him. Unfortunately, he's also a 7 foot tall schizo that dresses like Slash every single day (every single day, no matter the weather). He's also known for freaking out at strangers for giving him even the slightest glance.
That's sort of the entire area in a nutshell actually. A strange peculiarity with a dash of weirdness that will snap at your hand if you get too close. And believe me, Larry isn't even the half of it.
There's also Textbook Timmy, the guy that sits outside of the movie theater all night long in his idling car, right across the street from Lockheed. Most people think he's homeless. Though considering his car seems to be running all the time, I don't know how he affords it.
The weird part is if you get close to him, you'll notice that Timmy seems to always be reading what looks like an elementary school textbook (complete with smiling children on the cover).
And the really weird part is if you get too close to him, you'll notice the three mannequins, an "adult" in the passenger seat and two "kids" in the back.
Then there's the ice cream man whose truck runs throughout the night all summer long (and I mean throughout the night, usually as late as 2 AM). Inevitably, the noise will wake up a baby and a few bored looking cops will show up to write down the complaint.
The part that always gets me is two fold:
1.) Absolutely nobody I know has ever even gotten so much as a lick of ice cream from the guy and 2.) whenever the cops show up, after they take down their report, they always say the same thing:
"If it comes by again, just don't go near it. No matter what."
Every single time. I know a few people that have asked, "Why?" They say the cop always just smiles, tips his hat and wishes them a good night before leaving.
And then there's Dave.
Or rather, "The Thing That Called Itself Dave" as I've been told most of the local kids have come to know him following The Incident.
Where to even begin?
For starters, nobody knew his age. He looked in the realm of his mid to late 30's. But every so often, a few folks would tell me that he'd make passing references to taking a date to see the original Star Wars or how much Vietnam messed him up.
He had a high pitched voice that I swear (on particularly boisterous evenings) you could hear for miles. You could usually catch him getting drunk with some prostitute at any of the local eateries (all of them gaudy, nearly empty franchises like T.G.I. Friday's or Chili's... no homegrown eats for us).
Nobody knew where Dave came from originally, but his wiry hair and pitch black eyes would always catch the attention of anybody wandering by. He had a habit of latching onto visiting strangers and turning into their best fiend within hours. He used to be a regular at the Chili's across from the Motel 6 and would approach any poor soul unlucky enough to be there alone.
Once the money was gone, Dave would typically get a little forward (didn't matter if they were men or women, young or old). He'd sometimes beg them to let him hang out in their hotel room until the morning. More than one bartender told me he'd typically get kicked out once this maudlin routine (usually) failed.
But those that would leave with him? Well, that was the bizarre part.
After The Incident, I went around inquiring about these visiting friends of Dave at the local hotels. The receptionists and bell hops would always tell me the same thing: Dave and the stranger would stumble into the lobby (usually quite drunkenly) and head for the stranger's room. But in the morning, only the stranger would leave, never to be seen again.
As for Dave? Who knows how he was getting out of these places, but the following night you were sure as hell to find him wetting the ol' whistle and beginning the entire friendship cycle over again.
All sorts of local urban legends began to pop up about Dave. The simple ones were that he was just homeless. Other more exotic ones spoke of Dave working at Lockheed as a test subject.
One frequent park camper told me that she saw him once deep in the Valley Forge woods in the middle of the night. She said he spoke to five figures that had the exact same silhouette as Dave himself.
"Like exactly the same?" I asked. "Like... doppelgängers?"
"Like clones," she answered back solemnly.
When I pressed her for more details, she only told me that she got so spooked, she abandoned her trip, leaving behind all of her equipment and clothes in the process. As she got into her car that night to leave, she witnessed strange lights shining in the sky over the spot she had seen Dave conversing with the figures.
"The next day, I went to Friday's for dinner with my family," she said in a low, cautious whisper. "He was at the bar and nodded once in my direction.
"He was wearing some of the clothes that I had left behind."
But probably the downright weirdest story about Dave concerns the night he disappeared.
The Incident, so to speak.
Over a year ago, right around Valentine's Day, one of Dave's regular prostitutes appeared at the police station in the early hours of the morning. I was told she was bleeding and scared to death.
When the bored cops pressed her for details, she claimed she bit Dave in self defense when he started to "get too weird" in the backseat of her car at Valley Forge Park. She took off running when he began to "bleed oil and laugh like a fuckin' loon."
"Bleed oil?" I would later ask. "You're sure of this? Maybe it was just dark inside the car."
"Oil," she repeated without batting an eye. "I could smell the shit from a mile away."
Dave, now completely naked, chased her through the snow covered park, intermittently "running on all four's. I saw him do that at least twice, right beside me as he laughed."
He followed her damn near the entire way towards the police station, abruptly banking left down the empty street and disappearing into the cold night once she made it into the building itself.
The following morning, the authorities would track down the poor woman's car. There were no traces of oil, but the thing was completely trashed from bumper to bumper.
Nobody has spoken to Dave since that night, nearly 18 months ago.
But there have been sightings since then. Some of them just recently actually. Teenagers trying to get lucky in the woods are saying there's a cackling beast that roams the park.
A hunter told me that he saw him in broad daylight just this past Fall, completely nude and barking like a dog while periodically laughing at a herd of deer.
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Shot him," the hunter answered matter of factly. "Hit him too, right in the shoulder.
"I hated that guy," he finished without even a hint of a smile.
"Did... did you see anything like oil come out of the wound?" I had asked somewhat sheepishly.
"No," he said. "But I swear, there were sparks before he took off."
So where could Dave be?
I'm not entirely sure.
But as I sit here, dear reader, in the dark just outside of my tent in the heart of Valley Forge Park, I can't help but notice every moving figure in the shadows that engulf my campsite.
Or the lack of nature sounds in the typically bustling woods.
Or the queer lights that periodically flicker in the sky above.
Or the fact that every few minutes, I can hear someone... or something laughing with a high pitched cackle that sounds all too familiar in the deep, dark distance.

Sunday:
Mount Prospect puts on Irish Fest, featuring Celtic music, dance, food and beverages (Daily Herald)
Dundee-Crown students pitch business models to investors as part of Business INCubator class (Daily Herald)
Should parents be concerned about thumbprint scanners used to pay for school lunches? (Daily Herald)
Lombard kicks off Lilac Time with crowning of new Lilac Queen (Daily Herald)
Prospect Heights elected officials, employees talk about city's first 40 years during annual mayor's breakfast (Daily Herald)
Virginia State Trooper cleared in shooting death of Aurora man at Virginia bus station (Chicago Tribune)
Lincoln-Way High School District 210 board member become third to resign this year (Chicago Tribune/Daily Southtown)
Elgin City Council members taking advantage of lack of policy to make taxpayers foot the bill on meals (Chicago Tribune/Elgin Courier-News)
City of Highland Park mandates that all new single-occupancy bathrooms must be gender-neutral or all-gender (ABC 7)
Buffalo Grove's top cop sworn in as president of Illinois Association of Police Chiefs at Schaumburg conference (Daily Herald)
Cold, rain force cancellation of Special Olympics field events in Lake Zurich; opening ceremony, track events still take place (Daily Herald)
Kites fill the skies over Glen Ellyn's Maryknoll Park (Daily Herald)
Playground equipment at Lake in the Hills park to be replaced; nonprofit will refurbish them and give them to a needy community elsewhere in the world (Daily Herald)
Pizza maker, co-owner Burt Katz of Burt's Place in Morton Grove passes away at 78 (Chicago Tribune)
Bunco event in Crown Point raises money for right against breast cancer (Chicago Tribune/Post-Tribune)
Bolingbrook, Naperville police find 70-year-old missing man and his car in Bolingbrook quarry after tracing his cell phone (CBS 2)
Monday:
What to know about mosquito season and the Zika virus (Daily Herald)
Pedestrian struck and killed near Bartlett Metra station (Daily Herald)
Crystal Lake hobbyist works on tiny T-scale trains and settings (plus video (Daily Herald)
Dark screening installed on Great Western Trail overpass above I-355 raises concerns about violations of freedom of speech (Daily Herald)
Park Forest nail technician selected for FOX reality series MasterChef (Chicago Tribune)
River Forest man charged with sexually assaulting woman in Chicago (Chicago Tribune)
Highland, Ind., man killed after his car struck a railroad-crossing signal in Matteson; victim wasn't wearing a seatbelt (Chicago Sun-Times)
Woman hired as home-healthcare worker in Berwyn charged with selling cocaine from apartment of man who hired her (Chicago Sun-Times)
Sports Authority to liquidate inventory, close all its stores nationwide (ABC 7)
Pedestrian struck, killed by Metra train near Ardmore Avenue station in Villa Park about 4½ hours after person died after being hit by a train near Bartlett station (Chicago Tribune)
Consolidated High School District 125 board begins discussing transgender restroom use (Chicago Tribune/Lincolnshire Review)
McHenry County narcotics task force arrested three of four men wanted for selling cocaine at a Lake in the Hills bar (Chicago Tribune)
Moody's Investor Service downgrades Lincoln-Way High School District 210's debt to just above 'junk' status, citing financial mismanagement (Chicago Tribune/Daily Southtown)
McDonald's workers protest in Evanston, North Suburban Teachers Union hold rally on May Day (Chicago Tribune/Skokie Review)
Two Gary residents arrested as police investigate three separate robberies at Gary sex shop (Chicago Sun-Times)
Evanston teen arrested for drug and drug-paraphernalia possession, weapons charges (Chicago Sun-Times)
National Wrestling Hall of Fame revokes all honors awarded to Dennis Hastert in wake of admission of sexual abuse of students (Chicago Sun-Times)
City of Elgin announces plans for 'code enforcement academy' from which public can learn the ins-and-outs of code enforcement (Daily Herald)
Norris Recreation Center to become park of St. Charles Park District after rec board votes itself out of existence; St. Charles Community Unit 303 board must vote on center's fate because facility is on St. Charles East High School campus (Daily Herald)
Metropolis Performing Arts Centre to feature 'Hair,' 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,' 'Young Frankinstein' (Daily Herald)
Portions of Arlington Heights North Garage to be closed through August as work to shore up structures is done (Daily Herald)
Work under way for Lindenhurst's first auto dealership at the intersection of Grand Avenue and U.S. Route 45 (Daily Herald)
Owner of strip mall abruptly pulls request for special-use permit on planned gambling café near Gurnee (Daily Herald)
20-year-old woman abandoned as a baby in a Hoffman Estates Dumpster gets to meet the man who rescued her (NBC 5)
Tuesday:
Elgin Symphony Orchestra named professional orchestra of the year by Illinois Council of Orchestras, becomes state's only orchestra to win four such awards (Daily Herald)
Nando's Peri-Peri combines African spices and Portuguese flame-grilling in new chicken restaurant in Naperville (Daily Herald)
East Dundee Lutheran church seeks volunteers, handlers for new comfort dog (Daily Herald)
[Arlington Heights gives six restaurants the privilege of using public sidewalks for outdoor dining](www.dailyherald.com/article/20160503/business/160509749/) (Daily Herald)
Consultant suggests $5.7 million in renovations to Des Plaines' Metropolitan Plaza, including shade structures, in-ground water-spray jets (Daily Herald)
Sears agrees to pay $1.8 million to retain naming rights to Hoffman Estates' Sears Centre Arena (Daily Herald)
College of DuPage selects IBM Watson Group partner, U.S. Navy vice admiral to be school's new president (Chicago Tribune/Naperville Sun)
Body of Palatine man last seen at Shorewood bank pulled from Lake Michigan (Chicago Sun-Times)
Evanston house by famous Chicago architect Harry Weese sells after only four days on the market (Crain's Chicago Business)
Mother of two from Buffalo Grove dies after being shot in drive-by on I-90/94 in Wisconsin; suspect was on the run after shooting a man a Milwaukee suburb and was wounded and arrested by Wisconsin state police (Chicago Tribune/Buffalo Grove Countryside)
Man convicted of Carpentersville woman's death in Lake County forest preserve now suing Lake County law­-enforcement officials over alleged conspiracy to wrongly convict him (Chicago Tribune)
Wealthy developer with interest in video gambling is the high bidder for Balmoral Park property, assets (Chicago Tribune/Daily Southtown)
Naperville teen facing felony charges after police find unloaded gun in his backpack at Metea Valley High School in Aurora (Chicago Tribune/Naperville Sun)
Price tag on whitewater feature on Fox River in St. Charles plummets to nearly 10 percent of original projected cost (Daily Herald)
Cheny Furniture store in Libertyville to turn grand opening into charity event, raising money for Feed My Starving Children and donating $10,000 worth of furniture to Lambs Farm (Daily Herald)
Grayslake trustee resigning in advance of moving out of state (Daily Herald)
Criterium slated for downtown West Dundee on July 20 as part of Intelligencia Cup race (Daily Herald)
Mount Prospect hiker in critical condition at St. Louis hospital after falling from a bluff at Giant City State Park in southern Illinois (Daily Herald)
Carol Stream trustees choose plan to renovate, expand existing village hall; will use fiscal reserves to pay for project (Daily Herald)
Park Ridge attorney chosen as president of Maine Township High School District 207 board (Daily Herald)
Geneva woman charged with embezzling between $100,000 and $500,000 from St. Charles veterinary clinic (Chicago Sun-Times)
Potholes becoming a safety hazard on Linder Avenue in unincorporated Bremen Township; township official says road is not part of any jurisdiction (NBC 5)
University of Iowa student from Naperville beaten outside pub near campus; his family alleges it is a hate crime (ABC 7)
Evanston native — a two-time Iditarod winner — gets warm welcome home at alma mater (WGN TV)
Wednesday:
Buffalo Grove considers forming foundation to support and manage quality-of-life programs, projects (Daily Herald)
Libertyville may make space for drop-off for electronics recycling at its public works facility (Daily Herald)
Fire causes $15,000 worth of damage at Pingree Grove restaurant; blaze reportedly started above stove, went into building's ventilation system (Daily Herald)
Elgin man arrested for robbing store on State Street after police find him in the Fox River (Daily Herald)
Mount Prospect mayor: Assistant village administrator who served for 22 years departed after new administrator took up post (Daily Herald)
Two former Northwestern University students accused of spray-painting racist, homophobic messages and sexual imagery on chapel on March 11, facing at least 24 criminal charges (Chicago Tribune)
Resident physician at Evanston NorthShore Hospital charged with stealing about $200,000 worth of medical equipment (Chicago Tribune/Evanston Review)
Aeropostale files for bankruptcy, may close many stores (Chicago Tribune)
Amtrak to allow up to 15 bicycles on Chicago-to-Milwaukee Hiawatha trains with advanced reservations (Crain's Chicago Business)
Minooka teen dies after collapsing at Milwaukee nightclub after taking synthetic drug 'Molly' (WGN TV)
Transgender teen in running for prom queen at Portage High School (NBC 5)
Death of 92-year-old man hit by train near Bartlett Metra station ruled suicide (FOX 32)
Carpentersville cancels plan to lay off two full-time firefighters amid negotiations with firefighters union (Daily Herald)
Streamwood police release video of armed robbery of massage parlor with hopes that someone will recognize the suspect (Daily Herald)
OSHA cites Custom Aluminum Products in South Elgin in accident that led to amputation of six of temporary employee's fingers in a November accident; company fined $70,000 (Daily Herald)
Group of students and their parents sues Palatine-Schaumburg High School District 211 over policy allowing transgender student into girls' locker room at Fremd High School (Daily Herald)
Aurora man facing aggravated battery charges for touching a woman's bare feet with his bare feet at Warrenville Public Library; he's been banned from Naperville, Wheaton and Glen Ellyn libraries for the same behavior (Daily Herald)
St. Charles Community Unit School District 303 board president tackles, holds man who allegedly shot at his wife as she ran from a domestic dispute (Daily Herald)
Oak Brook-based Retail Properties of America Inc. acquires Oak Brook Promenade lifestyle mall for about $66 million (Daily Herald)
Libertyville mall owner threatens to evict Secretary of State's drivers-license facility because state owes $46,100 in back rent (Daily Herald)
Vernon Hills Village Board signals dissatisfaction with subdivisions planned for former Forge Club property, gives nod to development of heavily wooded area at U.S. 45 and Buffalo Grove Road (Daily Herald)
Waukegan enters Lucas Museum of Narrative Art debate, offering its lakeshore as potential site (Chicago Tribune/Lake County Sun-News)
Palos Hills pre-teen suspended from school for rest of year after bringing a knife to defend himself from bullies at Hickory Hills junior high (Chicago Sun-Times/Daily Southtown)
Cook County medical examiner, who turned around once-troubled county morgue, to leave post in June (Chicago Sun-Times)
Joliet man sentenced to 12 years in prison for attempted murder of girlfriend whom he had cheated on him (Chicago Sun-Times)
Carpentersville man wanted for armed robbery of Oswego mini-mart arrested in Arizona by U.S. Marshals (Chicago Sun-Times)
High-speed chase from Chicago disrupts traffic on Dan Ryan Expressway, ends near Markham; four people arrested (NBC 5)
Cook County Clerk of the Circuit Court Dorothy Brown sends letter asking for raise, saying she is underpaid compared to Lake, DuPage circuit clerks, other Cook public-safety officials (NBC 5)
Illinois Toll Highway Authority has first of two open houses addressing construction this season, Elgin-O'Hare Expressway and cashless tolling; second event scheduled for May 12 in Elk Grove Village (ABC 7)
Eastbound South Shore Line trains halted after truck hits overpass on I-94, prompting railroad to inspect bridge (ABC 7)
Thursday:
Suspect in Lombard heroin-induced death leads police on high-speed car chase through suburbs and Chicago, abandons car in Bensenville (Chicago Tribune)
Naperville special-operations police discover 500 pounds of marijuana in building just outside city limits; drug trafficker from Naperville arrested (Chicago Tribune/Naperville Sun)
Aurora police investigate incident where a pedestrian shot at a car driving along Ohio Street; occupant of the vehicle fired back (Chicago Sun-Times)
Woman struck and killed while walking along U.S. 12 south of Illinois Route 120 in Volo in early-morning incident (Daily Herald)
Elgin City Council approves continued membership in Metro West Council of Government despite three aldermen's objections over cost, effectiveness, benefits for city (Daily Herald)
Naperville elementary school wins inaugural Alan D. Krashesky Literacy Prize, receives grant to help kids build their book collections at home (ABC 7)
Father, son injured during Evanston home invasion, in which the suspect demanded guns (ABC 7)
Fire breaks out at City Sports sporting-goods store in Harvey (ABC 7)
College of Lake County's Lakeshore Campus celebrates Cinco de Mayo with dancing, music and burritos (Daily Herald)
Gurnee increases contributions to Visit Lake County in effort to draw more tourists (Daily Herald)
Illinois Association of Municipal Management Assistants gives Fox Lake village administrator its Outstanding Manager Award for her investigation into financial mismanagement by disgraced cop Gliniewicz (Daily Herald)
Sears Hometown and Outlet Stores Inc.'s store-within-a-store concept gives retailer access to communities it couldn't otherwise reach (Daily Herald)
Hoffman Estates approves German manufacturer Trumpf Inc.'s planned technology center on the former AT&T campus (Daily Herald)
Naperville becomes first community in state to ban 'smoking' alcohol, together with a ban on powdered alcohol (Daily Herald)
Gary City Council unanimously rejects proposed $80 million immigration-detention center (Chicago Tribune/Post-Tribune)
Hebron village president, facing trial for drug and weapons charges, may lose house if he doesn't pay $12,000 back taxes (Chicago Tribune)
Elgin man arrested for attempted kidnapping in South Elgin may have intentionally caused tire damage that led victim to pull off Randall Road where he helped change the tire (Chicago Tribune/Elgin Courier-News)
Montgomery man sentenced to 19 years in prison as part of plea deal for burglarizing three Montgomery businesses (Chicago Sun-Times)
Friday:
Errors in setting up online grade books could mean grades up to 7 semesters back were wrong for students at East Aurora High School (Chicago Tribune/Aurora Beacon-News)
Bill creating oversight in rape investigation cases spurred by lack of action in Robbins (Chicago Tribune/Daily Southtown)
Constitutional amendment on November ballot would prevent Illinois Legislature from transferring transportation funds to other uses (Chicago Tribune)
Glen Ellyn Park Board to consider borrowing $5 million, extending deadline for paying off existing debt (Daily Herald)
Four northwest suburban fire departments battle fire involving recyclable materials in Hoffman Estates gravel pit (Daily Herald)
West Chicago Community High School to recognize pianist at choir concert for 50 years of service (Daily Herald)
East Dundee police move into new, state-of-the-art station (Daily Herald)
College of DuPage board approves three-year contract for new president (Daily Herald)
Software company Paylocity may lease large portion of former Zurich North America tower in Schaumburg; move would mean abandoning Arlington Heights offices (Crain's Chicago Business)
Audubon Society's BioBlitz collecting data about birds, plants at DuPage golf courses (WBBM AM 780)
Lincoln-Way Central High School locked down following report of student with 'small, black object' (NBC 5)
Cook County Board chairman rejects circuit clerk's demand for raise (NBC 5)
Waukegan police looking for four masked people riding in a black van who robbed at least three people (CBS 2)
74-year-old Harvey commercial building collapses after fire that started in basement, consumed City Sports (CBS 2)
U.S. Justice Department: Police chases in Chicago metro area have killed 108 people, injured 216 in past 10 years (NBC 5)
Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie near Elwood witnesses birth of nine bison calves; more may be on the way (ABC 7)
O'Hare Noise Compatibility Commission votes 45-5 to approve 'fly-quiet' plan that will spread flight traffic out during overnight hours (Chicago Tribune)
Cook County residents honor Harvey woman who confronted boy, took away gun; event was recorded on video, which went viral (FOX 32)
Barrington High School grad dies from fatal head wound in Urbana, where he added the University of Illinois (Chicago Tribune/Barrington Courier-Review)
[East Chicago couple sentenced to 20 years in jail for sexual abused two foster children for eight months](www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/post-tribune/news/ct-ptb-east-chicago-molest-st-0507-20160506-story.html) (Chicago Tribune/Post-Tribune)
Oak Park approves grant, tax incentives totaling $385,000 to land brewpub on Lake Street (Chicago Tribune/Oak Leaves)
Billboard Magazine: Justin Bieber's tour stop at Allstate Arena in Rosemont generated $2.9 million (Chicago Tribune)
20-year-old Plainfield woman killed in crash on I-55 near Pontiac (Chicago Sun-Times)
Huntley man arrested by McHenry Police for armed robbery now charged with robbing Huntley 7-Eleven at gunpoint (Chicago Sun-Times)
Batavia woman dies after being shot in Maywood (Chicago Sun-Times)
Woodstock man charged with possession and reproduction of child porn (Chicago Sun-Times)
Chicago man arrested, charged with burglarizing Jiffy Lube in Park Ridge (Chicago Sun-Times)
Elgin woman convicted of robbing gas station sentenced to 2½ years probation, must also pay $2,290 in fines and court costs (Daily Herald)
Mundelein High School Community Education and Alumni Fund hands out grants to a number of employees, departments (Daily Herald)
Libertyville water rates to go up 5 percent on May 1; sewer rates get hiked 20 percent (Daily Herald)
Chicago-based investment partnership buys Wheeling-based Cookie Specialties Inc. (Daily Herald)
Red-light cameras in Deer Park to be shut off June 10 (Daily Herald)
Saturday:
35-year-old Dolton killed in crash with SUV on Lake Shore Drive near 57th Street in Chicago (Chicago Tribune)
Better Government Association: Des Plaines casino argues that its profits shouldn't affect its property value, assessments and taxes, and it's getting its way (Chicago Sun-Times)
Man shot 'in lower extremities' while driving on Stevenson Expressway in Berwyn (Chicago Sun-Times)
New Lenox motorcyclist killed in 6300 block of South Harlem Avenue in Chicago after crossing into oncoming traffic and getting his by an SUV (Chicago Sun-Times)
Three suburban Cook County education offices asking state for money, close programs (Daily Herald)
Park Forest man faces life in prison for leading group that robbed cell-phone stores in Addison, Deerfield, Norridge and Woodridge at gunpoint (Daily Herald)
Work begins on new Lakemoor municipal complex along Illinois Route 120 (Daily Herald)
Chicago woman killed after falling from motorcycle on I-80/94 in Gary; driver is Evergreen Park resident (Chicago Tribune/Post-Tribune)
Hobby Lobby to open new Palatine store at North Rand and Dundee roads on Monday (Daily Herald)
Civil War re-enactors set up Camp Kane at St. Charles' Langum Park (Daily Herald)
Palatine High School students win Northrup Grumman's High School Innovation Challenge with hovercraft (Daily Herald)
Huntley man, formerly of Lake in the Hills, killed in Kennedy pile-up (Daily Herald)
DuPage Habitat for Humanity builds home for single mother in West Chicago (Daily Herald)

PART 1: https://www.reddit.com/libraryofshadows/comments/3yqw0c/an_invitation_to_the_stardust_afterparty_part_1/
 
I ripped open the letter. 'Dear mr Aaron Brubecker. You are cordially invited to the media industry event for networking and promotion 'Stardust.' 8 pm at Branning Hall.' '(And of course the years greatest Afterparty.)'
 
Oh of course!! Daphne must work in the industry as well, she recognised the letter!
 
As I stumbled towards home in a drunken ecstasy, I embarrassingly and unashamedly texted the number she had given me, saying only 'Yes! See you at the party! I'll be there! Xx'
 
My hangover the next day was tinged with the sweetest nostalgia for last night.
 
I spent the next week at work just thinking about Daphne and the party. Would we ever reconnect, even if we met again? I think I was really developing feelings for this girl. Overnight. It was too fast. Not the way I rolled. Got to try and keep my head together.
 
At the very least, she had re-instilled my passion for the monkey verses. I hadn't really looked at them for over a month before last night. It was good to get a kick in the pants. I spent the next week working on the final edit. The truth is ...there was probably only one more weeks work left in it. (At least of what I had to work with). I had kind of given up because of the missing books.
 
Hmmm. I should explain. See, my friend Andrew received the monkey verses in pieces,( he says, from an anonymous source).
 
They weren't in order, but it was easy enough to rearrange because of the subject matter. The major storyline of the two giants was the easiest to salvage of course, and to make it easy, this fabled plot weaved through a large part of the story. When I finally found the first verse --and saw it had a subheading --it was something of a revelation. But when I had found the second and third chapter heading, it had gotten more problematic. Just how many chapters were there?
 
There wasn't enough content to fill the other chapters, especially when the first chapter was long enough to fill a book (Fitting the title of it). See, I was positive that the first chapter that introduced Fantasy, Reality, Desire and Ambition was one continuous piece. It was like finishing a massive jigsaw when I finally put it all together. Every verse led into the next one, it just made sense. Although the name didn't come until about twenty stanzas in, right after the introduction of Gaia and Uranus -- 'The book of stars and planets'.
 
(This was, after all, an appropriate title for the first chapter), given that it slowly developed a kind of scientific rationality, slowly replacing ancient mythology with terminology for our solar system by the final stanza. (Replacing Greek gods with the Roman equivalents and equating them with planets, moons and constellations.)
 
Of course there's still a chance I'm wrong. Maybe 'the monkey verses' is its own chapter, and not the title of the whole work. Admittedly, the other two chapters really confused me. 'The book of mountains and valleys' .... That's one of the chapter name's I can't quite place..
 
I think I had managed to find 15 or so verses which probably belonged to this chapter. Given the mentioning of various common symbols, trees of knowledge, rivers and ocean deities. But that was all I really had to go on, and even still none of them were really connected in any meaningful sense. Not a single one of them flowed. Then the other chapter I don't think I had any verses for at all. Just the first one: 'As the monkey scoured the entire land, his perception governed by that which was in his hand....'
 
..Which was an oddly cryptic passage in itself, far less poetic than the rest.
 
It sort of reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, or that joke: 'A man with a hammer looks on everything as a nail.'
 
Anyway. That still leaves about 98 stanzas which seemed to be of completely unrelated material. Did these belong to either of these two chapters? Or were they completely unrelated?
 
The answer to that, I just don't know. This week... I've been doing a final mix and match. Running over the stanzas which have no obvious place and juxtaposing each one with every single passage to make sure I haven't made a mistake. Tomorrow night, after work I'll take the finished piece to Andrew's flat and together we can decide what to do with the excess. Wether we cut the whole lot ...or publish it all as an appendix.
 
So that was what I was doing when Daphne called.
 
....Placing random passages in different contexts till I found a match. At first I was blown away, wondering how the hell she even got my number. Then I remembered my overly forward drunken text message I sent the other night. Of course she had my number. Her introduction was very personal, no awkward reintroductions, almost as if we'd been friends for years: 'Aaron, it's Daphne....Hi!'.
 
I froze for multiple seconds before responding, not from nerves, but because of the synchronicity of what I was looking at. The passage I had just tried to match with the other passages of the monkey verses had finally found a coherent context. ..But ...it was not with any poem in front of me, ...it was with my own life, and the voice on the other end of the phone!
 
It's hard to explain what I mean....I was looking at a passage about Aphrodite you see. (The one I had been looking at for over an hour) The passage read: 'She calls her victim to their fall, makes starlight blacken and oer-shadows all, from high--'. Goddamn it, and I was reading the word high, right when she said 'hi' -- The words played over in my head again like they were being whispered by a ghost...'she calls'..Never could get my head around co-incidences like that. It sounds like the ravings of a crazy person I know, but I wonder if any readers will be familiar with this type of odd coincidence, or moment of profound meaning in their life?
 
'Its great to hear from you...what are...you....' I finally stuttered.
 
I was cut off. She characteristically spoke over me, shushing me down: 'shush shushu shuuuuu--- listen, I don't have time to talk right now. You owe me one. I found somebody you need to talk to. Somebody who knows about your poem. Just make sure you're at the party on Saturday and I'll introduce you.' I was stunned, but before I even had time to respond the line had gone dead.
 
I put down the phone ...and the Aphrodite passage. I probably should get some rest and not read too much into this whole chain of events. Overworking and overthinking, that was my problem. I watched some television and slowly drifted off to sleep.
 
I had the most feverish dreams that night. You know the kind of dream where everything ought to have a saxaphone playing in the background. You wonder if you played it back on a screen in waking life ....somehow if it even had a coherent plot?? or if the whole dream was just a series of images flashing by?? A dark skinned guy, smiling, with big white teeth. Playing cards being dealt on green felt. A black cat arching it's back. Most of all I remember Daphne. Rising over me like a new moon in a starless sky.
 
I woke up sweating.
 
I called in sick to work that day.
 
Spent most of the day not doing much at all. Wasn't really sick of course. Not physically. Something inside just didn't feel right. Something in the air. Something about the day.
 
I may have vomitted. I don't remember.
 
Night finally came, and I left to visit my friend Andrew. Travelled light. Just my bag, the verses, my wallet and a pack of cigarettes. I've been trying to quit smoking, but tonight I need the comfort habit. Me and Drew almost always got on the fags after a few whiskeys anyway, we had that suppressed vice in common. My bag swung against my legs as I walked, my footsteps had more of a cinematic audio quality than usual. It was a dark night, but there was no moon....no Daphne moon, like the one in my dream.
 
I couldn't help but think faster, and more anxiously than normal. The cigarettes helped the anxiety. Maybe it was stupid going to Andrews tonight, if what Daphne says is really true. If she knew more about the verses than me, then what the hell were the two of us going to talk about anyway? Do I tell Andrew about Daphne?
 
I had given up on the idea of public transport and called an Uber cab. As I rolled through the city-lights, the future flew by me, like I was a fighter jet ---flying through an exploding oil field. The future always felt like it was coming on faster amidst the lights of Hexton city.
 
There were three layers of future shine to my night trip. Those protective streetlights (which whispered of power, society and government.) The high rise office lights (which gleefully laughed by -- with a power far above the government.) Then far above it all ...were the stars, (which loved with a power absolute and infinite.) Or hated with the same power perhaps, .....no one was sure on that part.
 
The cab parked outside Andrews building.
 
I could hear sirens coming from somewhere. And something tickling my skin. Was it starting to rain?
 
I pulled my overcoat on tight and fled to the shelter of the lobby, then rang Andrews intercom. Hmmm, that's weird. There was no answer, even after I waited for 20 minutes. I rang the neighbours flat, knowing that Andrew often went around to the guys next door. I think one of the guys name was Leonard??
 
The intercom made that coughing sound when someone presses the receiver on the other end, but nobody spoke. 'Hh...hello?' I stammered, 'I'm looking for Andrew.' There was a muffled grunt of acknowledgment and then a buzz and click as the door released. I pushed it and walked into the hallway.
 
The worst thing about Andrews apartment was all the stairs. It was on level 34 so... I noticed the uncleared mail, scattered about on the floor near the boxes, and contemplated THAT many people living in a space ...and no one bothering to clean the lobby. Didn't they have strata to take care of basic housecleaning? What a mess.
 
When I arrived upstairs I was surprised to see someone waiting for me, but it wasn't Andrew. It was his next door neighbour. The other guy. Never did catch his name. He was leaning in the doorway and smoking a cigarette. Seemed a little late to be dressed like that... Casino suit and a fedora in his right hand. Then again I knew that Andrews neighbours were pretty weird guys.
 
I started to approach, but before I got within 8 metres the guy yelled out to me...'Andrews not here!'
 
My foot stopped in mid air like his words were a lasso, catching it from behind.
 
'We have an appointment. It's ok I'm not...' I tried to make a rebuttal but there was no avail. 'He's not here,' the guy yelled back...'I doubt if you'll see him any time soon. Sorry.' And, just like that he replaced his fedora and slammed the door.
 
'Thanks...' I muttered to no one, or perhaps myself.
 
'information could've been useful before I walked up forty flights of stairs.'
 
I banged on Andrews door for another ten minutes, but got no response. About another ten minutes later and I was in the pub around the corner from Andrews apartment block, cursing that son of a bitch for standing me up. Whiskey seemed like an insult after what had happened, so I was throwing back straight Brandy's. Something was wrong. Andrew wasn't the kind of guy to just disappear.
 
And why was his neighbour so determined to get rid of me?
 
Anxiety and questions, and more questions. That was all that passed between that night, when the brown liquid swivelled from glass to glass, and the night of the 'stardust industry cocktail party'-- when I held a Manhattan in my hand once more. The same cocktail I was drinking the night I first met Daphne. And the brown liquid swivelled around, the same colour of the carpet in Branning hall. Right now it was the colour of mystery.
 
Where the hell was she anyway? It was already 9:30. I was sitting at the reserved 'Pomegranate media' table and watching the boring award speeches, picking at the boney piece of quail they had served ..with an aged silver fork.
 
Of all people I was sitting opposite that absolute prick from accounts, Rhys. With his matted blonde hair and dopey surfers face. This is exactly why I usually ignored these kind of events, I would've thrown the letter straight into the bin if it wasn't for Daphne.
 
'Why aren't you up there this year?' Rhys said at one point, leaning over the table and spitting with a mouth full of quail. 'I already won the Gatz design of the year award a month ago, isn't that enough?' I cut back at him. That shut him up for a minute, but he had already broken the fourth wall. 'Excuse me' I said, and stood up, leaving my quail meat to die in peace, (If the rest of the vultures sitting around the table didn't get at it first.)
 
I went outside to have a sneaky cigarette. I needed it. My nerves we're at an all time high this week.
 
Hours rolled by, and still no Daphne. The event was winding up. I should've known I'd be stood up by a girl like that. The foolish thing was ever getting my hopes up. Then, just as I was contemplating giving up and going home, I saw her. She had come in suddenly holding a big fur coat and talking to a guy wearing green cuff-links.
 
She passed me and grabbed my arm, saying: 'You're coming to the Afterparty, right? Me and Eric are getting a cab now, you want to hitch a lift?'.'Sure.' I replied, forgetting all my anxiety and hostility.
 
The two of them both seemed of an otherworldly colour, glowing in the night, like rare precious gems, purple and green.
 
The car doors slammed, and merrily we rolled along. Her friend Eric seemed concerned about something as I caught a glimpse of him in the rearview, his moustache sat tight on his face, and the wrinkles in his brow, buckled under pressure, twitching like taught guitar strings. Daphne barely stopped talking the whole ride, though we two in her presence remained virtually silent. 'Holy shit Eric, you're such a club guy. I always knew it. Everything about you screams, club, club, club. And the guy with the eyebrows says he wants to turn it into a MOVIE! That's six degrees of me being a fictional character immortalised forever in Hollywood. Do you think you could ask him to put a character called Daphne into it? God.....his wife was absolutely repulsive though, wasn't she?... the way she slid around like a slug, glaring at everyone disapprovingly? What was her name anyway? Oh ...who cares, from now on well just know her as slug lady.' She bellowed out laughter and slapped Eric on the back, turning suddenly to face me: (It was clear she had consumed her share of alcohol that evening -- judging by the way she remembered me, suddenly, as if she had completely forgotten seeing me a few minutes ago). 'Oh you're coming Aaron! Good! My god, did I tell you?? I found someone who knows about your poem. You owe me for this. What favour should I ask in return? 5000 dollars? No. Actually ... I'm quite interested myself. You'll tell me what he says about it won't you?' (She turned around again, throwing her arms in the air.) 'I hope Henry comes tonight. Oh Henry. Isn't he just adorable? Everything he says is simply electric! Eric? You didn't mean it did you? You're not really going to quit?' Soon enough the cab pulled into a back street in Hydlemere, an old warehouse had been converted into a buzzing nightclub with a huge, red neon sign : 'Havana Joe's'. The street was filled with well dressed folk, laughing and drinking cocktails.
 
I felt odd now that I was here. The way I had built it up in my head, the two of us had really hit it off, the chemistry between me and Daphne, I thought, would be instantly recognisable. But now, I felt distant. The two of us had only really met once and I started to get the feeling that she didn't really care wether I was there or not.
 
It was a power game. Somehow at the bar, with that poem, I had gotten some unnatural or undeserved power, and now stripped bare I could see that...in actual truth, I really didn't have any. I followed her like a schoolboy... or an obedient puppy dog ...into the black hole of the party.
 
Daphne seemed to know everyone here. I felt completely invisible. What was I doing here? It was not long after walking down a crowded hallway, she turned dutifully ...remembering my place in her social to do list. 'Aaron, this is Bill! This is the guy I was talking about!' I found myself shaking someone's hand. 'Bill, this is Aaron, the owner of the poem.' The plaid, ordinary looking man's eyes lit up, 'Oh, my, yes.' he said, 'I think we have a common interest!'. Daphne kissed her hand and blew on it, 'I'll let you two talk about it huh?'
 
She started to walk off 'let me know what you find out.' She whispered to me as she was walking away. I suddenly remembered I didn't give a damn about the monkey verses, they had only ever been interesting to me through Daphne's eyes. Now I was suddenly in this awkward situation, talking to some dull jack-in-the-box I didn't know. Whilst the girl of my dreams walked away from me.
 
My eyes glazed over, I wonder if my new conversation partner even noticed, as I sunk back into a kind of feotal stage of pessimism. 'Youre friend ...with passages from the monkey verses, he received them anonymously didn't he?' Asked Bill. I half nodded in a vague sign of acknowledgment, as my soul was subject to the pit and the pendulum. 'This is so awesome. We found another one. I don't know how much you know... so I'll tell you everything I have discovered in my research. You're friend is not the only one to receive the poem. There's kind of a small community building around this mystery. We think we my have found where the writer lived.'
 
Whatever this was. Whatever was being unveiled to me, right now, it was nothing like what I had hoped for, nothing like...anything ...I wanted to hear. I suddenly didn't care at all about appearances, didn't care about social codes of behaviour -- I had to find Daphne, had to tell her how I felt.
 
'Listen' I said, 'I have to go.' Bill was startled ...like a fight had broken out. He seized me by the arm and slammed a piece of paper into my left hand, clenching his fist over it to close it with the paper inside. 'Here!?' He exclaimed, 'Listen, just meet me tommorrow at this address, the property is open to view. Trust me you're going to want to see this.' I began to walk away, ...opening a drink someone had passed me. I had a sudden inception. Like one gets only occasionally, like a wild animal must get when he fears a lion is stalking him. I got the sudden realisation now -- that I was completely alone. That I was a rogue at this party, a vagabond wandering aimlessly, damned to walk these labrynthic halls if I couldn't find Daphne. I was worthless unless I could be worth something in her eyes again.
 
The red lights of the old warehouse gave everyone in the place a sinister, demonic hue. The way small groups danced, and anxious-eyes popped out of red faces, gave the whole scene a feeling ...kinda like an anti drug commercial.. Or an expressionist painting. The lost and abandoned faces of Munch came to mind. As I walked aimlessly I was hit by shoulders, the pounding against me -- felt like waves pounding over me, as I floated, drifted with the current, unable to swim and hoping some rip of fortune would lead me back to her.
 
I wanted to skip time, and go back to that night in the bar, when the only people that existed in the whole world were me and her. I walked through room after room. This -- party --was more like a rave than a corporate Afterparty, the building was as big and hard to explore as the Australian Museum, and dimmer and redder than Hades itself. Finally I spotted Daphne hanging out with some Instagram Hoivres. I felt a final surge of courage inside, like the kind I felt when I first met her. I skulled the rest of my beer and charged towards her, trying to strut. She barely acknowledged me as I approached, I had to grab her awkwardly to get her attention.
 
It was one of those moments where you hope and pray that the universe will be on your side, when you'll get recognition -- that moment of special attention you've always secretly longed for ...and then the world inevitably let's you down. She seemed put out, annoyed even that I was talking to her. 'I need to speak to you.' I said, forcing her to move away from her friends who put on judgemental 'whatever' faces.
 
'Did you talk to Bill?' She asked, in an unsympathetic tone which inferred that I couldn't possibly have had time to, ultimately hinting I should turn around and go back and talk to him again.
 
I pushed her, cleverly using my body language, until I was out of ear reach of the gawking sociopaths. 'I have to tell you something. I'm attracted to you. I like you. There I said it.' Her eyes dropped to the floor. I kept speaking in desperation; 'I came to this party to see you, I don't care about the stupid poem.' She refused to acknowledge.
 
This was precisely the opposite to how I imagined this night would turn out. I gently put my fingers up to her chin and pushed her head up to look at me. Her eyes were watering, but not because she was emotionally effected. It seemed more like she was just irritated to be put in such an awkward situation.
 
'Aaar--' she suddenly pushed my hand away, as if trying to throw my affection away, something she didn't want or need. 'Aaron you... You're a nice guy... I'm sorry if--' 'I don't care how you feel' I said -- 'I just want to spend some time with you-- I ---' I started to put my hand up again and she stepped backwards 'I don't.. I'm not interested at all ok.. I'm engaged. I'm getting married in five months!! Your just a... I don't even know you--'.
 
And just like that. With no shots fired. No knives thrown. I was destroyed.
 
I tried not to burst into tears, trying to keep my wits about me.. but... I'd already been mortally wounded. She was engaged. Somewhere in the past a volcano was going off, spewing molten debris and lava into the sea, a one off event leaving formations of rocks that would last for centuries. Vulcan and Reality conspiring to build the eternal wall of inconsistency.
 
The rest of that night was a blur. I didn't stay at the party long and Daphne quickly moved on to laugh and chat with some other randoms. I felt a cold wind blowing from some far away place, maybe from outer space.
 
As I walked home, I was consumed by the kind of loneliness you feel waiting by yourself in an airport or a hospital.
 
I just wanted to sleep.
 
I passed a parked police car, some redneck cops were frisking some drunk teenagers. It was that point you reach where you realise that anything isn't possible, that things end, hearts break, people get caught, go to jail, go to hospital, die.
 
I think I had the same dreams that night. A black cat arching it's back. A dark skinned guy, smiling, with big white teeth. Playing cards being dealt on green felt. And the moon, yeah it was just a moon. Some left over cliches from Hollywood-- or pulp fiction embedded deep in my unconscious. Superstitious bunk. I knew they had no real meaning. After all, dreams don't have meaning. Nothing really does.
 
At least.....that's how I felt at the end of the night of the party.
 
I woke up feeling different. Somehow resolved through blood shot eyes, was I crying in my sleep? You reach a certain point in an existential crisis where you just don't care anymore. I woke up early and had breakfast in front of the television. Cornflakes. Blaring shit. It really was horse shit, TV, my intuition had always been right about that. I found the piece of paper in my pocket. Of course I was going to go. Even in the midst of utter futility human beings will find some mad purpose.
 
That was the last evil in Pandora's box. Wasn't it? Hope. That was the REAL secret of the Eluysinian mysteries. Orpheus, Persephone, Dionysus, Reality, Fantasy, me, Daphne. That was the one thing we couldn't abandon. The one thing we all had in common -- Hope.
 
I got dressed and headed to the address 'Bill' gave me. There was a weird atmosphere, a weird kind of action in the air. The address was packed too. It was like an open house inspection in a housing crisis. Weird people too. Creative types. Guys with beards, fixie bikes and antique long-lens cameras. I had to push my way through the crowd, not knowing what the hell I was getting myself into. What the hell was this? What was I involved with? And who the fuck are all these people? Must be some social media thing. The modern mass hysteria.
 
It took me a while to work out what I was looking at.
 
It was a dirty, run down apartment. By the looks of it the last tenants were squatters or vagrants. The house itself was completely uninteresting. Dull modern architecture ruined by rain damage. People walking through it were united by a sense of excitement, like tourists in the Parisian catacombs, feeling some how closer to death or life, who knows which. I was dumbfounded until I came across the first mural. Suddenly all the pieces came together. For one : hipsters and street art were obviously magnetic. Then I started to examine the images ..and as I saw the second one, it clicked, whoever lived here was irrefutably connected to the person who wrote the poem that Andrew had been given.
 
They were almost like chapter illustrations for 'The Monkey Verses' themselves, the graffiti murals. The first image I didn't recognise from any particular verse. It depicted a giant ape, standing over a primordial ...or hyperborean jungle. Each panel was beautifully painted, (I guessed in oils), and underneath was an ornate typographical title. The first one cryptically read: 'The book where the giant HanoKong climbs down from the tree Ygghasan and faces the seven adversities.' The next panel was on an adjacent wall and as I peered into the next room it was clear that the pieces of mural art-lead around in a trail around the house, ( as I could see a plethora of gawkers in the next room umm-ing and ahh-ing). It's hard to describe the images, as they got increasingly complex- depicting a vast array of hominid and ape like beings engaged in a variety of interrelated activities. I recognised some of the titles immediately 'The book of mountains and valleys.' 'The book of weapons and tools' (This was the chapter I had struggled so hard to find content for amidst Andrews notes.) Other chapters I had never heard of before 'The book of the key and lock.' 'The place where Halima Faughn translates the monkey verses' (this particular panel struck a chord with me, for it seemed to depict a strange elephant headed being ...writing something in a large notebook, whilst a cascade of mythical figures seemed to dance inside his mind. There were, I think, 12 murals in all, the last being a kind of mirror image of the first, depicting the same giant ape, this time climbing into the clouds with the text underneath: 'The book where HanoKong climbs up the giant ladder into the misty dimensions of Alosha.'
 
I tried to absorb it. Not knowing what to think. The artist inside me wanted to play journalist. To ask around, find out what everyone knew. Put more pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe even collaborate to put the entire poem together and see what other chapters everyone else had.
 
But the real me, whatever we call a soul, wanted to retreat. Somehow this revelation (Whatever it was) was much more of a defeat than a victory. Solving this mystery should've been exciting. But instead it just felt like another nail in the coffin. Whatever I had felt at the party when I found out Daphne was engaged was now just amplified more here, extending beyond love, relationships and social prowess. Now, even the spark of romance between me and Daphne, was being extinguished, like a supernova star burning out. I now owned nothing sacred. There was nothing that only I knew. I was nobody. Just like everybody else here. I was a just cog in the wheel. Just another chapter in the monkey verses.
 
The phrase stuck in my head.
 
Desperation breeds hope. Something inside me had to make sure, had to dig up the corpse and try to recucitate it... Had to open up Pandoras box -- one last time.
 
I called Daphne.
 
Five dial tones as I brushed past the nobodies taking selfies and snapshots in the dilapidated old house.
 
As I walk out the front door and into the clear air ...she finally answers. There's no response..she's silent. I feel nothing and lack fear, repeating exactly what was in my mind:
 
'You and me. We are just another chapter in the monkey verses aren't we.'
 
There was a dial tone as she hung up.
 
I crouched for a second, then grabbed my stomach as I limped back towards the abandoned apartment. I kneeled down near the doorway to throw up. Other people had also left tags around the property, probably hipsters and other trendy arty types. Near my feet, someone had written something cryptic in green chalk '...versus the reptile'. Another red herring. Another cryptic nothing clue - leading nowhere. Some other failed creative -- trying to add flavour to the overall puzzle of eternal bullshit, then there was a crude drawing of a serpent with an outstretched, hissing tongue.
 
I gagged and swallowed bile, then went home.
 
Still...Whatever I had done, it must have touched Daphne somehow. Three hours later I got a message. 'Meet me in the restaraunt at World Square Tower at 6pm. PS I don't have feelings for you ...so don't get your hopes up. Just feel we need some closure.'
 
Well. That was that.
 
I had previously wondered what it's like for an old man who gets told the cancer is eating away at him ..and he only has so long to live? I bet it's the same feeling a 24 year old woman gets when she hears back from that job interview she really wanted, and finds she was rejected. I bet it's the same age old feeling a homeless guy feels every time someone laughs at him, or glares at him unsympathetically when he asks for change. The same feeling I was having now.
 
You know when you get obsessed by something? The truth is, I really had only known Daphne for less than a fortnight. I wasn't the sort of guy to become a stalker. But I wasn't the sort of guy who handled rejection well either.
 
Of course I met Daphne at 6pm. Just like in the text. Of course, it didn't turn out like some Hollywood movie. No moonlight kiss, or airport chase scene. In fact ..I felt a million miles away from her. If anything it made me feel like ...like....all of life's elation, all of our hunt for the stars was... Just insane.
 
We sat down and ate. Barely speaking. I had fish and chips and she had pasta. In the end I had already figured out what she wanted anyway. That's why I'd brought them. She wanted my part of the verses. Me and Andrew's copy. Wanted to be part of solving the big mystery. Feed off the internet fueled popularity of it all. I handed them over, glad to be rid of the burden.
 
As if for old times sake, or like someone in a bar who has a lighter, but asks a stranger to light their cigarette, just because it's easier ...she asked me one more thing to settle her conscience.
 
'How does it end? About fantasy and reality I mean? How does it end?'
 
I put my fork in and ate a stack of chips.
 
The truth is. I didn't know. From what I read... it didn't end ...(at least in the segments that I had collated.) But as a story teller. (And a deluded jilted lover I knew I could give it a shot). I mean, I knew at least, what I considered the end. So that's exactly what I told her.
 
'There's an endless war.' I said. 'Fantasy's legions forge twenty one swords which are designed to end Reality's kingdom forever.' She stared at me with big eyes... Beautiful eyes... Temporarily at least... She was not filled with the loathing she had shown me at the stardust party. I went on...
 
'Some of the Titan's who are sympathetic with Reality's plight, forge their own sword, more terrible than any of the 21 swords. The swords is given to Reality on his 21st birthday as a gift. (centuries I suppose?) This sword was called 'The edge of Reality'.
 
But unknown to Reality, some of the Titans who's allegiance is with Fantasy, conspired in the creation of the sword. Unknown to the other Titan's, the sword was forged out of the same matter the 'silver key of dreams' was forged. The cursed object which Fantasy had secretly given to humanity on their 21st birthday, to sully and corrupt reality's realm. Reality's new sword, was carved from the rocks of the imagination. So, in one of the many endless wars of the gods and titans, Reality takes up his sword and challenges Fantasy to fight to the death.
 
Daphne looked at me. She had a look of folorn acceptance. 'And then?' She asked.
 
'Well...Fantasy taunts his brother with one last spiteful remark. He admits that he once loved his brother more than life itself. Fantasy, confesseses, as if reconciling with his brother, that ... In fact...Everything he had ever done, he had done out of jealousy for his brothers works. That it was Reality -- that fantasy secretly longed to be. Reality of course, tear in eye, moved to embrace his brother.'
 
A tear rose now in my own eye.
 
'But then fantasy dealt the final blow. Spitefully pushing his brother away and laughing '...but Reality... oh my brother ... don't you see. Now it's you, who's forever trying to be like me.' And with this triumph, Fantasy pulled his hidden weapon from behind his back --a chain and knocker, which was stolen from the cave of some Saturnian giants lair, in a deafening blow, he swings, shattering Reality's sword into a million pieces. The pieces fell through the wall of inconsistency, covering earth in it's glimmering crystal shards.'
 
Daphne sighed ... Then spoke softly and dreamily: 'a million dreamers, pierced by the shards of Reality's broken gift--- forced forever more to stare longingly at the crooked horizons, jagged lines, and fleeting moments along the edge of Reality.'
 
I couldn't acknowledge her, or her brilliance, but instead preferred to finish the horrible end of the story, as quickly as I could. If I could only hurt her with the truth, like she hurt me. I would do it.
 
'Unconquered ...Reality raises what's left of the stub of his sword.. And with one swift move, pierces fantasy in the heart with the jaggered scabbard, and death and Thanatos laugh victorious over the battlefield of all that was good, and is now forever lost. Fantasy dies forever....and the future falls into the shadow of death and misery.'
 
A genuine tear fell from Daphne's eye.
 
'Tell me something positive.' She said.
 
I made something up, '..perhaps when Fantasy died he was restored into the arms of his first and one true love, finality.'
 
She got up and left. That was the last time I ever spoke to Daphne.
 
I walked slowly home, passing the spot on Darling street where one of my colleagues killed himself, where his brains spilled out on the pavement. It didn't make me feel any emotion, actually the emotion I felt was the opposite of anything. Just a blackness.
 
I went to the Greek cafe on the corner of Bayswater Road for a coffee before I went home. As I sipped on the short black I had one last emotional thought about the whole series of events of the last two weeks.
 
'What if I had done everything differently?'
 
'Would it have even mattered?'
 
For some reason I pulled a marker out of my pocket and wrote the word 'stardust' on the cafe table.
 
Then I went home and watched TV, ready to go to work on Monday.