📂 Artifact File: S-DN.07 “Black Vulture”

The Surveillance Drone is based on the Police Pursuit vehicle. Painted with a matte black coating which absorbs both light and radio frequencies, making it capable of stealth movement, the drone was designed to engage combatants in areas where police casualties were unusually high. 

Because it does not have to accommodate a driver, it is lighter, faster, and capable of maneuvers that may cause a human pilot to hesitate, even when amped up on adrenaline. 

Though its primary purpose is surveillance rather than engagement, it does have assault capabilities, though activation of this mode requires high level clearance and secret codes. 

Anarchists have contracted rogue hackers and scientists, to produce EMP weaponry to help combat the drone, which in turn has been regularly modified to meet the threats posed by the increasingly ingenious Anarchist army. 

While the drone represents a double edged sword in the political debates for social security and safety, sometimes misused or underused by authorities, and has its supporters and cynics on both sides of the equation, the drone represents the pinnacle of law enforcement resources which is embraced with both caution nd enthusiasm, depending on who one speaks with.

---

📂 Artifact File: S-DN.07 “Black Vulture”

🌌 World Context

In the aftermath of the Westveil Riots, cities turned into urban war zones. Autonomous Zones flourished in the shadows of broken bureaucracy. To stem the rising tide of insurgency without risking more officer lives, the Urban Enforcement Bureau deployed a new type of surveillance—one that doesn’t blink, doesn’t bleed, and doesn’t bargain.

---

🧱 The Build

The S-DN.07 “Black Vulture” is a next-generation surveillance drone derived from the Police Pursuit series. Stripped of cockpit constraints, its hollow frame is ultralight and dangerously agile. Coated in matte-black, anti-glare polycarbon that absorbs both light and radio frequencies, it vanishes in low light and jams most sensor sweeps. While designed primarily for reconnaissance, it carries a concealed weapons module—lethal, precise, and locked behind triple-coded clearance.

---

🧠 Character Connection

"It doesn't wait for orders. It just watches. And when it moves… it's already too late."
—Lt. Ramos, decommissioned field agent and vocal drone critic.

---

🔧 Lore Hook

Anarchist scientists have begun deploying pulse disruptors and homemade EMP mines—yet each encounter pushes the Vulture into new upgrades. Whispers in black-market forums hint that a Vulture went rogue during the Arcadia Sweep. Authorities deny the claim. The footage says otherwise.

---

S-DN.07 “Black Vulture”

Autonomous Tactical Surveillance Drone | Classified Deployment Record: Arcadia Sweep, Zone E9
🛰 Silent. Fast. Watching.

---

🧾 Bricklink Product Summary (for listing)

Surveillance Drone “Black Vulture” (S-DN.07) – Tactical Recon MOC
Enter the world of NeoStrata, where drones replace boots on the ground. This sleek, stealth-class MOC is based on the Police Pursuit platform but re-engineered for autonomous surveillance and rapid tactical response. Features a matte-black finish, anti-signal plating, and modular drone weapon pods (non-functioning).
🔧 200+ pieces | Compact profile | Built for speed, lore, and sci-fi immersion.

 

Includes: Digital instructions, printable Top Secret dossier card, and character lore insert.

---

🗂️ TOP SECRET DOSSIER — CLASSIFIED LEVEL DELTA-7

Code Name: Black Vulture
Model: S-DN.07
Issued By: Urban Enforcement Bureau (UEB)
Status: Active
Last Known Deployment: Arcadia Sector E9
Threat Level: High (Countermeasures Required)

Design Notes:

• Anti-glare, radio-absorbent coating

• No cockpit = lighter & faster

• Surveillance-first, assault-capable (code-locked)

Known Countermeasures:

• EMP Mines

• Pulse Disruptors

• Signal Jammers

"The moment you hear it, it's already seen you."
— From the decrypted BlackNet logs

🛰 Scan for incident reports: [Insert QR Code URL]

---

🌍 World Name: NeoStrata

NeoStrata, a fractured future Earth rebuilt by megacities, private militaries, rogue tech guilds, and decentralized enclaves. NeoStrata is less a single world than a splintered reality where corporations, insurgents, and machines all think they’re in control.

That Book I Never Wrote

6.9.18

“You remember when your momma smacked you cuz you got carried away talking about your best friend you were mad at, and the curtains swung right like there was a breeze, and the pitcher of lemonade fell off the window sill, and all the lemon slices flopped out like dead goldfish, and the wooden floor got dark where it was soaked, and you looked at your mom cuz you didn’t know what you got smacked for, but she was already drying her hands on her apron to check on the food she had on the stove? That’s the summer me and your sister did it and she got pregnant.”


3.27.19

I should have left a big blank page after that closing quotation mark. So much was meant to follow... could have followed but didn't. A part of me thinks, or rather wishes, that there is still something there, waiting for me to scratch it out of the paper so that I can read it. Because, after all, it is already there, anything and everything, from masterpiece to trash, to absolute nothingness... just waiting for me to make up my mind about what it is and whether I will reveal it, dress it, or ignore it.

I don't want to have sex with her and I hate jerking off, so I know its not just about sex, even though I want to have sex, at least I think I do. She doesn't even have to look beautiful. She just has to look beautiful to me... and not in that physical sense, though she definitely ought to be physically attractive; but more than that, she must find me attractive and want me. But not in that overt way, though it must be undeniable, but in that way that a drug addict wants another hit when they are trying to quit. I want to be her addiction, but not in that evil destructive way. More like somebody who has an undeniable craving for strawberries even though strawberries make her break out. I want to be wanted like that - cuz if there was nothing to cause a second thought, it might be too overwhelming, making me feel psychologically claustrophobic. I want to be that glass of water she always comes back to to quench her thirst, not that kool aid with the aftertaste that comes from that sugary film on the back of your tongue after you gulp it down. I don't want to be an aftertaste in anyone's mouth - not even an intoxicating liquor. I want to be a palate cleaner, crystal clear, and the first thing that comes t mind when she gets thirsty.

But I don't want to have sex with her. Not until she is willing to... no, fuck that. Not until she unzips her soul and lays it at my feet - which is hardcore considering my blind ass might step on it or trip over it. Point is she has to be vulnerabel and be comfortable being vulnerable with me, not in the way some folk get when they fart, belch, and snort in front of each other. That shit aint cute at all. And not in the way when folk be changing their tampons without closing the door, or hanging out their regulars to dry all out in the open - not that she should hide them, but dammit, have some courtesy and keep them out of my sight. I mean vulnerable in the way women will not confess that they are tortured with restraint whenever you come near them, and they writhe in agony, creaming their pants while attemting to keep their composure everytime you call their name.

I used to have it like that, but I was too stupid and naive to capitalize off of it when I did, and now that I don't... it can be fucking depressing.

The right spot

“It’s about finding the right spot.” she said, curling up on the tweed couch and almost spilling her drink on the top of her breasts. She pressed her chin down hard and wiped her fingers over her exposed skin to check for a splash, and no doubt would have licked it off her fingers if she found a wet spot.

She looked up and smiled, “oops” as if to flirt that she really wasn’t buzzed, not even a little bit…. just clumsy.

“So you’re leaving on the next thing smoking, huh?” She continued after another sip.

“Not particularly looking forward to it, but it is what it is.” I said.

“And what is that?”

“I don’t know… a chance to get out of here. Do something different.”

“You know what they say about bored people, don’t you?”

I almost rolled my eyes, but knew it was true. I was stuck and had been stuck in this shithole of a mindset for years. For so long I couldn’t remember if it was something that happened gradually or if I had always been this way. Luckily she wasn’t listening to my thoughts.

“You’re not boring are you?” She teased, and I thought she moved her knee ever so slightly, just enough to suggest something from within the shadows between her thighs.

“Depends on what you’re up for,” I said, feeling a little cocky.

“Yeah…” she toyed with me, rubbing her finger around the rim of her glass and calculating something in her head. “I bet.” She finished, and dismissed the subject just as easily as she had suggested it.

I felt like I was left hanging, ready to pounce on something that was withdrawn without warning. I got up, shaking it off, irritated at having been so manipulated.

“Look, I’m out,” I said, finishing my glass and setting it on the table between us. “I still gotta…”

“C’mere.” She said, setting her glass beside mine and rising on her knees.

The fire in me got a breath of fresh air and I gave into it like a little puppy just excited to be there. I walked over to her like a big dummy, heart pounding despite every effort to stay cool. Her hands snaked themselves around my neck and pulled my face down to hers. Our eyes locked and I could tell she was enjoying this, a light dancing in her eyes before she looked at my mouth and covered it with hers. For some reason I had a flashback of licking syrup off my plate after I finished my pancakes. She was delicious.

Dream 3.17.17

Just had this crazy dream that, after my wife kissed me goodbye and told me to have a good day (in real life), I got up to turn on the lights but the power was out. In the dream I called after my wife but wasn’t sure whether she had already left the house, because she didn’t answer. I rushed to my daughter's room to look out of the window and saw that my wife was already in her vehicle getting ready to pull off.

I woke up again, from that dream into another dream, where I heard the fuse blow. I got up to turn on the lights and they weren’t working.

I woke up again, still in a dream, though I thought I was awake for real, and felt something in the room with me. I looked up and saw the shadow of my fluffy cat enter the room because I had left the bedroom door open. I got up to close the door and tried to turn on the lights but the power was out. My short haired tabby was in the doorway looking past me at the ceiling where the fan was. But I didn’t get the idea she was looking at the fan, but something else…

I woke up from that dream (and I think for real this time) felt something in the room with me, like a ghost or something, and started praying. I fell back to sleep, and in that in-between state, remember feeling paranoid, like something in the room was watching me and I didn’t want to get out of bed. Instead, I imagined myself getting out of bed and going to check on the circuit breaker. It was dark in the garage and I stumble over a bunch of stuff making my way to where the circuit box was. I flipped the master switch a few times before the power came on. I felt something cold and wet on my hand and looked down to see two ladybugs crawling on my thumb.

I fed the cats on my way back upstairs, got in the bed and went back to sleep. I woke up again and tried to turn on the lights but the power was off. I walked out of the room and was about to go to my daughter’s room to look out of the window when I saw the shadows of my two cats in the dark. But they weren’t making a lot of noise like they usually do. When I tried to figure out why, I noticed something else in the room at my feet… something pale in the dark that the cats were keeping a safe distance from. I jumped up on the wooden chest, startled, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did, I realized there was a seagull walking around in the loft.

I realized this was what was probably in the room when my short haired cat was looking at the ceiling fan. Suddenly the fluffy cat turned into some kind of bird and attacked the seagull, closing her long tweezers-like bill around the seagull’s neck. The short haired cat turned into a duck, a little awkward and clueless. The fluffy one, with the neck of the seagull in her mouth, mumbled that she needed some help. The short hair tried to help but couldn’t get her bill around the seagull’s neck.

The loft was full of junk and turned into a downstairs living room with a wide open door that led to the garage. I opened the door and the fluffy cat dragged the resisting seagull into the garage and lost her grip. The seagull turned into a white eyed Siberian husky pup and it was trying to get past all the junk in the garage to make it back into the house, but I kept redirecting it toward the open garage door. Frustrated, it gave me a depressed look, sad that I was putting it out. Its faced morphed into that of a cute little brown skinned girl and she begged me to let her stay because she had no where to go. I had to explain that I didn’t have the time or resources to take care of her… even though I wanted to. Realizing I wasn’t going to change my mind, she started skulking away into a ditch where the long grasses grew.

That’s when my wife, youngest daughter and one my professors pulled up. When my daughter got out of the car, I pointed her attention to the husky and said, “There’s your dog.” She went to it and I realized they were a good fit. I realized that my daughter might be a dog person. My wife and the professor were trying to understand why the dog was there and to whom it belonged. When I told them that she was a little black girl whose mother had died and had subsequently been taken in by an abusive foster family, and that she had run away, the professor stated decisively that she would be staying with us.

While my daughter hugged and played with the dog, I informed everyone, in the spirit of full disclosure, that I knew of the girl, and that she was prone to trouble in the special education classes I taught. It was then that the girl recognized me as one of the teachers in the school she attended, and explained to me why she was always getting into trouble. It had something to do with a gang of five or six young Czech men who were in the business of providing guns to bad kids in school.

I visualized a meeting taking place, interrupted the exchange, and chased the Czech kids off campus. The professor, a dean at the school, called the police and cautioned me that I may have butted into something that wasn’t going to be so easy to get out of. The police detective that showed up issued the same warning and added that it probably wouldn’t be the last I would see of the Czechs, and that I probably made an unwanted enemy of them for disrupting their business.

We all went to the professor’s office and got on the phone with a lab director at the local university. I’m not sure why but for some reason this person was an integral part of the case. While the professor was on the phone, he argued his point by sharing that he had been in school full time since he was five years old and had earned six degrees in psychology and was, as a matter of course, an expert when it came to understanding human behavior and motives. Apparently he convinced the lab director to meet with us and we took a trip to the university.

The detective seemed on edge when we entered what looked like the medical wing of a detention block. She kept her hand on her holster once we entered the room. The professor, the detective, and I all sat at a table in what appeared to be a commons area. There was an old-fashioned phone receiver on the end of a cord attached to the table through which we communicated with the lab director on the other side of a steel gate.

I’m thinking that one of the Czech suspects used to be a patient at the facility and we were there to gather some intel. I was handed the phone and the lab director explained in long detail the profile of the ringleader. I didn’t take everything in because I was distracted by the gruesome circus of inmates around me. I felt like I was on the island of Dr. Moreau. It was obvious that experiments were being carried out on these societal rejects… horrible experiments. I saw exposed brains, extra appendages, various deformities, and non-complaint subjects confined in smaller cages. The most disturbing thing I saw was a huge woman, with muscles on top of muscles, completely naked, sitting on the other side of the gate facing me, with a penis implant. I almost threw up.

The detective, realizing that she was getting twitchy, excused herself and got up from the table. The professor stepped out as well, needing better reception fir a call coming in on his cell phone, leaving me at the table waiting for the lab director to come back to the phone. He had gone to check on something and so I was left with nothing else to do but take in the sights and sounds of the place. I heard something that sounded like a cross between a growl and a muffled roar and leaned over to see where the sound had come from. When I saw something that looked like a cross between a man and a lion, I blinked a few times, not believing my eyes. Just then the gate opened and a lab attendant, who was noticeably inebriated, walked past me without closing the gate behind him.

As I wondered what kind of stress he had to deal with that required him to dope up while at work, one of the inmates walked over to me and started flirting with the idea of bashing my brains in. Without thinking, I took the phone I was holding and chucked it at him, popping him upside the head. The phone hit the floor and I grabbed the cord it was attached to and started swinging it to carve out some space between us.

He only became more determined to get at me and warded off a couple of hits reaching for me. I kept swinging the phone to keep him at bay while looking for a way out. Other inmates started coming through the open gate and I looked around for the lab attendant who had been in the corner lighting up, but was now leaving the room through a vault-like door. I panicked. Someone caught the phone and I made a break for the only way out of the room. When I got close the lab attendant started closing it. I yelled at him and grabbed at his lab coat through the opening before he could close it all the way. From a stainless steel cart against the wall, the lab attendant grabbed ahold of some kind of medical device and jabbed at me with it. Because he was slow, I managed to take it from him and stab two of the inmates in the chest with it, killing at least one of them, which really riled up all the other inmates.

The director showed up out of nowhere and took the apparatus from me and strained to push the heavy door closed behind us. Eyes wide with fear, he told me we needed to get out now. We ran through the halls looking for an exit and got separated as the building alarm sounded. I burst through a door into a gymnasium where some people were standing around on mats talking. As I ran past the group to get to the door on the other side of the gym, I realized one of them was you. I yelled to you to get out now. You were hesitant, confused, and wanted an explanation.

In my mind I went through the possibilities: taking the time to explain to you why… and getting caught by the escaped inmates; snatching you up but then having to contend with you trying to resist … and getting caught by the escaped inmates; or me just flat out telling you to get out and leaving it up to you to listen or not. I went with the last one.

Luckily you left your friends and came with me. We made it outside and I saw my old building janitor who might remind someone of the actor, Idris Elba, and I yelled at him, “Mr. Smith, get out of here!” as we ran up the grassy hill toward the parking lots.

You had your car keys out, pressing the alarm to see where you had parked. To our left the inmates had broken out of the building and were overrunning the grounds like mad zombies, attacking every clueless person they encountered and eating them alive. Your car alarm chirped from the most inconvenient lot, one which necessitated us running back toward the rabid inmates.

They were fast. The one I clocked in the head was coming at us with bloodlust in his eyes. The horde was right behind him and they were close. In desperation, I pushed you ahead of me, not knowing if you were going to make it but determined to at least give you a chance. The inmate crashed into me and we both went down. I think I started crying, wishing I had that claw thingy the director took from me.

We wrestled and I kicked him off of me, scrambled to my feet, and slugged him with your book bag. Just then tires screeched behind me and I turned around, jumped into the car, and you floored it. For some reason I drug another inmate into the car with me and told you it (because it looked like some kind of gel monster) was one of the good ones. Then the alarm woke me up.

A chapter from childhood

After raiding the candy jar tucked back in the corner of that third shelf in the pantry, we broke out of the house like gangbusters, too hot to catch the screen door that slammed behind us waking up Auntie.

I had just made it out of the yard, and was closing the gate behind me when I looked up and saw her standing on the steps with her housecoat open, bra and panties showing; eyes bloodshot from anger and a six pack she murdered.

"Gitcho ass back in here!" she cussed through gritted teeth, and I ain't had no choice. I looked in vain at the backs of the others disappearing round the corner, and sunk down in my shoulders.

"And close that got damned gate!" she spit as I started that long walk up the broken pavement to the house.

"Running in and out this house... I told y'all asses I'se trying ta sleep." She broiled as I flinched, squeezing past her through the screen door. The color on her chipped toenails looked like dried blood.

"Now you can sitcho ass up in here." she said, pointing at the couch. "An if I hear another muthafucka run in and out this house, I'm taking a switch ta all y'all asses." she decreed, flipping her housecoat behind her like a cape, and disappearing into the darkness of her bedroom.

I sat my ass there til the clock sucked all the light out of the room, staring at the knobs on the television I couldn't turn on.

I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I had slobbered all down the front of my t-shirt. A lamp was on in Auntie's room and she was on the telephone. Through the curtains I could see the street lamps starting to flicker on. I could hear the rest of them through the open window. They were probably sitting on the porch eating candy and cracking jokes.

I leaned forward to look through Auntie's bedroom door... to see if she could see me... to see if she had forgotten about me... to she if she would feel sorry for me and tell me I could go out front with the others. She wasn't thinking about me. I heard her pop and peel back the tab on a can of beer as she laughed and fussed with someone on the other end of the phone line.

I had to go pee, and started rocking on the couch, wondering how long I'd be able to hold it. I knew not to get off that couch without permission.

While I concentrated on holding it in, Auntie startled me, appearing suddenly in her bedroom doorway. "Tellem I said git they asses in here." she said calmly, after taking a puff from her cigarette. "Y'all eat them leftovers in the frigerator, but you mothafuckers bet not touch my sweet potato pie." she pointed her cigarette at me.

I slid off the couch looking scared and made my way to the front door as she took another drag from her cigarette and walked back into her room.

"Yo ass got caught! Haaaaaaaa!" they all laughed when I walked around to the front. They were all gathered on the steps, swatting mosquitoes and breaking off the glowing part of lightning bugs they caught.

I ignored them and looked to see who still might have had some candy left over. Bug was the only one with a sucker in his mouth, so I asked him if he had any candy left.

"I just got this one..." he frowned, mean mugging Yvette. "She made me give all mine to her.

"Boy, shut up! You too young for all that candy anyway!" she yelled at him, breaking her neck the other way to ignore him.

I hated every last one of them. Ain't nobody saved me no candy. My lip started to quiver, but I tightened my jaw so I wouldn't cry. I took a deep breath and let it go slowly. As I let it out, a bright idea filled that space between my ears and I started grinning.

Only person knew what that meant was Yogi, and when he saw it, his eyes got paranoid. When he saw me walk around to the side door, he climbed off the front steps like a sneaky little possum and followed me.

I walked in the house and walked right up to Auntie's bedroom door. She was sitting on the edge of her bed with a beer and cigarette in one hand and the phone in the other. I knew not to interrupt her and just stood there waiting. Yogi didn't dare stand behind me and risk being seen, so he climbed up on the couch and kept quiet.

It dawned on me that Auntie hadn't been talking and I thought it was a long time for her to be listening to someone. Then I realized she wasn't even on the phone. She looked up and asked absently if we had eaten. I took a deep breath and lied.

"Vette and them said they ain't feel like coming in yet..." I said, my face getting hot with fear.

It didn't seem to register at first. She got up slowly and put the phone back on the base and set her beer on her dresser with about three or four other empty cans. Then she opened up her drawer and my face started stretching at the corners of my mouth. She pulled out a belt and slid her feet into her fluffy house shoes before walking past me and out the door.

Yogi sat wide eyed knowing what was about to go down. I could've counted the heartbeats, but I didn't. I just ran to the open window and pressed my ear against the screen. Suddenly all hell broke loose. Screaming and cussing and tumbling and scrambling. In my mind I pictured what it looked like and got giddy.

Served 'em right for not saving me no candy.

Grim

The old wall was splattered by a leaking sky. Its brick and weathered velvet soaked sporadically by a fickle wind, the shade of its wetness growing like a malignant cancer across its face, even as each sloppy drop smacked my own, etching the lines of a protective brow into my forehead. My glasses collected every splash as the heat of my breath rose up against my face, fogging up the inside of my lenses.

The carcass too was pelted by the globs of water – its grimace a dry horror, like a splinter lost beneath the skin of a sensitive disposition. I was out jogging when I had come upon it, broken over the edge of the curb, the throw-off of a fleeing spirit. Still swollen with crow’s meat, it startled me, its disturbingly silent whisper begging for my curiosity to come closer and notice it fully. The rain had just let up. It was early evening and the color of heaven was moody.

I bent over the pile of useless fur and noticed the likeness of life still in its feet, as yet unmolested by the scavengers of time. It had once breathed I thought to myself and wondered at its expression torn out of the bones of its broken face. No wonder children had nightmares after visiting the workshop of a taxidermist. The pointy teeth and cracked bone of the jaw were fascinating – their exposure frighteningly familiar.

I felt as if my staring were an act of respect and desecration all at once. Holding my breath long enough, I stood up straight and inhaled the fresh humid air above my head. The leaves in the trees around me sighed relieved in my decision to study the footprint of death no longer.


It was half way across the street, reaching into my pockets while avoiding traffic, when I became alarmed. I lost awareness of my immediate surroundings, trying to recall my morning, before I cleared the street and was shocked by the blare of a horn into jumping clear of an impatient driver. The adrenaline to my heart made me feel like I had forcibly swallowed something whole - adding to my stress as I barely noticed the swish of traffic behind the picture in front of me.

Across the street the skeletons of sleeping trees stood like weary watchmen over a mottled brown carpet of dead leaves. Somewhere along the path I had taken, I had dropped my keys. I could not even begin to imagine where I may have lost them. I stood on the rain soaked sidewalk thinking inwardly, hoping to tap into some remembrance or clue that might lead me in the direction of my abandoned keys.

“You look like you’ve lost something.” a voice startled me from behind. I turned around responsively, just to acknowledge the presence, and nearly broke my neck doing a double-take. Perhaps it was the fit of her jogging suit. It could have been the sincerity of her eyes. I couldn’t help the quick head-to-toe scan I gave her. It was instinctive. She gave me a smile that made me feel typical while she felt the pulse in her wrist. She had been jogging and paused here, keeping her knees up and down, when my imitation of a lost statue begged her curiosity.

“My keys.” I answered. “I hadn’t realized it until I reached the edge of the park and stuffed my hands into my pockets to see if I had any change to buy something to drink from the gas station.” I rambled, fighting to visualize where I may have lost them.

“Good luck.” She said, after giving the park a cursory glance, and was off. I had forgotten momentarily about my keys. Her butt filled out the seat of her sweat pants beautifully.

I felt a tug - a thought to follow her, engaging her in conversation while we both jogged, but was still preoccupied with the question as to whether I should look for my keys or count them forfeit. In the seconds it took to make a decision, I felt I had lost two things.

Suddenly the weather I was trying to enjoy felt a bit too chilly and I just wanted to hurry up and get home, take a hot shower and eat some tomato soup. I could smell the earthy sweet acidity rising in soft plumes from the hot bowl as I thought about it. I could feel the crust of the freshly baked bread, see the butter melting into it and taste the soft pull of my first bite. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my keys, so I grunted disappointingly to myself and opted to get some cider from the Starbucks down the block.

I walked into the store and noticed everyone minding their own business – like spies attempting to blend in. Only the girl behind the counter acknowledged me, in a way that made me wonder if the employees have their own special batch of coffee, off limits to customers, that kept them perky throughout their shifts.

I looked up at the menu and realized I was a rank amateur when it came to ordering coffee – I didn’t know what any of the stuff listed meant and didn’t feel like having any of it explained to me. For all I knew Starbucks was experimenting on the masses, looking for that one combination of ingredients that would have everyone addicted for life. This thought made me frown even as I ordered the best cider I had ever tasted in my life…


It had become windy outside when the door to the store opened again. I watched the papers in the periodical stands just inside the entrance ruffle when she came in. She saw me in mid sip and I almost choked trying to acknowledge her. She came over like an old friend and pulled a chair out for herself at the table where I was sitting. I cleared my throat to keep from coughing and offered a questioning glance. She placed a cupped hand on the table and, removing it, revealed my keys. I was stunned for a good fifteen seconds, studying the mess of metal with a reluctant joy before eventually allowing myself to experience the freedom of relief.

“I ran across these on the path.” She smiled. “I started to leave them in case you were looking for them, but something told me to pick them up.” Her eyes looked so friendly and the cider was so good, I almost fell in love with her for about two seconds.

“I’m glad you did!” I rushed to say, thinking I had let too much silence fill in between us while considering my emotional reaction to her finding my keys.

“I couldn’t be sure they were yours, but a little voice inside me told me that they were and that I’d bump into you when I finished my run.”

“Let me get you something to drink.” I offered quickly, afraid she’d get up and leave since she had returned my keys.

“I don’t drink coffee.” She refused politely and looked as if she were about to stand.

“I don’t either.” I cut her off, taking the lid off my cider and giving her a whiff of it, almost spilling it but catching my frantic energy before it instigated an accident.

“That smells good, but…” she resisted.

“Please. It’s the least I can do. You’ve saved me a trip clear across town with no money in my pockets.”

She considered my proposition and gave in. “Okay, one of those.” She smiled nodding at my cup.

I almost tripped out of my chair trying to get to the counter, which she found funny enough to burst out laughing. When I turned to her while waiting for her cider, she was looking straight at me, her face kind and full of curious thoughts. Enamored by her attractiveness, I sighed involuntarily, which she noticed.

“Careful, it’s hot.” I warned her, handing her the paper cup. She took it with both hands, her fingers softly brushing mine in the exchange. Her touch started my heart racing and the words fell out of my mouth like a pile of shoes stuffed behind a closet door...

Put that punk in the ring!

"Put that punk in the ring!" Someone shouted.
The crowd wouldn't listen. No hands could reach him. The crowd just surged over and past him, moving like a wave in the middle of the ocean. I don't know that anybody knew where he actually was. All I know is that the crowd was hot and was slow to disburse. When the rage was finally replaced with curiosity, and the numbers began to dwindle, they all moved back away from the mass of pulp that had been under their feet. There in the middle of the intersection, like a piece of bubblegum on the asphalt, lay the president, some of him stuck on the bottom of people's shoes.