"Thank you" says a fat-bitch as she grabs a plate of tomatoe roses I just prepared, walking through to the waitress-line. I'm probably one of a handful of people that have violent thoughts when they hear the words "Thank you" said to them. But that is the reality. When I hear the words "Thank You" come out of their mouths immediately I imagine how they would react to being stabbed in the back with a 10" extra-broad chefs knife. If they would scream out in a weird tone or if it would be in shear terror like in the movies. I know that it is no okay to have these sorts of thoughts, but I think it something of legend that I can keep it all held down and smile to those around me as if I'm a donkey like the rest of them. I'm in kitchen prepping vegetables for tonights service ― wondering what will become of the night ahead. Tonight is Friday so there will be lots of fish orders to be made, lots of running around all things normal for a Friday night at the restaraunt. It is quarter-to-two and Stacey comes walking into the back, both kids in tow. Stop. I'm probably even more unique in that I'm probably one of a very small handful of people who have violent thoughts when I see children. Whenever one gets to close to me I wish we were the only two in the room, I have vivid thoughts of screaming at them and putting them all sorts of mental torture that will scar them for the rest of their lives. People get all child-like when they see children, act like them all goo-goo-gaa-gaa about shit when one is around. These things are completely absent from my mind. I'm not sure what the big idea is about wanting to put more people on the earth is all about. There is too much other things in life to look forward to that getting home and have to take care of your fucking child. When I was in 7th grade―that is when I think I knew that my life was ultimately worth nothing. I recall sitting in class and the clock saying 8:57. Our teacher had some sort of clock her desk at the back of the room. The kind you would have in your bedroom. The kind that makes that fucking god-awful alarm noise. It is fifty-seven minutes past eight o'clock in the morning and I'm gazing out the window watching traffic go by on the street with the morning sun. Catching glares off the windshields as they pass. Wanting nothing more than to be out in there in the world. Working. Each and every morning in english class watching those fucking cars pass in the morning sun. It was the worst towards the end of year when the weather was the nicest and the teacher had the window open. I could smell freedom outside ― as I sit there and stare off into their vast open hands full of shiney windshields and morning air. Then something in class would suddenly pull my attention back indoor and my eyes would have to focus on the interior light because I had been staring out the fucking window for so long. I was in seventh grade and I made the conscious decision that I was not going to make it in life. I wanted nothing more in the world than to be one of those people working outside in the world actively moving around either driving or working outside. But I could never hold much attentio to anything much in school so therefore I never performed very well. By the time I had gotten to my freshmen year in high-school I was pretty much doomed in regards to having any sort of a reputable future in the employment arena. By the time I was a junior in high-school I was still in freshmen classes, having only three credits to my name of the 47 required to graduate. From the day of my seventeeth birthday on, I spend the entire year working as much as I could, both legally and illegally. Planning on my big escape on the day of my eighteenth birthday. Working behind all sorts of closed doors with the most unsavory of folk all in the name of getting a god-damn dollar to my name. Never a social person, not good in a crowd. You cannot have all the special sort of powers that I have and be social at the same time. But you have to be social to a degree in order to be illegal participations done without getting caught up in stupid shit. I've never done anything that I wouldn't do again. Dealing mostly only in illegal drug sales, most of which the people I "associated myself with" were doing, so it wasn't like I was one of these 20/20 stories you would see on television about how some drug single-handeldly taking over an entire community, claiming lives left and right. I always had this sort of rule when dealing with drugs. And that was I wouldn't participate in any sort of illegal substance that didn't originate from the ground. Which pretty much limited the drug category done to nothing. That sort of belief was very much put on the back-burner when the profit margin of pills took center stage. People rolling on ecstacy became almost as common as smoking weed there for a while in regards to the people I "associated myself with". Noboby knew what the end result would be back then―some of them that are there now do not know or care what the end result will be. There was too much of that shit going on back then and it is unfortunate that we didn't just keep it natural like we had always originally spoke off. Lots of heart-break. No solid feelings from anyone, no matter what words were coming out of their mouths. That bullshit went on for so long with many up that so many words of the modern language has been deface and devalued to me now. Love is shit, hate is shit. Money is the only thing I've seen remain constant, and money is the not the root of all evil. It is the only thing in the world that does not change, and that is what makes people so fucking pissed off. I'm nearing my eighteenth birthday and I've had more Life Experiences than many people will in a lifetime. Only once did I wake up in a different state than I remember being in, but like every thing else in life there was a reason for that happening too. Never with much money to spend because I spent my entire life saving up every dime I could, but some of the Best Life Experience do not cost a thing. Many of them were while on drugs, but perhaps that is what made it special afterall. The older and older I get that seems to be the truth. Looking back having sex with two girls and another man does not seem all that special, especially when I think back to the specifics of all the things we did. It only seemed so god-awfully wonderful back then because there were expensive candles burning, the right type of music and we were all on four of five pills. Not sure about that other guy though. I swear he was just a tourist. But something horrible happened days before my eighteenth birthday―I overdosed on ecstasy. Spent two days in the hospital, and immediately was shipped off to a looney bin upon being relased. Apparently the amount of ecstasy they found in my system made them think I was trying to off myself so they put me in that crazy fucking hell-hole filled with all sorts of fucked up people. While nothing official was made being us in spoken word, or anything like that―Krista was the girl in my life. Pretty much from the moment I started fucking around with the "underground" or all things "behind closed doors" "when the light are out" I have been closely associated with Krista. First as an aquatance when we were both still really young, 14 or 15. She was the girlfriend of my old "Good Friend", Nick. She went though a whole lot of shit with Nick and for while I was over there so much that many people considered that my home. His mother would come out in the living room in her underwear when it was just Nick and I there and that made me feel as though I was accepted as being there. Nick was older than all of us, he was eighteen first and immediately upon become "of age" he started working third-shift. Somehow able to stay up all day and hang up on his own and with myself and with Krista later on―smoking weed the whole time and suddenly off to work to go he would go again. I thought he was super-human for a long time. I'd sit there on drugs all fucked out of my mind while he was at work and I would think about maybe he was an alien and he was here to figure out stuff about humans and when he went to "work" at night he was offing all his data back to his home-planet. Some of the drugs I did while growing up were really fucking good. Still I survived. Day after day Krista would be at Nick's house while he was at work, and she start going on about how they were fighting all these things that I couldn't understand at all because to me Krista was above and beyond the perfect woman. I would fantasize about how if she were dating me she could be all sorts of mean to me and I would just take it because I would be able to stand next to her when I was out there in the public. Then one day she came at me. I'm sitting in "my spot" on the large sectional leather couch that took up a quarter of Nick's living room and Krista just hops on top of me and starts making out with me. Nick's mother was in the bedroom sleeping and at any moment she could very well come (in her underwear) and go to kitchen or something. We fucked in all sorts of different ways that night in Nick's living room and his Mother never came out or heard Krista making noise and decided she didn't want to see what was going on in her living room. I promise she was fucked on something that night when she came over. Ectasy probably. It did not matter though because for weeks on end this affair would continue. I would ride my BMX over to her house in the middle of the night and do some classic television or movie shit and hop through her window. Sit around and just listen to her talk. Every word she spoke was like living spoken word of the Lord. Just like how to those Christians get down. I worshipped every single word Krista said. Word eventually got around socially to Nick that there was foreplay going on between Krista and myself. That was some of the roughest days in my life. I had been gone from home for so long that I really could not go back. For more than one reason. But Nick was so fucking pissed off at me, and rightfully so. He had worshipped her just as much as I. But he was WITH her and that meant that he got the inside-view. Which was odd cos once while snorting cocaine with him in his Living Room, Nick had gone about I was his good friend and he as looking for filling his Best Friend role and that he was considering me a candidate. Well scratch my name off the fucking ballot because I've done almost the unthinkable with Krista behind your back. She's done everything with me other than say that she loves me. Ecstasy is a funny drug. Turns a normal person into a donkey and turns someone with I used to call "a mask" take that shit off and throw it into a bonfire. At least until the pills wore off. Those were my favorite times being on pills was when someone in the social circle who wears a fucking mask the whole time they walk around all day and then they get all fucked on pills and start turning into a pile of mush in front of everyone. Krista and I did all sorts of ecstasy together and we really enjoyed each others bodies during being on that drug. We once had sex for so long that we both just kind of gave up because we were bored and tired from moving around. We even laid there for quite a while rubbing each other slowly after hours and hours of fucking. Boredom. Krista was pregnant shortly after she publically broke it off with Nick and sadly there was no question whose baby it was. It was mine. Her parents found out nearly right away. Shortly after they found out her Father summoned a request through Krista to see me face-to-face. He made it quite abundantly clear he had no intention of having a daughter raise a child with a burn-out piece of shit that never went to college, nor has any sign of a bright future. As much as I would have liked to have debated otherwise, I knew that was the answer at 8:57AM one day in English class in seventh grade. He made Krista get an abortion and had me come with to "experience the hell she had to incurr" by having to have the abortion. While I'm sure Krista would have not kept the baby regardless, it was how her Father went about it and how quickly he reacted on both of us for the shit that made the whole process so fucking horrible. I'm sure that he thought it would be the thing that broke the two of us apart, but he was wrong. We got matching tatoos illegally, and not all that good either. A nautical star on the back of our shins. Mine is on my left left and hers is on the right. When we used to go to parties together we used to always hold a hand up in the air to find the other one. I would hold up my left and she her right. We did not get farther apart after Krista got the abortion, in-fact we had gotten quite a bit closer. She would call me late at night just like it was back in the day when Nick was working third-shift and she wanted me to hop through the window. Except now we are meeting up in the middle of the night at some park having sex on the grass. We would always go on about how one day we would make it out of this fucking town and live somewhere where life would be better. But that never happened. The day I overdosed on ecstasy and and spent two days in the hospital, Krista lied to the people who worked at the hospital and told them she was immediate family to come in and see me. I was so happy to see her. I'm hooked up to all sorts of bullshit in the hospital that beeps and clicks and Krista is at the hospital in her sheer godliness. Her platinum-blonde hair, baby blue eyes that matched the cheap outfit the hospital has me dressed in. "How long are you going to be here?" she asked me to which I had no response. I had no idea at the time I'd be getting locked up in the fucking looney bin. "I was going to Wisconsin for a party in LaCrosse. Will you be out by the time I get back?" she asks with no real look of care on her face. Disappointed almost. "I have no idea. I need to take it easy for a while I think" "Oh, really?" Krista says as she gets up from her seat. She looks out the door to make sure nurses are not looking before leaning over and kissing me on the forehead. "You take care of yourself, Mitch." Krista walks out of the room and that is the last time I will see her for a very long time. After being in the looney-bin for two weeks, I'm finally released to the care of my Mother. I never had much of a relationship with either of my parents. Being an only child as well, I don't really have the need to have someone there to consider my friend or person I can depend on. I can get shit done on my god-damn own, I do not need my big Brother or Sister's fucking help. I was only at my Mother's place for a day or two before getting set-up in a distant friends basement while I got back on my feet. I threw some money at him to keep his parents quiet from having me around all the time. Pretty sure none of that money never saw his parents, but that's alright. Krista walking out on me like that ruined me beyond repair. From the moment she peered back at me before exiting the room on I have never trusted a single spoken word from a single persons mouth. Seeing people happy make me upset. Seeing people holding hands in public makes my skin crawl and seeing children make me have violent thoughts of death and destruction. I have not been with a women since Krista, and I do not plan on being with anyone ever again. Never again will I allow myself to be that exposed to someone. To become that vulnerable by any single persons word or presense is blasphemy. Every time I get out of the shower I am reminded of Krista. Sometimes I want to take a belt sander to the back of my shin so my tattoo can be gone. But I've been told by people that even if you get it covered up, the world may not see the tattoo anymore but you always will. So that is why it is there to this day. Fucking nautical star. I spent a lot of time online poking around on Craigslist. Looking at the forums to see how the dark underpinnings of the other areas seems to be. My sights aimed at North Greenfield for quite a while before I got serious about going there to check out places. Having no contacts in the area made me cautious. It would mean a lot of driving at first, and a whole hell of a lot of dicking around just to keep things afloat until I got some sort of legal paper-work. I moved to North Greenfield and started working at Kirkland's within a few weeks of signing the lease to my first apartment. A little one bedroom place right on 70th street. Not too close to the heat of 76th but not too far away to be considered a tourist when your up there showing your face around looking for new people. I was fortunate enough to have two head shops located within a three mile radius so I could go up there and poke around look for new people as there as well. I liked dealing with older people as dangerous as that can be. You lower your chances of robbery or violence dealing with older people and you also have a lot of an easier time with money. Older people never want to carry over some sort of "tab". They could very well be police however. Especially in the head shops. I've never gotten as far as to talking to an undercover in a police station, but I've gone up there poaching and have seen them keeping tabs on the paraphenalia section. What a bunch of shit I used to think to ponder to myself. Upon moving to North Greenfield I tried my best to keep my head down and my nose clean. New face, new town―I do not want to stick out too much to these people. North Greenfield is located minutes from the City of Milwaukee and based on Craiglist posts alone it is the farthest I can get from Honey Creek, Minnesota without loosing that midwestern feel that I'm accustomed to. As tempting as it would have been to pack it all up and head to either coastal scene, I'm too midwest for either coast. I'm too pale for California and I'm probably not tought enough for the East Coast. So I settled in North Greenfield with no talent, no drive, no passion. Nothing to provide the world. The legal jobs I had while still in school were either fast-food or bar-food type restaurants. Either washing up in the back or helping out in the kitchen. I never had any position in my life that required too much resonpisiblity. I've always had too much focus on external forces outside of where I was supposed to be. Lost a few jobs simply because I walked out the back door to sell someone a bag. So I perhaps lied to the manager of Kirkland's when I was at my interview. They asked me what I knew about a saute station. I told them I held it down like a god-damn professional at all the places I listed on my application. Knowing they wouldn't check up on it because it was in a different state. Sometimes you can just tell. Janet was the name of the General Manager of Kirkland's when I applied. Her daughter Stacey was a little hot party girl with nothing to loose. This became immediately clear to me upon starting. She apparently started shortly before I had started there but she had been part of the restaurant for a long time before starting to work there. Kirkland's full name is Kirkland's Family Restaurant. It has been a family-run place of the fine city of Greenfield for over forty-years. It is the pride and joy of the current manager Janet Kirkland, and her entire family. Practically every body she was related to worked there. Or has in the past. It was a twenty-four hour gig, and has been that way for almost thirty-years. There used to be a travel plaza next door to the restaurant, but it has since gone under and never resurfaced as another form of a travel plaza so highway drivers park their rigs in the old beat up lot and come in and eat at our place. Having the drivers part of the daily customer-base makes for interesting times, as professional drivers are some of the most diverse crowd of people you will ever meet. You'll see very southern-conservative types with heavy accents one day and the next you'll see a cross-dressing sixty-something year old man who decided he needed pancakes before finishing "putting his face on." I applied to be a third-shift cook. I thought the late-night hours would make me available for people at all hours of the night at a place that is easy to find. Good time to meet drunk people at bar-time and that ought to sprout future business opportunities. That was the idea anyway. It used to be so much fun going to work. I used to burn CDs and title them "Bar-Rush Friday Hits" and stupid little shit like that. Roll several joints up and line my cigarette pack with them and just get so fucking high while working. Having all this "philosophical conversations" with whoever the dishwasher or waitress was. Get off work and go home and smoke more pot and pass out. Sometimes I could see the future because every day was exactly the same. No friends, no past-times just woke and sleep. I had no real substance to my life. Every once in a while I would watch a movie or something, but I wasn't too in tune with Hollywood either because I didn't watch television because I didn't own a television. Many people thought that was really weird and every once in a while some new dishwasher who started at Kirkland's would just 'have to' come to my place to actually see if I was bullshitting or not. My little one bedroom was pretty grim looking unless you liked sharp knives or swords. In the bedroom there was a bed and and a nightstand. No dresser. All my clothes fit convienetnly in the closet and there was plenty of room for other shit. All I wore was Dickies and I had more work clothes than regular clothes. My kitchen had all the basic provided appliances you would come to expect from an apartment this size. Baby refrigerator, a baby stove. A stove so god-damn small it is truly an insult to someone who cooks professionally. But sadly I didn't own much to cook with anyway―cook all fucking day the last thing you want to do is make a big pile of dishes just for something for myself. Living room had a couch and a chair. Both of which I got at Goodwill for next to nothing. Computer set up where you would expect to see a television. Nearly every wall heavily decorated with knives and swords. Shelves with knives, shelves with swords in a stand. All kinds of different shit. If it was sharp, or looked cool―I bought it. No question. I knew nothing about knives or swords, but I knew that if it was something I liked, I would do whatever to get it. That was pretty much my only hobby that I had, or passion that I had and that was for sharp knives that looked cool on the wall. Every few months I would be at work and suddenly a wave of sudden terror and anxiousness would wash over my like Johnny Depp said "first vibes of a rising acid frenzy". I would be overcome with sorrow and not want to talk to anyone at work, which makes cooking almost fucking impossible unless it is slow. We didn't really have slow times tho even during the week on third shift. These feelings would pass and eventually I would get some new strain of good weed and all the sudden everything was normal again. But at its worst it was almost physical. It was like a guardian angel or something that was made of ice. All the suddenly one day they would show up and do whatever it took to stay in my blind spot behind me as I went around and did my daily things, and all the suddenly they would like ball up and jump into my physical being, entering from my neck, and it was so weird because it felt like someone would be pouring cold water down the back of my neck and it would rush all throughout the head and then thoughtout my entire body. It was so weird. I debated telling someone about it but I didn't want to get locked up in the god-damn looney-bin and that was something that was to be avoided at every and all costs. It was something that was almost like a mini-game and sometimes I liked to combat it with all sorts of different methods. I started to write down the dates when my icy friend would come to visit, but that was it. I always regretted that I never wrote down when they went away. But like one of the artists that I like listening to Vinnie Paz was once as quoted as stating "I'm a manic depressive I never get excited at all." And that is so god-damn true. Abraham Lincoln was a very depressed person and he never balled up and cried like a fucking bitch and asked for help from the third-parties. He just kept to himself and he look at all the fucking shit he did when he was both president and before. So I decide to do the noble thing and keep to myself about all the twisted thoughts I get when the icy people come to visit. Good weed and staying alone is what makes it work. Get very depressed and go online and shop for one of these bigger and better swords and order it online express delivery and stand there in the mirror naked and just stare at how strong I looked standing there swinging a monstrous sword left and right. One day at work (normal) I was cooking someone a ham & cheese omlette and some new dishwasher who started a few weeks back was hanging out by the hot-plate just watching me cook. As much as it bothers me to have a waitress standing there and watch me cook, I really don't mind all that much when it is someone else who is wearing a white apron or jacket. Almost cook while leaning in their direction like I'm training them without talking. Almost like I want them to envision what I would be saying… without doing so. Many do not get into the game, but that is because so many of the other people in the world do not have a mind. They do not have an icy friend to come along every once in a while and keep them in check. Keep in the real mindset that nothing in this world is real. Everything dies and everything in the world will ultimately fail you across long enough of a timeline. There is no such thing as love, there is no such thing as hate. Everything has its own energy and it keeps itself in check by banging up against each other in both social and financial transactions. Every once in a while people get confused and start to fall under the disbelief that this "kinetic" energy is somehow pre-determined or has something to do with genuine feelings. That is all such bullshit! Nobody knows as well as I do that destiny is so much of a reality that there is no god-damn reason to have beliefs in anything else. Your destined to come to this earth and eat and sleep and work. Hard work is happy work. Do not kick up too much dust. Balance your indiscretions with good deeds to the community. If you killed a cat, plant a tree. That sort of shit it is not that hard to understand. If you dwell too much on one side or the other, the organized stuff with try to reach out and grab you with their money-hungry hands. There was no monetary system setup amongst the animal kingdom until we came along and fucked the shit up. The only reason we came up with a monetary system in the first place was because we needed a reason to make the dark-skinned people from the more advanced civilization seem like we had shit figured out on paper-better. They had shit so well figured out they didn't even have a notion to wear clothing so you know for god-damn sure they had shit pretty well figured out. … So this new dishwasher is watching me cook the omlette and I look at him deep in the eyes and I say: "I need a fucking girlfriend! I have no life." "Get a DeadJournal dude!" The new dishwasher Jason says to me. "DeadJournal?" "Yeah, dude, check it out." He says to me and fucks off back to the pit. God-damn bubble dancer. I put the rest of the night to utter perfection as I liked to think I always do. The morning crew loves following me in the morning because they literally just have to stand there and cook. They don't have to worry about goign to back.. finding shit that the shift before them didnt' do because all they did all shift long was smoke weed outside and fuck around in the parking lot. I'm a stand-up guy and the morning crew knows that. They might think I'm a little weird, but like I tell every new waitress that gets weirded out on third-shift: "You have to be a little weird to work third-shift" Or maybe it is my teeth they are weirded out by. My teeth are in absolute terrible condition. I root this problem all my own court. I never was in one spot for long enough to have any sort of a bathroom setup. So I never brushed my teeth when I was a teenager, cos I was always sleeping at someones house, staying out all night, or passing out on the floor at random and finding myself all spread out all over the place the next morning. All confused and shit like I didn't know where I was when I was always somewhere at home. Always not only confused about what day it was, but what year as well. What "era" I was in. So fucked, and that kind of shit is still the routine of myself to this day. Regardless, by the time I reached twenty-five I had only a dozen or teeth left or so. And by "left" I do no by any means whatsoever mean in good condition. I used to not be aware of how bad my teeth where until I got to this new town. Everyone back home must have just been used to the shit. So I've trained myself over the years to not open my mouth much, speak softly and blunty. Don't laugh. Don't smile. Never fucking smile. Nothing in the world is worth smiling at anyway, so there is no reason to open your fucking mouth that much. I do whatever it takes in the world to keep people from interacting with me too much, and even moreso do I go out of my way to keep any other sort of male from wanting to bring physical violence to me. I had always figured that if I were to get hit in the mouth the remaining teeth do have in my mouth would fall out and the broken pillars of what used to be teeth would maul in the inside of my cheeks. Blood fucking everywhere. I always figured it like this. If someone ever wanted to cross that line, I am always sort of that laid-back sort of guy and I want to keep it that way―and people who know me know this and so if we go there I want to let them have their go at me and then I would violently murder them. I have never been in a single fight in my life, but I have all sorts of god-awful plans on what to do to a person if someone wanted to have a go at me. I'm nearly 6'7" so I have a powerful reach advantage over many people. And many people are fat as fuck, and I'm skinny. So I'm not too powerful, but again not being a fat ass like a lot of people who claim to be tough are, I'm just looking to get them down on the ground―and its fucking over. Regardless of how the world feels about my teeth I need to keep pushing forward in order to remain 'normal' for the rest of these fucking morons. I get to make up for all the closed-mouth stuff while outside of the home when at home alone. Smiling and making goofy faces in front of the computer. Taking webcam videos of myself and watching them later and getting such a kick out of everything that I had recorded. I really am sort of a charming sort of person, if I were able to just transmit this sort of information to the world without opening my mouth… And so that is how it started to happen. I logged on to DeadJournal.com and made myself an account. Or at least that is what I wanted to do. I go to the site and find it has some sort of "invite only" system and so you can either get a code from an existing member or you can pay to get in. What a hell of a system I thought, and having no friends online or in real life that can help me out, I bought myself a years worth of an account and got setup. I'm trying to dial this back as well as I can in my mind because this all seems so long ago but it really was not all that long ago. I've smoked perhaps a little too much pot alone the journey to recall certain details or places correctly. But this whole DeadJournal thing was before Facebook and Google+ came around and took over the world. "Social Media" wasn't a god-damn term we were familiar with back then. There was Live & Dead Journals and that was pretty much the beginning of the whole downfall of humanity. Once that shit got "real" everybody lost their ways. I'm working with kids in the dishroom who sort of do the same thing on Facebook that we used to do on DeadJournal back then. Which is odd because back then you could hide behind shit and aliases and all that sort of shit and nobody cared too much. It was a "thing" we all did and nobody asked too many questions. You were "BleedingHearts47" because of some strange relationship to the number 47 and you have a god-damn bleeding heart. That is not how it is today, today you have a real name and a real picture and it all knows you after a while and starts to "recognize" you in other photos that other people put up and all the sudden there is no curiosity anymore behind anything, it is all "real life". There is no more back-story, there is no more hiding behind a rock, there is only your god-damn Mobile Uploads album on Facebook. Months and months and months I'm on DJ (DeadJournal) plugging away at all sorts of one-liner shit mostly related to getting high and links and photos to knives or swords that I thought were cool or that I wanted to by. There was real work back then to put a picture in a god-damn post online and that sort of shit really make Pawns Kings in many regards. Before MySpace, before all that god-damn bullshit you had to at least have some sort of an idea of what was going on to look "cool" online. And in that regard I was pretty fucking impressive. I knew HTML, or did so back then, but I fell off soon before CSS took over the world. And oh, how fucking Jesus Christ how that puts a date on me. But nobody was looking back, back then and that was probably part of the beauty of it. Behind our names and shit. Every once in a while I would put up lyrics from some song that I was feeling at the time on DJ and people from the North Greenfield and Milwaukee-ish area would comment on it. That is what made DJ (and I suppose LJ) cool. You could have people all the sudden find your deepest, darkest thoughts just by looking up a city on which they lived. It was literal stalking in many regards, with a cute fucking Spin on it. At least DJ acknowledged that is what is was, LiveJournal called it "Searching" but seriously what the fuck would you be searching for other than people's deep dark secrets without any intention of doing harm in the future!!?? Doesn't matter though, after a while you yourself will even get bored and start poking around on people's profiles. One day I did. I responded to someone's journal with a line from a song. That is how I always looked at things. Come at it with someone elses words so if nobody likes it later you could always say you were just quoting and you could blame someone else then. Anything to side-step further debate. What I found the best of all was that it was online, there was no face-to-face bullshit that I needed to be worried about having to deal with. I don't have to show my teeth so I'm the happiest god-damn person on the god-damn planet. On time went. Before you knew it I had almost twenty "friends" on DJ and I was interacting with them on almost a daily basis online. Not in real-time, but online on this god-foresaken DJ. We are posting stuff and calling each other out. It all seemed to be real to us. Before you could @shitlikethis. It was all very cool and we loved doing it each and every day. They all seemed to know each other in real life, so I guess that most of this doesn't even matter. I felt almost as if I had a "social status" with these guys and I felt very special. I mean they have access to all these things I'm posting online but they are not saying anything to me, or they are not inviting me to do the things they want to do in real-life. Maybe it is because I swear too much online. Maybe it is because they really know who I am. I do not really know what it could be that would make them not want to include me with their activities. I am the coolest person in the entire world. There is nobody in the entire world like me. I am the guy you want in your god-damn corner when shit goes down. I'm the weed man, the guy you can get a bag or a buzz from. Who the fuck doesn't wanna know me? But then you get out of the shower and you are brushing your teeth and then you realize why you cannot be this fucking person you want to be. Your teeth are not suitable for proper display. You cannot go out and be this persona that you have somehow generated online and all the sudden think that it is okay to go out in PUBLIC and meet new people. As tempting as the idea might be you must realize that no matter how cool you make yourself out to be your not going to be the one at the end of the day that these fucking people want to include. Control+A, Delete. I purged all my entries on DJ and started over. And by "starting over" I mean all I really did was go back and delete all the stuff I posted online and erased it. I didn't even back it up first before doing so. I just nuked the whole god-damn thing in the one shot and didn't look back. Not only that but I went back on every single person's journal that I had made a comment on and I erased each and every one of those as well. Got rid of that shit and then even went as far to nuke my entire "profile" area in order to sort of "recreate" myself not only in real life but digitally as well. It was right around this time that I met Mackenzie. Mackenzie was unique in that I remember her adding me. All these other people from the local area I had added myself, and that sort of doesn't matter as much in the long-run if you ask me. It is the people that added you that matter the most cos it seemed as though they cared enough to click on the "Add Friend" button and make way into your life all on their behalf. As soon as I confirmed I noticed we had 16 mutual friendships between our digital lives. All of these 16 people I had added on my own, and all of these sixteen people know Mackenzie in real life. They know who she is, what she looks like and who she all associates herself with. Some of them even had the fortune of growing up with her. Shortly after Mackenzie added me to LiveJournal (it is LiveJournal now). Everybody had accounts everywhere. LOL that is just the way the world works. One day shortly after waking up I come in from having a cigarette outside and notice I have a message on my computer. In real-time! An instant message from AOL Instant Messenger (AIM). This is not some message from someone I have met on IRC or something stupid like that, this is the real fucking deal. Someone that has done as I have and sought me out and made me a part of their lives. I will do anything to keep this alive. Hello? I'm sorry I was outside having a smoke! its okay, this is mak from lj Oh! It's so nice to hear from you! hee ⊙ I knew who the message was from "before it even came in". That's how I roll. I had already added her to every instand messaging service I was a part of that she was. That is, any service that would not alert her that I had added her. She was one of those people that was always signed in to their messaging programs at all times. I didn't like doing that I only had my shit open when I was actually 'around', regardless of my intention of whether or not I had actual desires to speak with people. We chatted for quite a bit. I got so involved with conversations with her that I was running it a little close to getting off to work in time. I'm not sure if she had known of I worked third shift or not. I wasn't going to assume that she reads every fucking detail of my journal and knows that she like I do (hers). Whenever there was something that she asked about my personal life I gave her the quickest, friendliest (to her) answer and just quickly redirected all the attention back to her. It was apparent immediately that she had some sort of connection to "the dark side" she was a very morbid person in her display of text and answers to random questions. That was all good and fine with me, as I had no intentions of changing who she was. I've spent every waking moment in my life since Krista left me looking for someone to give me direction, someone to give me the reason to keep going. Something prove my interest worth its time. But that was just thing about Mackenzie. She didn't give a fuck about anything. She was just like me in the world opinion. Nothing mattered all that much. She didn't talk about religion much which was a delight as well. I had no faith in the world. Humanity sucks. Love people cook them tasty food was just a bumper sticker in my opinion. Nothing more. If given the opportunity to do or fuck many people choose to fuck. All of this is rooted back to Krista leaving me. I used to have cute, poetic ways to put everything that happened in the world when I was with Krista. Everything had a divine meaning and the smallest of things in the world would change the entire course of my life if Kristas had anything to do with it. But Mackenzie was nothing like that and between that and the fact that she had a few years on me made me have an unprecedented level of respect for her. I wanted to ask for advice on stuff from time to time but didn't want to seem like the man who didn't have all the answers as well. Our conversations online went on for months. I still posted on LiveJournal a lot and so did she. Except her posts were quick and to the point while mine were more dragged and in all improper almost like I was just babbling on about nothing. I liked to think it all had meaning though. Some of my friends would rack in over twenty comments on some of their posts, while some of my more popular ones were less than ten comments deep. As much cursing and swearing as I did thoughout my journal I could never seem to get under peoples skin enough to arouse them enough to want to comment and sometimes that would really toll on me. Why I'm not sure but that kind of shit would have me thinking at work about how I could behave differently online and still have my epic coolness come off as natural. Everyone at work seemed to think I was an alright, stand-up guy. Bad teeth or not. One night at work I got the idea that would invade my every thought for days and weeks to come. I got the miraculous idea of crossing-over my digital world to reality. I was going to ask Mackenzie to meet up in real life. I hadn't really pushed any sort of romantic game on Mackenzie at all, so I haven't been direct in that regard. But she has to have pieced together by now that I'm not with anyone, and that I have interests in being with "the right person" and all of that good stuff. I want to see if the exact opposite of what I've been trying to do my entire life is the right one. Who better than to try this out with than someone who added ME on LIVEJOURNAL!? There is no better answer than Mackenzie. I must make it so I meet up with Mackenzie in real-life. It is time to take this to the next level. If you want to make this work you need to start from the beginning. Control+A, Delete. Once again I went on LiveJournal and nuked every single post that I have put up. This time however I did not go through the daunting task of deleting every single comment that I put up since the last time I nuked everything either. Which is good because somewhere deep in those comments I shit out to people on my friends list, one of those comments is a permalink to the comment that I left on Mackenzie's friend. That single sacred comment that spawned Mackenzie's interest in me. It is going on quarter to five in the morning and I'm doing all my normal basic shit that I do every morning at this time. Getting eggs pulled out for the following shift so they are not cold-cold for the morning rush. I'm cleaning breadcrumbs off the ledge where the bags of bread sit so it looks like I wasn't busy at all overnight. I'm waiting for the breadman to come and bring our daily delivery of fresh loaves of bread. I'm sweeping the floor, mopping it too. I'm in the cooler and making sure there is enough of everything inside, that is all within a quick reach for your hard-working morning cook. The lights in the walk-in cooler flicker twice and then cut out. "Asshole!" I say. Jeremiah is this dishwasher that has been working at Kirkland's for about a month. Which in reality is two, I've been spending so much time online that I've lost all sense of time in the "real-world". He has been a pretty good worker if you consider barely being able to get through a third-shift as a god-damn dishwasher "pretty good". And our boss does, so he is. Perk for me personally was that he religiously bought a bag every pay period. It was steady income. He liked to kind of be on that personal level with cooks when he was working, as if he knew as much as a cook does or something. It was so fucking god-damn annoying. There you would be chopping your vegetables and he would come back there and start going on about some fucking video he saw on YouTube about how to chop the same vegetables you are chopping, but oh so much better. If you hold the pepper this way you can do it that way, and if you do this to an onion before you cross chop it you can do it without crying. Sometimes I wanted to hand him the god-damn knife and tell him to fucking do the prep-work like you would be in a REAL fucking restaurant! But I never did. So the way this guy would get on with cooks was sure the hell annoying. But you learned to deal with it. With him here, again―the steady income―and you didn't have to do the dishes yourself. I liked being sloppy with how many dishes I used when I cook. We are not in a real restaurant anyway so why the fuck woudl I pretend to be all efficent and shit. All I wanna do is get home and smoke a bowl, have a cup of coffee and fuck around online. He used to have this cute little routine where if you were in the walk-in cooler instead of doing the friendly knock on the door before coming in this fucking asshole would flicker the lights two or three times before coming in the cooler. It was acceptable for a time because it was a friendly way to let someone know you were coming in the cooler, and you were cool. Meaning if you were in the cooler and you were smoking weed and you didn't wanna get interrupted by someone coming in the cooler and have to quickly stash it away―a friendly smoker would come in the cooler by flicking the lights. But this fucking guy would flicker the lights whether or not there was any smoking going on or not. It was really fucking annoying, and it undermined the entire fucking process. But there was no Jeremiah coming in the cooler to say something stupid. I'm alone in the cooler in the dark. I walk to where I know the door for the cooler is and give it somewhat of a kick to open it up as I had two containers of pancake batter in my hands. Darkness outside in the back of the restaurant as well. The emergency lights are on, the ones that are high up next to where the ceiling and the wall meet. I didn't know they even worked. I only heard of the power going out once here, and I had half a mind to not believe the story at all―cos I've felt like I've been here everyday since I started. Jeremiah comes walking into the back and says: "Ayy, take a break, ey?" "What the fuck is going on?" I asked him. I'm confused as shit―start walking up front to see what the waitress knows. I walked up front and saw nothing but dark. Inside and out. Through the windows of the restaurant I saw nothing but darkness. Not even a streetlight was illuminating the streets below. There was the waitress Becky with her face glued to the windows looking out―a customer at her side, equally captivated by the darkness outside. It's five minutes past five in the morning and the restaurant has no power. I sat at the counter with the waitress and the single customer. The time was approaching six o'clock but nobody from first-shift has shown up yet. Suddenly out of the darkness comes a Honda Civic. It's Mark, one of the first-shift cooks. The Honda fades to the back of the building as it passes the front windows. Mark walks up front by the rest of us: "What the hell? Power is out everywhere!" Becky gets up and gives Mark a hug. I'm pretty sure she has a thing for him, or they are fucking and "pretending they are not" while at work. Mark keeps his one arm around Becky and greets the customer. "Everything should be all good in the back." I said to Mark. He nods. I got and felt the side of the coffee pot. It's a little warm yet, I grab it and hold it up to the customer. He nods and I give top off his cup. "Not too hot." I tell him. I offer some to Mark before pouring myself the rest of the coffee we had brewed in the restaurant. "Look I'll stick around for a while in case we need to fend off any customers, but then I'm outta here man I got shit to do today." I say to Mark with a direct tone. I was not asking. "Power or not." "Hey no big deal, hot shot." Mark says letting go of Becky who starts wiping down the spot where the customer was sitting. The customer stands up and stands there with the four of us. All sort of mingling. Talking about what we did and where we were the last time the power went out. The customers name is Vince. He worked downtown in a construction firm. Hard-hands, hard skin, your average hard working Red voting type for the area. One of the "Git-R-Done" types without the flack and text to say so. He actually gets shit done, he doesn't talk about it or put signs on his pickup truck that say he does. You can tell this by looking at him. You can tell this by shaking his hand. Small handful of customers come and go. Nobody knows why the power is out. The phone line was out, even our wired handset. Our cellphones would try and make calls and would show a timer on the phone as if it where calling out but there simply was nothing on the other end. As seven-thirty in the morning approached and more and more patrons stopped into the restaurant asking if we knew why the power was out, I decided it was time to go. Get back to the crib and find out for myself why there is no power. I have no idea why but I grabbed two 10# cans of baked beans on the way out the door. It was as if some sort of animal instinct took over as I was walking out the door. I saw the BUSH bean cans and something just took over and grabbed two. Not just one, but two. I put them in the backseat of my car and proceeded to drive home. There I sat in the dark for nearly a whole day. No cell phone, no web, no internet. Not even power running to the box. This is when I realize that my life is absent of good things, when the power is out I'm without a single thing to pass my time. I don't even like playing solitare or anything, nor do I even own a deck of cards. All excess cash is put into the weed game, to make sure that boat never sinks. If my weed boat sank, almost everyone who works at Kirkland's will suddenly be forced to buy low-quality smoke from even lower-quality undesirable people. Smoking marijuana kind of happened by accident for me. I'll never forget my first interaction with it as a young twelve-year old. I was walking home from Honey Creek Village Park, and I noticed a rolled up cellophane wrapper from a pack of cigarettes on the paved path. It had a green leafy substance in it. I could tell this from looking down at it on the ground from my standing position. I wasn't really sure what it was, but I kicked it off into the grass and sat down next to it. I didn't want anybody know what that I had found it, or maybe even someone put it there on purpose to see if someone would pick it up. Kind of like that dollar on a fishing-line thing you see on some shit Comedy program. I sat down in the grass and looked over my shoulder and peeked at the cellophane wrapper a little closer. Yes it is pot. I thought it was pot, and I was so excited. I didn't know anything about marijuana at the time, but I knew these 'cool kids' that lived at the end of my block―and I knew that all cool people did drugs and smoked weed. Note the difference. So instead of rushing home to my already late-dinner I picked up the cellophane of pot and put it tight in my hands. Soon as I touched it my whole body smelt like piney, almost citrus plant. My hand was tainted with the smell. I walked over to Cliff's house and knocked on his door. His step-mother (although not married to Cliff's Father―longtime girlfriend) answered the door. "Cliff here?" "Yes, just a moment." she said to me with a long strare. Almost like she knew I had pot on me. She gave me that long stare with a slight squint to her eyes. Whatever, I dont' care. I'm not welcomed here unless there are a whole bunch of other "uncool" people anyway. Cliff came to the door with a look on his face like I was bothering the shit out of him. "What do you want? Why didn't you call me first!?" Cliff said. "We're upstairs aint trying to be disturbed by the 'rents." "Look man I just found something in the park and I wanted you to have it." I said to him. Cliff walked off and starting walking around the house to behind the garage. When we got behind the house he held out his hand I passed him off the bag. "Not much, but I thought you would want it, I don't really smoke." I said to him. "Wow this is some good shit, where did you find it?" Cliff asked. "Walking out of the park, it was right there on the walkway. I hung around it for a while to make sure it was cool to grab it, but there it is. I hope you enjoy it, I gotta get out of here―late for dinner and shit." Cliff gives me a quick handshake off I went back home to eat dinner. The Friday of that week I gave Cliff that bag of weed I had found was the day of the dance at school. The day before on Thursday I'm up at Village Park just hanging out. Not really doing much, hanging out in the gazebo on the BMX, hopping around on picnic tables and shit. The park isn't the busiest place in the world, and I would be considered as much as part of the park as the swing-set with the amount of time I spend here. I can be hanging out on the swing-set smoking a cigarette and just talking shit to someone there, and notice cars that pass the road on the west-side of the park and know if they live on that road or are just passing by. I know the back-yards of every house on this block like the back of my hand. Suddenly a deep-green pickup truck comes tearing down the street. They don't live on this road, they are not passing by. They are coming to the park. That is my Father. My Father parks the truck in the parking lot and starts just laying on the horn. Waving his hand out of the window for me to come over. He knew I was here, my Mother knew I was here. If I wasn't at home in my room or in the backyard I was at Village Park. I hop on my bike and roll down the hill to the parking lot. Soon as I got close to the truck, I knew I was in the shit with my Father based soley on the look on his face. "You fucking around with pot?" he says to me before anything else, in a tone that let you know he meant business. "No why!?" I said to him in shock and disbelief but the second he said pot I had deja vu about finding the bag of weed the other day that I gave to Cliff. "Well there are some police at the house at think otherwise. They will be there waiting for you." My Father said before backing up his truck and tearing the hell out of the parking lot. Nearly running my feet over when he backed up. He didn't give a shit, he was fucking pissed that the police are at his house waiting to speak with me. They police are in his home. Inside. What had happened was Cliff was smoking the pot that I found and gave to him―with a few other kids from the neighborhood and one of the kids went home and started acting all goofy to their parents. They confronted him and got him to somehow share all kinds of information about the marijuana he had been smoking that "made him act this funny way" and somehow graphic details about Cliff having the pot, and Cliff getting the pot from me somehow got from that kids parents to the police and now they are sitting around my Father's kitchen table wanting to know who "My dealer is." From that moment on I had a deep passion for marijuana. I knew something that brought that much heat by the police was worth being involved in, all legalities aside. While growing up and getting deeper and deeper "in the game" you quickly come to learn that any sort of thing that is not legal will get the arousal of the locale authorties simply based on the fact that their counties have too much money and time to fuck off on policing the neighborhood than they do other things. The cops have endless of piles of resources at their disposal in rich, white neighborhoods and as such they like to smash into the carpet anything that gets under their noses. And young kids and teenagers are sloppy in their illict activities. Your young, you don't know any better. I come to learn in the coming months from the first interaction with the police that my Father himself was a pothead. I went rummaging around in Mom & Dad's room one day and found a leather zip-up case full of all sorts of paraphenallia. And to this day, regardless of how pungint that smell of the bag was that I found in the park that day, every single time I smell a bag of weed to this day I think of the smell that erupted from my Father's leather zip-up case when I opened it the first time. A strange combination of fresh, good smelling skunkish weed and another smell of the same, but with a burnt up used smell. Dirty almost, but still pleasant. Come to learn that is simply nothing more than the smell of a used pipe. How shit does that smell take on, and stay on anything that it touches. I can see why my Father liked to keep things "zipped up" cos that shit would have the whole house smelling if that shit were loose. When the power came back on, I immediately hopped online and went to LiveJournal to see what, if anything, Mackenzie had posted. No email from here, which was sad. And no posts either. I fired off an email to tell her that my power just came back and and that I hoped everything on her end of the world was all good. Nothing too over the top, but I really want to set-up a meeting. Something casual, not making her I'm trying to sack her right away. It's my night off and sitting there online I get the urge to smoke. Locked and loaded up a few in the personal spoon and poked around online a little more. Mackenzie didn't get back to me for several hours. She had gone out with friends as soon as the power went out. Apparnetly it was a brownout. Mackenzie thought it was so hilarious that I had taken two 10# cans of baked beans and thought that the world might end. She giggled a bit, I think she was drunk. I can tell this about her even tho I'm talking to her online with text only and nothing else. I've been talking to her long enough online to the point that I can tell this kind of shit through the text, as if I'm there. There is no shields between us online, no obligations. I feel no jealousy and she feels none either. There isn't this social contract between us that should make us feel like we should repent for our past sins and pretend like its not something that one of us might do again. We recognized life and social things for what they were. She would go on about some strange thing that happened at one of the spots they regular at and talk about how someone ended up fucking someone else and how this is something that normally wouldn't happen. And I would say some shit about how if they were drinking no doubt. Drinking makes people do funny shit. And that was it. No concern about peoples feelings, just oh well they were drinking―whatever. Sixteen minutes after one o'clock in the morning and I grew a pair of balls and mentioned something along the lines about meeting up in public to Mackenzie. To my suprise there was no delay in here response. "that would be fun" she said. Almost immediately. I liked to take my laptop up to a bookstore called Borders. It was a big huge bookstore and it had a few tables and served up coffees and lattes. Free wifi. I liked to go up here and get a cup of coffee and pretend to be working on my laptop but the reality was I was there to do some peoplewatching. I can sit almost anywhere and just be captivated by just watching others around me. Doesn't matter where I am, I am always captivated by just sitting there and watching people go about their day. Most of the time I am at the Bookstore I'm there during the weekdays, middle of the day. Always curious how all these people can be at the bookstore during the middle of the week, during the day. Do they not work? Do they ALL work third-shift like I do? I doubt it. These people are too attractive to be third-shifters. Their teeth are perfect and their clothes all match like it was coordinated by a professional. Colors accenting each other and shit, details. Details. I told Mackenzie I would let her know ASAP when I wanted to find a time in my day to meet her. The reality was however I wanted to go meetup with her at some twenty-four hour restaurant like somewhere I work at and get to know the real her. I've never seen a picture of her, have absolutely no idea what she looks like. Her the same. But I feel like I know her to the point that that sort of shit doesn't matter. As long as something horrible like she was really a man or something, I think I would be happy with whoever showed up at Borders. I hold no discrection, I hate on nobody. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I can't be too picky anyway―with my horrible teeth and all. It was Thursday, and I slept in all the way to 7PM. Upon waking up and having a smoke and getting coffee ready and all that, dressing for work it was already going on quarter-to-eight. It was one of those days where your off-work time is flying by and your at-work time was going to crawl like fucking chilled mollasses. There was no escaping it, sometimes that is how third-shift rolled. I signed in online a few minutes after eight and almost instantly I got a message from Mackenzie. "don't you work tonight?" she chimed in. "Yup." I responded. "Why what's up?" "nothing, thought you would be on earlier" "Yeah, slightly overslept. Up too late!" I found it odd she gave a shit that I wasn't online already. Perhaps I will try and meet up with her sooner than later. We tossed a few messages back and forth for a little bit before I signed off, wishing her a great evening. I reminded her that it should be a happy night because tomorrow is Friday. And everybody loves Friday! Right? Before going to work I fired up Evolution and composed an email to Mackenzie. I gave her my phone number. ⊙ Mackenzie, Sup! My schedule always being fucked helps not being able to set something in stone in regards to meeting up. I wanted to give you my phone number. 414-751-7463. ⊙ I got to work that Thursday night and before had cleaned up for the lazy kids on second-shift I had gotten a text message from Mackenzie. She says: "got your email and now you have my #" I spent a lot of that night not working and sending a lot of text messages back and forth to Mackenzie. It was going on two o'clock in the morning and she was still sending messages strong. DIdn't seem like I was keeping her up, but I kept telling her that she ought to sleep. I must have sent two hundred messages back and forth with her that evening. It is like we were already dating. We were literally always together, attached somehow digitally. Nothing seemed to matter to me when I was there talking to her. We had this unofficial social contract to not give a fuck about what happened the day before we started talking. I didn't ask about her past, and she didn't ask about mine. Lovely shit that way, no having to sit there with your tail between your legs because your trying to hide something. There seemed to some sort of illusionary yet wonderful level of unprecedented commitment because of that agreement. We both subscribed to this idea that all we were talking about was the most important thing. And because it was purely digital, and because we don't know what the other looks like―there is just something beautiful that our conversations are not plagued with this idea that we need to be fucking. We didn't talk about sex almost hardly at all. I did say to her that "sex is overrated" once online and that lead to this long-pause online and it caused me to try and pickup the broken pieces with humor. All I had meant it that there was too much fucking going on and nobody cared about each other. Maybe all she wanted to do was fuck, but that is not at all what I am interested in. I have not laid in bed with a woman since Krista and that makes me uncomfortable in thinking how trying to sleep with a woman now would be. I would want to make this deal with Mackenzie draw out over a long period of time and figure out if that would be the proper route. Simply trying to sack her would not be my hidden agenda. My hidden agenda if anything would be try and figure out behind her back of she would be worth marrying. It is not like I'm out here Wife hunting or anything but it sure wouldn't be my intention to meetup with Mackenzie and simply become friends with here. This logging hard-time with her online, spewing out almost everything that came to mind, shared nearly every weblink with her that I browsed online―all that is for good purpose. I wanted her to know what kind of person I was so when and if she met me nothing would be a suprise in regards to how I behaved or how I would react to something. TWO MONTHS LATER What I was not prepared for was meeting Mackenzie. I had no idea that meeting her would unlock parts of me that I did not know existed. We set it up that we would meet at Borders on a Friday night. I told her that I would be browsing the Technology books but the reality was I would be in a different location sniping the Technology book section, anxiously awaiting to see who comes looking for me. As soon as she arrived in the building I knew it was her. She showed up wearing all black. And not something just thrown together all in clad-black that made her look scary. She was fucking beautiful. My towering height of 6'7" makes a vast majority of the rest of the world short, but she was really fucking short. And there is no shame into me admitting that I was totally into that. Short women drove me fucking mad. I'm literally able to move them with ease in the bedroom, something else that makes a cold man smile. Mackenzie's hair is red. Naturally. She walked to the Technology section but did not see me there waiting for her. Her red hair shining in the lights of the bookstore, like a fountain of gold in the rain. FIVE YEARS LATER Or perhaps I was Wife hunting. Nearly everything in life is different. I have been dating Mackenzie for just shy of five years. From the moment we laid eyes on each other we were both in undying love for each other. My life is complete with her in its daily routine.