World Domination, part 2

"OK," said Vicki. "How do you propose we do it?"

"Well," I replied. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

Everyone looked at me as though they expected me to say something. This went on for a good couple of minutes. I think maybe they thought I was composing my thoughts before explaining a plan to them. I wasn't.

"Don't look at me," I said. "I just came up with the solution. You guys need to figure out the details."

"Hurngh we sh'pshta fighuhr zhaddout," asked Mumbly Joe. "Wehrr jsht reggl'r peeplsh. Ain't gotsh anarshneller annythinh."

"True," I continued. "But I think you're looking at the problem from the wrong perspective. We don't want to use physical force. We need something clever ... a silent, unrecognizable coup d'etat. We need to take over without anyone realizing we've done it."

"Oh," said Crystal. "You mean the way big business already did it starting in the eighties."

"Yeah ... something like that," I confirmed. "But I don't want to take two or three decades to do it."

"So the Pearl Forester Method is right out," giggled Jerry. Once again everyone went silent, as we all turned to look  at him. "You know, from Final Sacrifice? When she decided to rule the world one person at a time?"

"Oh, yeah," I laughed. "I remember that one now."

Joe added a hearty "Rhowshhdowrrrr!"

After a few minutes of laughter, followed by wiping the tears from our eyes, I tried to get the group re-focused. That was going to be the problem with this bunch: keeping them on-task. "Herding cats" didn't even begin to cover it ...

"All right, all right," I said. "Let's brainstorm. I think we mostly know what we'd do once we took over, the question before us is how to do it. Let's hear your ideas - just start throwin' 'em out there."

"You know," said Jerry, "The most direct way to gain power would be to take it from someone who already has it."

"Go on." I replied.

"Well, we could kidnap a Senator, or a General, or something. Or maybe the President."

Vicki jumped in: "I like the concept, Jerry, but the execution is probably beyond us. People like that have big-time security."

"That's OK, though," I added. "We're just spitballing here. Keep throwing out ideas, and we'll see what sticks. Just put that one to the side for now ... we'll probably want to revisit all of these ideas, once we have them out there. In fact, someone oughtta take notes. Gary? You always seem to have a notebook, do you mind?"

"All right. But don't think this makes me your personal secretary or anything."

"Not a problem, Gary."

"And while we're at it, I have an idea for the list, too." Gary reached into the satchel under his chair for a notebook and a pen. "It would be easier to kidnap the CEO of a big company, probably. They don't usually have the kind of security a public official does, and - as Crystal pointed out - they have all the real power, anyway." He began scribbling down notes.

"All right. That's good. Keep 'em coming." I looked at Vicki. "You have anything?"

"Hmm ... give me a minute, I'm thinking."

"OK." I turned to Crystal. "You got anything?"

Crystal arched an eyebrow at me. "You know, I think I just might. We could take over a news outlet and just put out fake news. Cause a panic about ... say, some food additive or vaccinations or something ... then propose a solution that only we could provide. You know how quick panicked people are to give up power."

"That's true," I said. "I might also mention something about a man with a hammer viewing all problems as nails."

Crystal squinted her eyes at me. "What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing. It's actually not a bad idea. It's just funny that this would be your plan, considering your fields of study."

"Actually," added Jerry, "Speaking of fields of study: why don't we take over the internet? Once we do that, we can tell people all sorts of things, and a good twenty to thirty per cent will likely believe anything we tell them, no matter how crazy it is. From there, it's pretty much the same as Crystal's plan. The two plans could easily work in concert."

"There!" exclaimed Crystal, feeling vindicated. "Count yourself lucky. If I had a hammer ..."

"Calm down, Crystal. I didn't mean anything by it, honestly. It was just an off-hand remark." I looked around the table. "OK, anyone have anything else? Come one people! Ideas! No matter how crazy they seem."

"I think I have something." It was Vicki. We all went quiet. "No matter what the final plan - or combination of plans - is, we will probably need money to pull it off. A lot of money."

"OK. So I guess the first step is what," asked Gary. "Win the lottery?"

"Or hack someone's bank account," suggested Jerry.

Vicki shook her head at these suggestions.

"OK, then, what," I asked. "You have a plan for getting a lot of liquid cash in a way that won't draw too much attention?"

"No," she replied. I have a way that will draw quite a bit of attention, but it won't matter."

"Well, what is it, Vick? What's your plan?"

"Yeaagghh. Whashotta ideeaagh yogotsh, Wicki," added Joe.

"I suggest we find an extremely wealthy bachelor or bachelorette, and seduce them into marrying one of us."

We all gave her with a What then? look.

"Then we have them committed. Gain total control of the estate. After that, we do the other plans. Or even all of them. Throw everything at the wall, until something sticks. Crash the internet. Cause a health panic. Kidnap the President. Run one of us for office, as well. Blow up a dam, or something, I don't know. Just go nuts."

"And then," I continued for her, "when people are good and panicked, we offer them hope of salvation from all the insanity."

"Exactly," said Vicki, wearing the most wicked grin I had ever seen on a woman. 

I'd never been so turned on in my life.

World Domination, part 1

Hey ... did I ever tell you about that time I took over the world?

It all started when a bunch of us were sitting around at the pub - I can't tell you the name of it - there are some secrets that still need to be kept, after all - it's a legal thing. So, let's just call it "The North Mountain Tavern" for purposes of the story. It was a basement pub somewhere in or around the campus area, and that's about all I can tell you without violating the terms of the settlement.

Anyway, a bunch of us were sitting in this basement pub, knocking back some cold beers. Aside from me, there was Jerry, Vicki, Gary "the Pro", Crystal, and Mumbly Joe.

I guess I should tell you a little bit about these people. Also, I should tell you that their names have all been changed in order to protect the guilty parties.

Jerry liked computers. He'd been playing around with them since he was a kid, and already had is undergrad degree in some kind of computer-related field - Computer Systems Engineering or Information Tech or something like that. He already had a full time job in the IT department at a local company but was working on his Master's.

Vicki was the real brains of our group. Most people think it would be Jerry, because he was so good at dealing with computers, and was good with numbers, and had that egghead look about him. Don't get me wrong, he was brilliant in his way, but Vicki was smarter. Like, real-life smart. She could look at any situation and get to the root of the matter without batting an eye. She was the only one of the group who beat me at games far more than she lost. Any games, too: board games, video games, puzzles, chess - you name it, she'd beat me four out of five times, easily. Oh, and she was a Journalism Major of all things. Of course, back then you couldn't swing a dead cat on campus without hitting a Journalism Major ... or three.

Gary was about ten or fifteen years older than the rest of us. He'd been attending THE University* since before most of us were in grade school. I don't know if he just had a hard time making up his mind what he wanted to do with his life, or if just ... like ... everything interested him and he thought he could learn it all. Maybe he just enjoyed being a student so much that he couldn't bear the thought of graduating. He'd changed majors at least half a dozen times, too, so he was the quintessential "Professional Student" - which is why we all called him "the Professional". He pretended that it bothered him, but you could tell he really sort of liked it. Probably because it made him sound cool ... like he was some kind of assassin, or something.

Crystal was fortune teller. She read palms, worked out horoscopes and did card readings and such. She was majoring in Social Work with a minor in Food Science and Nutrition, and was pretty much exactly what you'd expect a Fortune Teller to be like - at least on the surface. She always smelled of sandalwood or patchouli and wore loose-fitting blouses and flowing sashes, floral-print shawls and hoop earrings, and long colorful skirts with sandals. She believed in peace and free love and would smoke just about anything other than tobacco. She loved to get high and listen to the Dead and Phish and just dance and spin around. She was the total mystic-hippie package ... apart from the violent outbursts.

As for Mumbly Joe, well, he was a vampire. How he became a Creature of the Night was a long and twisted story unto itself, so I won't go into the details here. Suffice it to say that he grew up in West Virginia about a hundred years ago, and that the night he was turned, he'd been in a bar fight which left him with a dislocated jaw and part of his tongue bitten off. (You see, whatever condition you're in when you're turned, you're stuck with it for the rest of your unlife.) Between those facts and his archaic hillbilly accent, most of us only understood about half of what he said - and that was on a good night. So, you can guess why we called him Mumbly Joe.

Finally, there was me. Well, you already know all you need to know about me, so ... moving on:

As I was saying, we were all sitting around in this basement pub, drinking beers and people-watching, when the idea just came to me in a flash: We could solve the whole world's problems. In fact we had already solved most of them over drinks during the course of the last couple of years. What we lacked, however, was the proper leverage ... some method by which we could implement our solutions. So while the others were discussing the merits of the oatmeal stout produced by a local micro-brewery in relation to Guinness, I hit upon the first part of the plan: the six of us needed to take over the world.

"Hey guys," I said. "Everybody shut up a minute."

They all stopped and looked at me. Crystal's eyes narrowed, but the rest of them seemed ready to hear me out. Mumbly Joe just drooled a bit.

"I have an idea, and I think it's a good one. So I want you to hear me out."

"Well, get on with it," replied Jerry. "What's so earth-shatteringly important?"

"I think we need to take over the world."

"Wait ... what?" That was The Pro. "Why would you want to do that?"

"So we can fix things."

"Fix things how," asked Vicki. "And what things, exactly?"

"Everything," I said. "So we can fix everything."

"What ... " began Gary. "You mean like poverty and disease and ..."

"And war and world hunger. Yes ... all of it."  I leaned my chair back against the wall and folded my hands behind my head. "That's right. You heard me. All of it."

Vicki chimed in again. "O.K. So let's assume you actually manage to ..."

"We," I interrupted. "Let's assume we manage it."

"All right, fine. Let's assume we manage to take over the world. How would you actually fix everything?"

"Just think about it," I said. "How long have we all known each other? Wait ... I mean how long have all six of us been coming to this bar and drinking and talking together?"

"I'd put it at twenty months, a week and two days." That was Jerry again. He always knew weird shit like that. It was like he had a calendar, clock and stopwatch inside his head. He could also usually tell you the temperature within a degree or two. He was Rain Man, but without the fake movie autism or the freak-outs.

"All right, almost two years." The others nodded. "And in that time, we've had how many conversations?" 

"Jerry, I meant that rhetorically," I held my hand up to stop him from giving me the answer. "The six of us have had many discussions ranging from the deepest philosophical topics such as the nature of Thought, Existence and Truth to the most trivial, such as wondering just exactly at what point George Lucas had the idea to make Leia into Luke's sister. And in each case, whether the topic was metaphysical, economic, political or just nerdy-as-all-hell, we always manage to come to a reasonable consensus."

"So what," asked Crystal. "Just because we all finally came together on a decision that D&D 4th edition is clearly inferior to every edition that came before it doesn't mean we're qualified to solve the world's problems."

"Right, Crystal. Absolutely. But think about it a minute. Why is it the six of us, with such differing backgrounds, can manage to find common ground, when the legitimate socio-political structure of this country can't seem to agree on the freaking temperature outside the damned Capitol building?"

"For starters," Vicki chimed in, "politicians are too busy trying to score their own political points and never actually listening to what anyone else has to say. Well, anyone who either doesn't agree with them already or doesn't have a large campaign contribution at the ready. And absolutely never, do any of these people take the time to actually understand the others' points of view."

"Exactly."

"Also," said The Pro, "that old saw about there being 'two sides to every issue' is total bullshit."

"Yeah. There are usually as many sides to an issue as there are people considering it," added Crystal.

"Usually, though it boils down to somewhere between three and five major opinion groups," said Jerry.

"And the only reason people believe the two sides narrative," continued Crystal, "is because that's what the two parties and the corporate media servants want the public to believe."

"It's easier to control the public mind, when you narrow the debate down to false dichotomies," put in Vicki.

I held up my hand again. "You're all one hundred percent correct. But how do we get past all of that?"

"You'd have to change public opinion," said Jerry.

"Or bring down the mainstream media." A wicked smile was growing across Crystals face.

"Or, I think what he's getting at," said Vicki, "is you just bypass it altogether, and set up a new system."

"Right." I nodded. "And in order to do that, we need to take over the world."

*Some people will understand the reason for the special emphasis on the word "THE" and what it means. Anyone else ... doesn't.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 02: The BMV

PART II:

I stole a nervous glance at the woman now behind me in the queue. She was rather tall, with dark, well-coiffed, medium-length hair. Her smooth skin was of a fair complexion. She was wearing a white tank and a short jacket with a matching mini-skirt that showed off her long legs. She looked like she must exercise - but just enough to keep in shape without getting all muscly or anything. Or losing her considerably shapely figure. A lot of the other men in line behind us seemed to be staring at her. Pigs.

She also had brilliant green eyes that seemed to light up the whole room when she smiled. Which she did. At me.

I turned back to the sweatshirt-wearing woman in front of me. She was still playing peek-a-boo with the little girl.

"Anyway," I started again. "What were we talking about? Vampires? Oh! Wait. 2012! So, do you really think the world is gonna end in 2012? I guess that's what a lot of people are saying. My friend told me that his pastor said it was right in line with some stuff in the Bible, too. I don't really understand all that prophecy stuff, myself, but I thought I might go to church with him tomorrow, just to hear what they have to say."

Despite her best efforts at playing hard-to-get, she couldn't ignore me any longer. She turned back to me.

"No," she said. "I do not, even for a minute, think that the world is going to end in the year 2012. If there were something disastrously wrong with the planet, or the sun were about to explode, or if we were about to be hit by an asteroid or something, I think NASA or JPL, or the ESA or some scientists, somewhere would know about it before your local pastor."

"Yeah," I countered, "but what if the Mayans are right and there's a secret planet that's dark, so the telescopes can't see it, and that's what's going to hit us. Or maybe that's when the aliens promised the Mayans they'd return, and when they get back, they're gonna be pissed that we haven't mended our ways, or something, so they're gonna wipe us out and take our planet."

Oh no! I was arguing with her! That's not at all what I wanted. I'd have to find some common ground again!

"Do you have any idea," she asked, "how crazy that sounds?"

I was stunned. She continued, "If there's a dark planet out there that telescopes can't see, just how do you suppose the Mayans would have known about it? And besides, there are no Mayan prophecies about dark planets. You're getting your doomsday scenarios mixed up. Then again, it seems everyone else in the world is, so why not?" She threw her hands up in frustration.

I noticed that a couple of the Registrar workers were putting up "Out to Lunch" signs at their stations. That should slow things down a bit. I felt a wave of relief. I had little more precious, precious time. Women are fascinated by men who can carry on an intellectual debate. Maybe I could spin this in my favor, after all ...

"OK, but what about the aliens?" I asked.

"What about them?"

"I mean, what if that's why the Mayans ended their calendar in 2012. Because of aliens."

The woman behind me must have been listening, because the interjected at that point. She sounded a bit ... Irish? Or French. I wasn't sure. Who can tell the difference between all these crazy foreign accents, anyway?

"I have heard that calendar ends because it is begins of new age of peace." Greek, maybe?

We both turned towards the woman who had so rudely interrupted us.

My dream-girl responded before I could say anything. "What the hell does that even mean? New Age of Peace. Pfsh! Suddenly people are going to stop fighting over wealth and power, and everyone's going to start sharing, and then some mystical race of space aliens is going to come on down and Buy the World a Friggin' Coke?"

The dark-haired woman tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. "I don't know. Is just something I heard on the tele-vision." The way she said television, it sounded like two words. Definitely French. Or maybe Russian.

"Besides," the first woman continued, "the Mayans "ended" their calendar in the same way the calendar on the wall over there "ends" on December 31st."

She was actually using finger-quotes now. How quirky and adorable! I think I really like that kind of thing in a woman.

"It doesn't mean the world's going to end," she went on. "It means you start a new calendar. A new year. Or, in the case of the Mayans, a new calendrical cycle. Or do you panic every year when you get to the last page of your calendar?"

I had to step in and fix this, and fast: "OK. You're probably right. I was just theorizing, you know ... because of your book."

The man with the two girls was called up to one of the two stations that remained open at the counter.

"Have I mentioned how this isn't my book?"

"NEXT!" Oh no! I was too late. Unless the guy with the kids finished in a hurry, my moment was slipping away. The woman in front of me turned on her heel and went up to the counter.

The woman behind me said, "I do not know what she is angry over. I think new age of peace be nice for good change."

"Uh-huh," I said, dismissively.

She continued. "Do you no think so? Or you be thinking the aliens coming?" She gave me another one of those smiles.

"I dunno," I replied to her. "We were just talking, is all." I turned back towards the counter again, straining to hear what the woman in the sweatshirt was saying to the Deputy on duty. She was being very quiet, but I thought I made out the name ... Dessoshin? Fezozchin? What the hell kind of name was that?

Thankfully, the Registrar repeated it. "Mary Sue Defozchin?" He'd obviously had had a tough time hearing her, as well. So her name was Mary. I decided that was my favorite name. I still couldn't quite get a handle on that last name, though ... Dechoshkin?

Mary handed the guy some paperwork. It looked like a simple tag renewal, so it probably wouldn't take long. Unfortunately, the guy with the kids was renewing his license, so he would take some time. And I was there to renew mine, as well.

Jesus help me, I thought. That woman there has your mom's name, and I think maybe she's the right one for me. Please help me out here, OK, Lord?

"You seem a smart man, and I like to hear you opinion." That had to be some kind of Eastern European accent. Maybe she was Polish or Lithuanian or something. "I buy coffees, you talk to me about this? I have not many friends in America, as I am just moving here for school."

The woman behind me just would not leave me alone! Still, I didn't want to appear rude.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm really busy this afternoon. Good luck making friends, though." I looked her up and down. No ... she wouldn't have too much trouble making friends. Any other day, I would have accepted her offer. But not today. Today I had a mission. A mission named Mary Sue Defaozzchinin. Or something. It was destiny. I could feel it.

"Sir!"

I turned back towards the counter. The man with the two girls was standing in front of me. It was the man behind the counter addressing me, though.

"Would you mind watching that man's daughters for a moment, so we can take his license picture?"

"Um ... sure?" I didn't know what else to say. Besides, Mary was bound to be impressed. Women like men who are good with kids.

The man told his girls to stand there with me, and that he'd be back in a moment. He walked down to the other end of the counter where the photo station was set up.

The man behind the counter then motioned to the woman behind me.

"Ma'am, you can come on up here. We'll help the gentleman in front of you after those girls' father is done."

The dark-haired woman gave me a little sniff as she passed me. I guess she didn't take rejection well. This was just great! Now there was another delay. I'd never get out of here in time to catch up to Mary.

There was now an elderly gentleman behind me. He looked like a stereotype. He was grey and wrinkled and looked about five feet tall, hunched over the way he was. He wore a red Cardigan over a white shirt and the kind of grey pants that you'd have to call slacks. In one hand he held a cane. In the other were his registration papers and a grey fedora with a feather in the band.

I turned back to the counter quickly, before the man could try to engage me in conversation. You know how old people can get when they have an audience. Besides, I had these girls to attend to. One of them started pulling on my shirt. The other grabbed me by the hand. Hers was tiny and sweaty and sticky. Ugh.

The man behind me started playing peek-a-boo with the smaller of the two girls, using his hat to cover his face. Why does everyone always want to play peek-a-boo with little kids? Do the kids ever get sick of it? I mean, how long can that remain even a little bit fun?

After a couple of moments, the girls' father came back, freshly-minted license in hand. He mumbled a thank you at me, and took his daughters. Come on, lady, I thought at the Serbian woman, or whatever she was. Hurry up!

Then it was all over. Mary walked away with her new license tags and registration packet, and headed out the door. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

"Next!" The woman behind the counter was waving me forward. I walked up and took my wallet and papers out of my pocket. That was when I noticed a wad of bubble gum rolled into the bottom of my t-shirt. Thanks, girls.

I handed everything across the counter, and said, "I need to renew my license." I willed myself not to cry. I wouldn't give the Slavic lady the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

The woman on the other side of the counter barely even looked at me. "Is your address still the same?"

"Listen," I said. "I don't want to wait in line again, but I need to be able to find the woman that you just helped. Would you please give me her name and address?"

The woman looked up at me. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"No!" She replied. "I can't do that. It's illegal and unethical."

"But you don't understand! It's destiny! Mary and I ... we are meant to be together!"

"Look, sir. I don't care about your destiny. My job is to renew your license and send you on your way. If you want to go chasing after her, I can't stop you, but you'll have to wait in line again."

I looked behind me. There were at least thirty people in the queue now.

"But ..."

"But me no buts, mister!" She wasn't going to budge. "This isn't some kind of movie where the rules don't apply and everyone is expected help you find your true love. This is the BMV."

The dark-hared Slovenian at the next station was looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

"All right," I sighed, resigned to my fate. "Let's do this."

"Is your address still the same?"

"Yes."

We then went through all the standard questions. She told me to look through the eye-testing machine for my vision test. When I stepped up to the machine, I spotted it. Mary's copy of Twilight of the Gods. She'd left it right on the counter next to the eye tester! Oh, Joy of Joys!

After my vision test, I carefully slid the book off the top of the counter. Here it was ... the clue I would need to find Mary. She'd have to come back after her friend's book!

I would find her.

Oh yes, I would.

My Time With Che

NOTE: This is a work of fiction: I have never actually worked in a supermarket.*

Working nights at a 24-hour grocery/superstore is a great way to experience a broad range of humanity. There are the midnight stoners with their ungodly bouts of the munchies. There are the drunks who come in looking for booze because all the bars have closed. There are travelers who are having car trouble, or maybe just need some place to freshen up. There are the old veterans and middle-aged ladies in their nightgowns and slippers who like to shop when there are no crowds. There are also bored teens with nothing better to do - especially on Friday & Saturday nights.

One Saturday night/early Sunday morning, we were cleaning up the shelves in the book department when a hausfrau in a lime-green muu-muu approached us.

"My son wants that new book about some wizard or something ... I dunno. Whole thing smacks of Satanism to me. Is that book safe? Or should I get him a Batman comic, or something?"

I started to respond, "Well ma'am, we don't carry comic books - most grocery stores don't anymore. As far as the book goes, I doubt there's any real danger of-"

That's when Che rose to his feet and silenced me with a wave of his hand. He stood there with that middle-distance-looking stare of his, like he was posing for a heroic movie poster or something, and said, "I am not Christ or a philanthropist, old lady, I am all the contrary of a Christ ... I fight for the things I believe in, with all the weapons at my disposal and try to leave the other man dead so that I don't get nailed to a cross or any other place."

The woman just walked away.

Then there was that time when we were both on break - we were eating a late dinner, and out of the blue Terri (a lovely girl on whom I had a crush at the time, and was planning to ask out later that night) rushed into the break-room in a huff.

"If that creep Frank hits on me one more time, I swear, I'm going to file a lawsuit!"

Frank was the late-shift manager. He was an old married guy, but he had a reputation for hitting on the ladies who worked register. As he was also in charge of hiring them, he made sure they were all attractive.

I walked over to Terri, gave a her pat on the back and said, "I wouldn't blame you if you did. That guy's a total creep. You know, if-"

Then Che interjected: "Along the way, I had the opportunity to pass through the dominions of the United Fruit, convincing me once again of just how terrible these capitalist octopuses are. I have sworn before a picture of the old and mourned comrade Stalin that I won't rest until I see these capitalist octopuses annihilated."

Terri and I just looked at him for a minute.

"OK, Che," I said. "Thanks for that."

Turning back to Terri, I said, "You know, I bet I could get Joe to give up some security tapes as proof of what Frank's been doing. You're not the first to complain, you know. In fact-"

And there was Che, again. He had climbed up on one of the break-room tables. He raised a fist, which knocked one of the drop-ceiling tiles out.

"If you tremble with indignation at every injustice, then you are a comrade of mine."

"Huh. You know, Che, you actually sorta made sense that time."

Poor Terri was lost and confused. She leaned on my chest while I patted her back. This was working out better than I'd hoped!

"It's OK, Terri. You wanna grab a cup of coffee with me after work? I bet we can figure out a way to get that guy good."

"Calica keeps cursing the filth and, whenever he treads on one of the innumerable turds lining the streets, he looks at his dirty shoes instead of at the sky or a cathedral outlined in space. He does not smell the intangible and evocative matter of which Cuzco is made, but only the odor of stew and excrement. It's a question of temperament"

Terri pulled away from me, disgusted by Che's inappropriate description.

"You know what?" Terri slowly backed towards the door. "It's OK. I'm going to talk to my mom in the morning. Thanks."

And she left.

"Not cool, Che!" I whirled on him. "You know I like Terri! What the hell was all that talk of poop in the streets? Who's Calica, anyway? And what the hell's wrong with you, man?"

He jumped down off the table, put an arm around my shoulders, and said, "The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall."

He gave me a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. I followed him, light-headed and confused, as he walked through the stockroom and out the back door. He hopped on his motorcycle, and winked at me as he kick-started it.

"If they attack, we shall fight to the end. If the rockets had remained, we would have used them all and directed them against the very heart of the United States, including New York, in our defense against aggression. But we haven’t got them, so we shall fight with what we’ve got."

"Umm ... yeah," I replied. I gave him a small wave. "See you, er ... Comrade?"

He drove off down the alleyway behind Beacon Street, and that was the last we ever saw of him.

*Also, Che Guevara is dead.