Doing it Greek

For right now I'll just dump this brief article on the blog, later I'll write up something more comprehensive.

From SF Gate - By Elizabeth Fernandez A band of demonstrators, many wearing black masks, stormed a bustling San Francisco mall Saturday evening, upending garbage cans and foliage and damaging crystal merchandise at one kiosk. An estimated 50 to 75 people were involved in the disruption at Westfield San Francisco Centre, police said. "It felt like random, vague anarchy," said Sam Cantrell, who sells sunglasses at a kiosk near the escalators on the street level where the protesters gathered. "Everyone's yelling," he said. "Some people started running up the escalator the wrong way. People were grabbing their babies and running away in fear."

The disruption began around 6:30 p.m. as holiday shoppers crowded the mall on the last Saturday before Christmas.

Some protesters threw food, police said. Others tried to toss a large planter onto the food court below.

According to mall management, the protesters were part of a "Solidarity with Greek Uprising" demonstration, which began in the Mission District earlier in the afternoon. An international day of action was called on Saturday to protest the death of a young man in Greece in early December.

"Although people have the right to their opinions, disruptive and destructive behavior on our property is not tolerated," said mall management in a statement.

By 7:45 p.m., the area was cleaned up.

"They made a mess," said Monica Yuen, owner of San Francisco Glass Works, a kiosk selling delicate imported crystal earrings, bracelets and other jewelry. She was trying to assess the damage to her wares.

"I had a lot of jewelry on the top shelves that got smashed," she said. "They threw a big sign at it. I think some of it was stolen. I was crying and shaking."

A police source said five or six protesters were arrested for misdemeanor vandalism.

Holiday Party

The holiday party was held at Albatross, an average sized bar two blocks north of university on San Pablo avenue in Berkeley. I arrived shortly after the party had started at 9pm. A few people had already started drinking and were casually chatted. After an hour the bracelets were given out enabling the wearers to chalking up their booze to the company tab. At midnight I stood on a chair and gave this speech which myself and my friend Monica wrote. The crowd responded very positively cheering at moments and engaging at others. A loud ruckus was caused at the end. Good times.

My fellow proletarians long and toilsome have been the days preceding this joyous jubilant occasion. Our hours have been occupied by the demands of the inane, otherwise known as customers. Their tiresome requests for paltry items such as water, silverware, napkins, ranch dressing, espresso drinks, refills... is there ever an end to their triteness? More menus waiter. Another beer bartender! Clean this table you in the black shirt. Their tedious requests fill our days like salt in a gashing wound.

Why do we go forth with this masochism? Is it for the management, those boobs in their business causal attire? Their pleated pants and facial farces. Their never say die attitude that ennobles our lowly spirits? Is that what brings us to our place of employment on the daily? I say nay!

Do we return for the wages that we've already spent? As the tender tips slide ever so slowly and stiffly from the customers' wallets to our own the money seems to float away into a nebulous cloud of drugs, alcohol, and hookers. Surely if we were concerned with the capital in our lives, we would not be in the enterprise of service. I won't sully your thoughts recounting the hourly wages of the management, the cooks, the dishwashers, and hosts.

The question still plagues upon our mind. Why we return to our laborious occupations? Is it for the the free gruel that fills our stomachs like a beggar's porridge? Surely the pizzas, salads, lamb kebobs, and meaty skewers, once provided a delightful dance on our palates but with the passing days what was once a ballet on the tip of the tongue has turned into a death march down our esophagus's. It is no fault of the cooks that the food has turned so bland. We all know of their endeavors to spice our foods with their bodily excrement.

So what then do we return for???????

The annual holiday party, I say! Where finally the libations run as free and easy as the breeze through our undergarments, or lack therof. The alcohol brightens our souls from the gray of our working class existence. The rambunctious cheer and rosy cheeks of our intoxicated coworkers reminds us that we are humans, living, breathing, beings. Yes this! Right here! Right now! This is why we go through our perpetual plight. Cheers to free booze may its effects deliver us from employment on the morrow!

A view of the horizon

Its been a while since I've done any writing. Part of it is a writing block, or lack of desire to write. Especially the short story that has become longer than most of my others. Its a bit of a poor excuse. If you want to write, you have to write and just keep humping at it.

Of course I've also been preoccupied with training for my latest bout which was held yesterday in south San Francisco. The card was held in a high school gym with the ring in the center of the basketball court. The bleachers were pulled out and full of spectators. The fighters prepared themselves in the small two room wrestling room adjoined to the gymnasium.

My stable mate Joe Lacap was the first bout and I watched him from the doors of the dressing room. Joe's opponent was from Cung Le's gym and like Joe was a small Filipino. Their bout started off slow with both of them wary about engaging. Joe spent a fair amount of the fight being pensive and not engaging. When he did engage his strikes were clean, especially his punches. His clinch work was okay. Most fighters in the states have pretty atrocious clinch skills so I was happy that Joe got a good knee or two in. I thought that Joe lost the first round, gained the second, then scraped by with the third. The judges gave Joe a split decision win, deservedly. If he had pressed more in on his opponent I think Joe could have gained a majority win.

My bout was the third bout of the evening and my opponent was Jose Perez a latino from Cung Le's gym. We weighed in on Friday at 146 lbs each. I cut about 7 pounds for my fight. Thursday evening I spent some time in a sauna and on friday I jogged with a sauna suit. I avoided eating until the evening as well which made me slightly irritable in the evening as we waited endlessly for the scales to come out. The day of the fight I'd gained back my weight through rehydration and a good deal of eating. Yesterday morning I began by eating some oatmeal, then a peanut butter and plum jelly sandwich. Later I had a tempeh and mixed green sandwich while snacking on mixed nuts and figs. My final ingestion of food was a delightful shake composed of banana, blueberries, almonds and some soy milk. My stomach felt slightly upset I think due to the tempeh. I haven't been able to digest soy as well as I did five years ago. Prior to my fight I was hungry. I wanted to fight on a slightly empty stomach because I didn't want to feel weighed down.

Coke led the way out of the dressing room and to the ring. I looked out at the crowd and recognized familiar faces sometimes making eye contact with my adoring supporters. I tried to stay focused and calm taking deep breaths in from my stomach. My breath fell out of me as the time passed and Perez came into the ring. The referee brought us together and the bout began. We touched gloves and I went to push kick him. He came directly forward with looping punches. My nervousness shot up as I've had trouble in the past with aggressive brawling punchers. To offset his forward antics I clinched up with him and began to knee him in the stomach. My mind was focused not on having great locks but on delivering clean knees into his midsection. Every time I kneed I looked down and tried to step out. Coke had been screaming at me for a month or so to make everything clean. The first round was spent primarily in the clinch along with the second, and third. Other than the brief opening onslaught Perez wasn't that active, unless you can call standing and getting kneed active. He threw one combination that ended with a leg kick that still has my leg slightly smarting and a single clean knee while we were clinched. One of Perez's concerns was getting kneed in the nuts. In the first round I delivered a sharp knee to his pelvis which grazed the top of his cup. The referee declared the blast clean but gave Perez some time. While we were in the clinch Perez would drop one arm to cover his nuts. Unfortunately that meant instead of landing shots into his stomach I landed them on his arm. In the third round I had Perez backed in his corner. I threw a shot that landed on his cup. Immediately recognizing that I had hit him I backed away while the referee gave him time to recuperate. Other memorable moments in my kneeing him included a period of time in which I switched from left knee to right. I was at a slight angle to him and so my right knee came over his leg. My right knee crashed into his kidneys. After the blow to the kidneys I came up with a left knee into the soft padding of his stomach. I switched back and forth between right and left for a good five seconds. At one point Perez was doubled over and I was driving my knees straight up into his bent over body. He was collapsing on the ropes and I was behind him so I kneed him in the ass. I thought of the sciatic nerve which runs in the buttocks when I pummeled his butt with my platela.

In between rounds my corner gave me sage advice, which sadly I didn't follow. Coke told me to make more space with the knees, to thrust more with my hips, while Mike advised me to use more footwork, and to kick him in the body. Additionally Mike told me to drop my elbows down. Perez was bear hugging me a lot when we came close as he didn't really have a good idea of how to deal with my knees. I landed about three kicks on Perez the entire fight and barely used the boxing which I've been practicing so much.

Overall I felt like I fought okay. There's such a gap between training and fighting. Its always surprising that there is so much space between the two. After the bout I waited with some anxiety. My amateur record hasn't been that great. I've lost the judge's decision on bouts that were close and when the announcer said that there was a winner by unanimous decision I swore to myself saying "Fuck not again." I won the decision which made me happy. I did a slight wiggle in the ring but felt that I might embarrass my opponent with my jubilee.

Its funny having won. I don't feel elated, I don't feel depressed. I feel like I got another fight done. I think I've fought better before, but that I did a few things better in this fight. Its another step, another marker in a long road race.

Consumer Rampage!

By STEPHANIE ROSENBLOOM

In a sign of consumer desperation amid a bleak economy, the annual rite of retailing known as Black Friday turned chaotic and deadly, as shoppers scrambled for holiday bargains.

A Wal-Mart worker on Long Island, N.Y., died after being trampled by customers who broke through the doors early Friday, and other workers were trampled as they tried to rescue the man. At least four other people, including a woman who was eight months pregnant, were taken to hospitals.

Fights and injuries occurred elsewhere at other stores operated by Wal-Mart, the nation's leading discount chain, which is one of the few retailers thriving in the current economy.

Meanwhile, two men at a crowded Toys "R" Us in Palm Desert, Calif., pulled guns and shot each other to death after women with them brawled, witnesses said. The company released a statement late Friday saying the deaths were related to a personal dispute and not Black Friday shopping.

Many other retailers appeared to have fewer customers than usual the day after Thanksgiving, typically one of the busiest shopping days of the year. Merchants call it Black Friday because in the past, it was when many retailers went into the black, or turned profitable, for the year.

It was mainly only discount chains that were bustling long before sunrise. People showed up for a small number of limited-time "door-buster" deals, such as 32-inch flat-screen televisions for $388 and Intel laptops for $499. In many cases, after an initial onslaught, crowds dwindled after the few sought-after items had sold out.

While tussles and even broken bones are common when the doors open on Black Friday, this is apparently the first time someone was killed in the stampede. For some consumer psychologists, the mad scramble was a sign of the times.

"I think it ties into a sort of fear and panic of not having enough," said Joe Priester, a professor at the Marshall School of Business at the University of Southern California and a former president of the Society for Consumer Psychology. A herd mentality, he said, can lead individuals to feel anonymous, so much so that they are capable of trampling someone. "Fear combined with the group mentality?" he said. "It doesn't surprise me at all."

Actions "irrational"

Walter Loeb, president of Loeb Associates, a retail consultancy, said there was shopping mania at Wal-Mart every year. But this year, he said, it seems "people are becoming irrational in their actions."

That seemed the case early Friday at the Green Acres Mall in Valley Stream, on Long Island, where the Nassau County police had to be called in for crowd control about 3 a.m., and an officer with a bullhorn pleaded for order.

Tension grew as the 5 a.m. opening neared. By 4:55, with no police officers in sight, the crowd of more than 2,000 had become a rabble, and could be held back no longer. Fists banged and shoulders pressed on the sliding-glass double doors, which bowed in with the weight of the assault.

Witnesses and the police said the doors shattered, and the shrieking mob surged through in a rush for holiday bargains. One worker, Jdimytai Damour, 34, of Queens, was thrown back onto the black linoleum tiles and trampled in the stampede that streamed over and around him.

Some workers fought their way through the surge to get to Damour, but he had been fatally injured, police said. Damour, a temporary worker hired for the holiday season, was pronounced dead an hour later at Franklin Hospital Medical Center in Valley Stream.

Four other people, including a 28-year-old woman described as eight months pregnant, were treated at the hospital for minor injuries.

Detective Lt. Michael Fleming, who is in charge of the investigation for the Nassau County police, called the scene "utter chaos" and said the "crowd was out of control." As for those who had run over the victim, criminal charges were possible, the lieutenant said. "I've heard other people call this an accident, but it is not," he said. "Certainly it was a foreseeable act."

But even with videos from the store's surveillance cameras and the accounts of witnesses, Fleming and other officials acknowledged that it would be difficult to identify those responsible, let alone to prove culpability.

Some shoppers who had seen the stampede said they were shocked. One, Kimberly Cribbs of Queens, said the crowd had acted like "savages." Shoppers' behavior was bad even as the store was being cleared, she recalled.

"When they were saying they had to leave, that an employee got killed, people were yelling, 'I've been on line since yesterday morning,' " Cribbs said. "They kept shopping."

Outbreaks weren't restricted to New York. At a Wal-Mart in Columbus, Ohio, Nikki Nicely, 19, jumped onto a man's back and pounded his shoulders when he tried to take a 40-inch Samsung flat-screen TV to which she had laid claim. "That's my TV!" Nicely, 19, shouted. "That's my TV!"

Other outbreaks

A police officer and security guard intervened, but not before Nicely took an elbow in the face. In the end, she was the one with the $798 television, marked down from $1,000. "That's right," she cried as her adversary walked away. "This here is my TV!"

Charisma Booker, also on the hunt for a TV, said she had been shopping at Wal-Mart every Black Friday for nearly a decade. "There are fewer people here this year, but they're more aggressive," she said. "I've never seen anybody fight like this. This is crazy."

At a Wal-Mart in Niles, Ill., a mother fought back tears when she discovered someone had taken her cart filled with toys.

Many retailers opened earlier this year and offered the biggest discounts in their history.

Certainly Wal-Mart was not the only retailer with aggressive Black Friday shoppers. But before Best Buy opened at 5 a.m., shoppers lined up to receive tickets for merchandise they intended to buy, reducing the need to elbow one another to pick up electronic devices.

Chuck O'Donnell, district-services manager for Best Buy stores in New Jersey, said the lines "went all the way around the building, just like in years past."

Critics of Wal-Mart said the retailer had been negligent about security.

"They have problems with crowds every year, and inevitability, people get hurt," said David Nassar of Wal-Mart Watch, a union-financed group. "They should expect to plan properly for this kind of a problem and have adequate security in place, and they don't."

Wal-Mart officials said the safety of customers and workers was their "top priority" and the company's "thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those impacted."

Information from The Associated Press is included in this report.

A murderous planet pt. 6

When I got home I sat on my bed. I opened the window at the head of my bed and laid down. My mind went over the events of the last day. The death of Kanbergs, the harassing brass, the meeting with Moussa, and seeing Joe at the water. The pieces shifted around in my mind like autumn leaves in the wind. My eyes closed and I fell asleep.

When I awoke it was dark. My hand groped at the blade resting under my pillow. My fist clenched it while my other hand reached for the small night stand light. The lamp illuminated the room. My hand waved the knife around the room cutting the shadows caused by the night's darkness leaking into my bedroom and the small bedside torch. My body ached as it rose out of my bed. The clock on the wall announced that it was 9:13 pm. There was still time to kill before trying to meet with Blackwell. It seemed as though there was always something that needed to be killed.

My wardrobe had seen better days. My work clothes were the best of my rags yet they would not be suitable for my passage into the night. I dug deeper into my closet and found a wrinkled dress shirt that had a small hole under the armpit. After slipping it on I put on a pair of gray slacks whose cuffs had turned black from the soot that was constantly being kicked up from the ground. The converse all stars that were slipped on my feet to complete my outfit had been acquired just a month ago yet already were falling apart. I looked at myself in the mirror, my small band aid seemed to highlight the rest of my face. I furrowed my brow and stroked my chin. Several days worth of beard growth rested on my face, it wasn't quite itchy enough to demand shaving but was long enough to make me look unkempt.

The walk to the down low took fifteen minutes. I walked down shattuck avenue, hiding under the bright streetlights that blazed the streets. I walked down into the lounge and paid the attendant a five dollar note to gain entry. I ordered a gin and tonic from a mustached bartender and let my eyes run to the stage. The small platform at the end of the bar was occupied by two people. A medium sized guitarist with brown hair and a gray suit strummed away while a brunette in a strapless full bodied dress and long gloves sang. The singer was doing a rendition of " Put the blame on Mame," an old number that had come back into fashion. She slowly removed her gloves as she sashayed her hips and her vocal chords rang out the slow, luxurious words of the the song.
She sang:

When they had the earthquake - in San Francisco-back in 19`6
They said that old mother nature - was up to her old tricks.
That's the story that went around, but here's the real lowdown-
Put the blame on mame boys, put the blame on mame
One night she started to - shim and shake-
that brought on the `Frisco quake
So you can, Put the blame on mame boys,
put the blame on mame.
They once had a shootin' -up in the Klondike when they got Dan McGrew
Folks were puttin' the blame on - the lady known as Lew
that's the story that went around, but here's the real lowdown-
Put the blame on mame boys,
put the blame on mame
Mame did a dance called the Hichy-koo,
that's the thing that slew McGrew
So you can, Put the blame on mame boys
PUT-THE-BLAME-ON-MAME

As she went into the second chorus she stripped off one of her black gloves and tossed it to the crowd of onlookers. She looked directly at me as she finished her last lines and threw her hair back. Her long brown hair waved through the air slowly and majestically.

A murderous planet pt 5

I ate it on the corner outside the bakery musing over Moussa's information. The wind blew gently, tossing the newspaper along the deserted roads. The roads had been empty for a long time after the gas hikes. My old man used to tell me about days when gasoline was only 30 cents a gallon. When he was in the military and the price rose up to 50 cents a gallon, the lieutenants went ape shit. His particular section wasn't cut back but others were, the sections got smaller and jobs were displaced. Since graduating high school gasoline had jumped 300%, a few years after that when the recession really started to settle in gasoline rose in cost by 200%. Despite endless promises politicians couldn't lower the prices, the market had too much demand and not enough supply. The gas hikes and the bursting of the credit bubble had sunk the US economy. In just two years the US economic hegemony slipped away, quickly being replaced by contesting markets from asia (specifically china) and western europe (the united nations).

The lack of vehicles made being a pedestrian much more popular. Those of us with panache became thug flaneurs on the streets. No one walked without a little bit of gear on them; knuckles, a short knife. The poverty of the economy was highlighted by an increase in urban violence.

My eyes scanned the sidewalks, watching the shifting movements of the bums, and occasional pedestrian. Having time to kill til attempting to interview Blackwell I went west towards the water. The bay was grey and dirty with endless pollution caused by industrialization and the unfettered growth of capital. I lit a cigarette and pulled my coat tighter around my body, cursing the weather, with global warming I should be warm.

I got to the Berkeley marina around sunset. I walked to the edge of the water and looked north west across the bay into the city of San Francisco. The golden gate bridge stretched across the water, still in good repair due to the financial interests of the wealth in Marin County which lay north of the city. The urge to have a cigarette came over me and my hand went to my lighter when the voice behind me called out behind me. My body instantly whipped around. Joe stood behind me and a little further down from the edge of the water. Joe was one of the servers at Jupiter. He looked at me with his slightly bearded face, and shaved head. He was smoking a cigarette as well and slowly inhaled.

"What are you doing," he asked me.

"Looking out into the water. In the daylight you can see sectors of the a city that are to some extent decipherable."

Joe laughed and continued to smoke.

"Do you have a lighter," I asked. He handed me his lighter and I lit my cigarette. I handed him his lighter back which he slipped into his pocket.

"I still can't figure out why I ever moved here. Now I don't know where I should go," his voice trailed off as he inhaled another drag. He blew out a slow cloud of smoke that dissipated into the air. "You hear about Mike?"

"Something happened to him," I said.

"Dead."

"If I knew anything I'd probably keep it to myself, don't want the screws coming down for any reason."

"His body washed up not too far from here today. His head was blown off. I went to the morgue with his wife to identify the mess. Police said that it was drug related. You ever know Mike to do any drugs."

I shook my head.

"Me neither. Death is a haunting thing. Mike was always anti-social but we were friends. We lived together for a while back when things were different. You have any people die on you yet?"

My shoulders shrugged themselves while I looked at my coworker. I focused on his clothing which was worn and then at the black leather gloves he was wearing. The gloves were new. I wanted to take the glove, to weigh it and calculate how much it weighed in comparison to my own torn cotton scraps.

"I've had people die on me. Who hasn't? Everyone is dying, dropping off likes flies. Nothing stays the same. The world changes more rapidly every day; and day after day we produce it. We produce the bodies, the greed, the scum in the water. Everything. Fuck. When are things going to change." Joe threw his cigarette onto the pavement and stamped on it. He snatched another cigarette from his pocket and lit it up. He calmed after the first inhale. His chest rose and fell at a slower more even pace. "The things that the city tries to patch things up are just band aids over fractured lives. It bugs me that Mike is dead. That his body just washed up here. Fucking drugs!? No fucking way. This shit reeks."

"You ever hear of the Weltschmerz, Joe?" Joe shook his head and I continued. "Its pyschological pain caused by the realization that your personal weaknesses are exposed to be part of the cruelty of the world. If you stay out here much longer you might see more bodies wash up. Thanks for the light." I walked home.

A murderous planet pt 4.

I rolled out of bed at noon. My head ached. Bad habits, too many bad habits, I thought. The bathroom mirror showed my slightly beaten face. The mirror was grainy, my reflection murky, hardly clear enough to see my mug. My bathroom had seen better days, as had the building. The small house was on the border of the badland. Every day it seemed closer to the barren stratas in the city, inhabited only by decay. One month the poverty and the security force would push the muck south, the next month the new players in town would move with "white collar" crime up north, either way the house was eroding.

My fingers went over my cigarette burn. It was blistered. I considered popping it like a zit, letting the watery pus drain out but opted instead for a small bandage.

Information was a need. Things weren't clear enough. The possibility of the brass fingering me for Kanberg's unfortunate demise filled me with annoyance. The cops were just shaking me down I thought but my mind wondered what happened to the body. What would James do? I wasn't due back at the bar for another day or two so my schedule was open to do some sniffing around.

My kitchen was as empty as my belly. My stomach rumbled as I made the long walk to Jess' Bakery. There were two things to get at the little cafe, scones and info. Jess had opened the cafe a few months before the rioting and had some how managed to scrap by. Part of it was no doubt because it was the best place for picking up intel. It served as a kiosk for black market knowledge with the dishwasher, a young man named Moussa, keeping track of all the goings on in town in his computer like brain.

The cafe was dimly lit with a row of neon bulbs affixed to the ceiling. They didn't help to highlight the various baked goods in the cases. The natural light from the glass windows of the buildings facade provided most of the illumination and created most of the shadows. Jess, a medium sized woman with long black hair was mixing a cake in the back when I swung the door open. The door jingled as I opened it, the little bells attached to it announcing my arrival. The few tables in the cafe were half occuppied. Two men sat over a couple cups of coffee and some pastries quietly discussing business while another bald man with a small goatee sat in the corner. The bald man had a newspaper in front of him. The days headlines announced the increase in unemployment, another food riot in Oakland and a recent purchase made by one of Berkeley's large corporations of a plot of land in south berkeley. The bald man obviously had no interest in the paper. He eyed me up and down and nodded.

I looked the case of scones, cakes, cookies, and muffins over.

"Hey you got any macaroons," I asked, raising my voice slightly so Jess could hear me.

"Nope, we do have coconut truffles though. They're real good," she replied.

I nodded to myself. "Got anything with espresso in it?"

"Of course, what kind of town do you think we live in? Everyone needs there fix of something. Caffeine is a cheap commodity, a low rung," Jess said laughing. She dusted herself off. A slight cloud of flour filled the air as she moved to the storefront. "We have some delicious coffee cakes, a slight sprinkle of cinnamon, a heap of brown sugar, a dash of espresso. I used organic eggs, flour, and real vanilla. Would you like one?"

"Yeah sounds delicious."

"Here you go. That will be four dollars, fifty cents," she said as she handed me a small coffee cake. The cake had a nice visual appeal, certainly more luxiourous than the paper plate she handed it to me on.

"Thanks," was my answer as I handed her a twenty. "I was wondering if you'd seen Moussa at all today."

She looked at my bill, and shook her head.

"Oh I'm sorry I thought that was a ten dollar bill, I must have just given you a single." I forked over another twenty dollar bill. She nodded and put some money into the cash register, the rest into her apron.

"Jono, show this young man something about soccer would you?"

The bald man in the corner got up and motioned me to follow him. We walked out of the cafe and around the back of the building. He unlocked a small gate and motioned me through. He stood by the gate and pointed me down a little alley.

At the end of the alley two identical twenty something year old males sat on crates watching a soccer game. One of them drank a forty ounce bottle of malt liquor while the other smoked a spliff. The back street was filled with the pungent aroma of marajauna.

One of the men looked up at me. I nodded and stood behind the men as they watched the game.

"You know anything about the game," the one on the right said.

"Nah, not much. Can play alright if a ball is kicked to me, but don't do much in the way of following."

"They say that back in the 2nd century in China football started off, but it wasn't until the Cambridge rules imposed in 1848 that the game really got standardized. Let's say that's the starting point, back in the late 1800s. Its over two hundred years later and these fucktards still can't kick a ball worth my old e induced diarrhea."

"Things never really change do they?"

"Fuck nah," said the one on the right. He turned to me. "My name's Moussa, whatcha want?"

"Was curious about what the local brass do these days about bodies," I said.

"Hmph. What kinda cake you got there?" Moussa pointed at the paper plate that I held in my right hand.

"Coffee cake. I haven't had a bite yet. You want a piece?"

"All that caffeine gets me tweaked out. What about you Oussman?" The man on the left shook his head. "What's that about bodies? You talking live or dead?"

"The still kind."

"Depends on who made the body. Where you talking about?"

"I didn't come here to get pumped, I came here to get some gas."

"Ain't a one way street here. This alley is a dead end."

I stared at the game for a few minutes, mulling over my words.

"Last night one of the waiters at Jupiter the downtown restaurant bit it. The local brass came in. They gave the boys a shake down and let us go. The girls working were waved off. What's the protocol."

It took 15 minutes for Moussa to reply. He got caught up in the match. One of the teams changed their formation making offensive maneuvers. The game picked up pace and came to a crescendo with a goal. Half time was called and Moussa lit up another joint.

"Well the days being the days and all, and business being what it is, a downtown joint like Jupiter probably wants to keep things under wrap. The brass will take care of a body these days for a few. Service for both the business and the brass. The town looks clean and the restaraunt profits ain't hurt. Ain't nobody hurt but that body. Usually they dump it over in the marina. Sometimes it float on to the shore, but usually when it get called in they just tag it on some Oakland shit. Who working?"

"Myself, kid named Strong, some girls."

"What the girls names?"

"Amanda, Chelsie."

"Those Blackwell girls. You should look her up. Might find out why that body a body."

"You know where Blackwell spends her free time?"

"She move around at night, watching over her product, keeps an irregular schedule. Might want to try Beckett's up on Shattuck. Heard she's having problems up there with the merchandise being sassy." Moussa laughed.

"Thanks."

"No problem. You enjoy your coffee cake."