Elements that should be included in your post

There, apparently, is an unmarked, black van riding around the streets of Washington heights. Sleet is intermittent during the day. The time of day is dusk leading into night. Police sirens pepper the evening hours.

Ryan Ford

After a long day's work

After a long, hard day's work Ryan decided to take himself on an excursion to the local strip club owned by Big Rick. There he relaxed in the smoky air admiring the young and pretty hispanic woman working the pole. She was of a medium height with long, dark brown hair. For some reason that Ryan couldn't place, she didn't seem like she belonged there. Suddenly Ryan realized that the same chick he passed in the bar was there in the club. He worried that she would get the wrong impression of him in that place. But what was she doing there? Her body looked so perfectly shaped. Ryan decided that such a perfect figure should not go unacknowledged. He was still so angry he was worried it might interfere with any relationships he might try to forge. Oh well, he would try anyway.

MAndi Mac

The Boots

Clunk. Mandi dropped her white bag with the red "thank you" letters on it as she went to chase her hat that was flying accross the street. The wind was crazy that day and that was the third time she had lost her hat to the wind.
"Are you serious?" Mandi uttered as she walked back towards the box of take home food for her dad. The box was completely smooshed in the center, and about six yards past the box was a woman walking quickly in her big boots. "Well, gee, thanks boot lady," Mandi sarcasticly mumbled. She picked up the crunched box, turned the corner and entered Washington Heights. She knew that there was no time to go back to pick her dad another sandwhich up before she started her next shift.
"Now you better remember to bring me some food tonight. I ain't waitin around all damn night starvin cause you forget it or somethin. Since you've obviously been too lazy to make it to the grocery store," Mandi's dad told her earlier that morning.
Mandi didn't want to bring her father food at all, in fact she considered spitting on it somewhere for every time she thought about how much she hated him that day, or she would have liked for him just to not have a dinner at all. Mandi knew what her consequences would be if she didn't do as he asked... and unfortunately she knew what was going to happen for bringing home a squished sandwhich box; almost worst than no sandwhich at all.
Mandi rattled her keys in the door and walked in to her father passed out, as usual, on the recliner. He was awakened by her enterance. His eyes were immediately gleaming at the squished box Mandi was holding.
"Damnit girl. You can't even bring your own father a decent dinner? You have to go and let someone smoosh all on it. Huh. Like that was an accident. You probably did that yourself you little wintch," he said as he rose from the chair walking towards her. "You know after all I do for you... huh. Can't even bring be a decent SANDWHICH," he screamed as he slapped the box out her hands. The red katchup container cracked open and splattered on the walls. "Now look what you made me do," he said grabbing her wrist with one hand, shaking her back in forth with the other.
"Well why don't you just go ahead and hit me for it, save you the trouble, save me the time, and let me..."
"You are more like her every day. Just can't shut your trap, now can ya? And she wondered why I abused her. Huh! Its not that hard to see woman!"
Mandi wiggled loose and went to pick up the trash. As she was bending down to grab the white bag, he pushed her with his foot, making her lose balance and splat right into some of the spilled katchup. "Quit it!" She screamed up at him. "Look what you've made me do!"
"Me? Me? Look what I have made you do? Huh! If it weren't for you trying to screw up my super, if you could just do one damn thing right then none of this would have happened." He slowly bent over, grabbed her shirt on each corner and pulled her off the ground. His hand reached back and swung full throtle at her left cheek; knocking her back to the red sauce. "Now maybe next time I ask you to do somethin, you'll think twice about screwin it up."
Mandi stabalized herself and stood up, then walked out the door. "Stupid peace of shit," she heard through the muffling of the door. No time for make up to cover what had happened.
She walked in the enterance of the back of the dinner and began to put on her uniform peaces.
"Darlin, what is that on your face. Has your father..."
"I'm fine, thanks Mable," Mandi replied, avoiding making eye contact.
"Now Mac, come here darlin, you look like you need a hug," Mable said walking over towards Mandi. Mandi turned and embrased the welcoming arms. "Shh... it's alright dear," Mable said, trying to calm Mandi's crying. "Darlin, there are just some days when the sky is gray for a reason."

Mamie Wainwright

Locked Out

I woke up this morning itching to get out. Finally the week-long rain had stopped, and my old legs needed to walk. So I thought I'd go to church. My mama raised me Catholic, and although I don't practice anymore, I miss the morning service. It gives me something to think about during the day. Unfortunately, there is no church on this side of the interstate except the synagogue down the street. My mama always warned me to stay away from places like that, but I was desperate, so I got all gussied-up and took that rickety old elevator downstairs. The sky was casket gray and the wind was chilly. By the time I crossed the street to the synagogue, my toes were numb and my skin was translucent. But I trudged on, determined to attend the morning service. I walked right up to that front door and yanked on the handle. No one was going to keep me out--regardless of my religion.

The door was locked. Those rabbis wouldn't let me in, and the other parishioners hid inside. I didn't see a single soul. Just as I turned to make the long walk back to my apartment, a small grocery receipt flew by on a gust of wind. I watched it bounce up and down the street, jerking this way and that, like a marionette pulled by unseen hands. The wind suddenly quieted. The paper dropped. Right in front of a hole-in-the-wall store I'd never seen before.

A cheap sign out front advertised THE WRATH. I peered in the store window and saw a small woman bent over an oven. She was holding a few weeds and a cylindrical bar of something melty and white. All around her loomed cases of odd objects: old playing cards, odd candles, crystal balls. . . . Not the sort of place a woman of my age and upbringing should enter, but I was tempted. After being rejected by the people at the synagogue, a new friend like this might be nice. As I squinted to see into the shop, the receipt that brought me there blew up in my face and bounced down the street. I followed it, wondering where it would lead me next. It bounced down to the corner by Washington Heights, ricocheted off the traffic light and fluttered all the way to Manny's Grocery.

I looked up, and there in the window was a sign. NO ALCOHOL SALES ON SUNDAY.

Marissa Bancroft

Gusty day

It was a gusty day. Fresh with excitement. Invigorating right to the bone, chilling the heat, and jump-starting the mind. Marissa awoke this morning with a rejunevated spirit, and as always, she couldn't explain why. It was just a windy, gusty, intense sort of day.

Her day off from work, too. That was always a plus. And combined with the inspiring wind, the day's atmosphere was breathed cooly and easily. It was a Wednesday, no, maybe, a Thursday? -- it didn't matter. Marissa grasped the ball, handed to her by a mysterious force deep within the gloom of Washington Heights, and ran with it.

She slipped on her pink Chucks, remnants of her high school days. Before the baby, before getting kicked out, before Washington Heights. And off she skipped, spritely toward the Metro and then off to the University. She had her one morning class of the week, and she was excited.

Wait a second, what day is it again? Oh, Thursday -- good, she did have class and breathed a sigh of relief. And plus, tomorrow is Friday. She always appreciated Thursdays, though. The anticipation for the weekend always caught her senses -- she almost enjoyed the eager waiting more than the actual weekend. She lived by hope.

But not everyone did, and Marissa received a stark reminder as she saw Fil scramble around to repair his roof. He offered her a paper, and though she almost replied in the affirmative, she couldn't bring herself to it. New York Times, only. Not the Baltimore Sun. She had enough of Baltimore. In her mind, she dreamed of Broadway, Wall Street . . . Baker Street was the present, and she wanted none of it.

As her mind wandered off into the future, her past came back to shock her. No, not anyone or anything directly related to Hyannisport, Massachusetts. That didn't even matter. The past came to her in the form of Molina Rose, who shared her story. Once normal, even affluent, but then took a turn for the worse.

Worse? What am I thinking? she pondered. This is a great life, she retorted. This is freedom. No parents, no yacht clubs or tea parties -- no expectations. At least, none from anyone else. As Marissa hopped on the train to downtown, the only things she expected came from herself and herself only. All the cute boys at school, just distractions. All the foolish people in Washington Heights, all just distractions.

The future lay waiting at the other end of the subway line, at the other end of a college diploma, at the other end of a cul-de-sac, with a happy house, a happy family, and a happy life.

Finn Maersky

O, O, O...

said worrying. Then Boredom settled down into the kitchen, and the the knife cutting through carrot made the sound that a knife makes when it cuts through an onion through a pepper through cabbage. When the world (everything,) is under a blanket, it is impossible to feel intimate with anything at all, because there is too much detail. The cloud were a blanket. Worrying finally realized it had no place in the kitchen and left. What a relief for everyone involved it started raining.

When his father came smiling and dripping home, he glowed by the fire. His father was always coming home, he never left home, but was always coming home. When the gray of the short winter days came, his father became much more intimate with his surroundings because they were all he knew, he wasn't ignorant, he was so aware and then content.

"I am not unlike my father," the words spoke to a spice rack that came from places he'd never seen,but that was before Worrying left. when Worrying left, there was a solemn serenity within Finn. and he realized he was quite unlike his father.

down from the cliffs, the sea mangled in itself and magnetised the oceans of Finn's heart to churn and lapse and digress as well. Down, from the widow, onto the street. The sea of the people ready to catch the rain in their hair pushed and pulled nothing within him. Happiness had walked past outside his apartment door, but had not even knocked, and was accompanied by the managerie of other wet sentiments that had drowned and were slowly draining out of Finn's heart.

Snazy Filazy

What right things lead to

A small sound was buzzing so light, yet so clear,
Becoming a tune as Snazy approached near,
The old busted bar with the dim, blinking sign,
Some song there was playing, one hard to define.
A voice with a pitch so pure, loud, and new,
Like a crack in the silence, a sudden breakthrough.
She glanced at the window and right there she saw,
The sweet southern cowboy, eyes closed, singing tall.
But before she could move, the man looked up to see,
Two bright gleaming eyes staring back from Snazy.
The butterflies jumped in her stomach that turned,
Right upside down for the man whom she yearned.
Her feet moved so fast without thought, she then ran,
Away from the bar, far away from the man.
"How embarrassing!" Snazy shouted out to the sky,
But her smile grew bigger without quite knowing why.
A glimpse of the sun, peaking out from behind,
The usual grey clouds that she grew to not mind,
Made her realize how fast her heart skipped a beat,
For that country boy singer she was dying to meet!
She sat in the diner, her thoughts scattered far,
After ordering her blueberry pancake she saw,
A man crouched and lonely on the bench right outside,
She noticed his weakness, his hunger that cried,
From beneath the dark shadows that set on his face,
Something had to be done in order to replace,
The emptiness lurking above and beneath,
The man filled with nothing but deep sighs of grief.
In half of a moment she walked out the door,
Giving food to the homeless man, needing it more.
"I overlook all the things that I have here,
Taking good life for granted, not facing my fear,
A great opportunity to see what could be,
I can't run away from a true love story."
So she turned right around and thought it all through,
Following her heart toward the love that she knew.

Charlie Slicks

THE PIECE

Charlie came up with a lame excuse to miss work the morning after he bought his tool.

"I gotta go to the doctor, I gotta stomach ache and I need medicine," Charlie lamely said to Ms. Wong.

"Okay Charlie! You make noodles when you come back though," Ms. Wong replied.

"Alright. The noodles, I got it." Charlie replied.

Charlie stepped out the noodle store and jacked the nearest bike he could find. He came upon a beautiful BMX bike with the black mags so nice, and he had to have it. Charlie whipped out a pair of metal cutters, busted the lock, and was rolling out in under 30 seconds. He popped a few bunny hops and wheelies, trying to look natural on his newly stolen bike.

Then Charlie remembered he had to stay focused. He scanned the worn out dump of a town that laid out in front of him, it wasn't New York and subways, but it would have to do. He had to throw up one of the biggest graffiti pieces he had ever done. All for her. He rolled down several roads but couldn't find the right spot to sketch out his master plan.

Soon, Charlie came upon a local, but lovable bum named Fil. He bought a couple of soggy newspapers from Fil, and inquired about some of Fil's favorite chill spots. Charlie knew bums always knew where straight spots to sleep were, and where there were bums, there was always a good spot to do some graffiti.

"Well, I don't know mister, some times when it gets really cold I will climb into the old warehouse at the edge of downtown and sleep in there," Fil replied, leaking out a breath that smelled of raw sewage and rat piss.

"Thanks Fil, I can always count on you," Charlie said.

Charlie popped a ill barspin of the curb and quickly pedaled away. As he looked at the sky's overcast clouds he could almost make out his mother's face smiling down onto him. He was surprised and felt chills go down his spine, Charlie looked up for one more glance; but didn't see the open manhole.

Blackness.

Charlie slowly lifted his head from the pool of salty sticky liquid around him. It was nighttime now, probably eight or nine o'clock. Charlie turned down to realized that his head was resting in a pool of his own blood. He remembered the feeling of the curb smacking him in the back of the head now. He got to his feet and felt light-headed. He could barely mount the bike to ride home.

When Charlie finally had ditched the bike and stumbled into the Chinese restaurant, it was probably one in the morning. He made noodles like a zombie, emotionless and tired. He fell onto his cot, and the blood on the back of his head had just started to coagulate, it had also stopped bleeding partially because of the immense amount of dirt in the gash.

Charlie slept deeper than he had in his whole life.

This week's weather - and an impending death

This week's weather adds a gusting wind that whips through the city periodically, and the sky is a constant cloudy gray. Also, before the last week of this blog, we will draw from the bag to determine who will die. Only one will. Also, I have not posted the sixth blog for this week because it was not written in time. Because I am quite tardy in the posting, you have until Wednesday night to post your 4th blog.

Dominic Roberto Machelli

Roof Top Shadow

While i was in the process of walking over to the rather plump woman in the red dress sitting down in the bar, I noticed a suspicious looking guy sitting at the bar. I had never seen him in there before so naturally I was a bit curious about the fellow. Something about him just wasnt right. He was trying just a little too hard to be noticed. He stank like a pig. He just had that ora about him. I didnt much like reporters in my bar because I figured that they were always up to no good, so imagine how peved I was when I saw this little foul cop in my establishment. I told Left to tell the bar tender to let that pig catch a glimpse of some of the tools that we kept behind the counter just to let him know what he had waiting for him if he ever came back to my place. I couldnt believe this guy. If it aint one thing its another, right? I needed a smoke and some fresh air. The only thing was that I couldnt go for a walk because it was raining cats and dogs outside. The damn whether men never got it right. Hmmp, 72 and partly cloudly...right. I walked over to the window to see if the storm had done any real damage outside. When I looked up at the clouds to try and see which direction the storm was headed, I saw what appeared to be a person standing on the roof of the Washington Heights Apartment buildings. It was kinda hard to make out exactly what they were doing on account of the freakin gale force winds and rain outside but it looked as if they were trying to cover up something on top of that roof. I couldnt make out what it was though. That was just too curious for me to let. I told Lefty that as soon as the storm let up to get up on top of that roof and check things out. Whatever was going on up there was obviously important enough to risk being struck by lightning, meaning that it was definitely something that I needed to know about. Nothing worth while should go on around here, if I didnt know about it. I told Lefty to find out what they were covering up by any means necessary. I wanted to know who was on that building and why. I told Lefty to get the scoop and bring the info on this mystery character to me.

Fil

selling words

FIl woke early. Water dripped down from a crack in his foliage roof. He got up and patched it with some dirt and leaves.The rain would cake the leaves together. People wanted their news. He rifled through his pile of rags and pulled out a patched up raincoat. It was too big. He had 'borrowed' it from the local store, and he was small for his age. His morning routine. He clambered down the branches and jogged to the edge of the town by the highway. Everyday, he found the newspapers. He didn't know who left them there, but he took advatage of it to make some nickels. He had to walk back under the weight of all the words he carried. He put the news down, stuck the sign back on the bus stop, placed the cup by his feet, and waited. It would be a long day. The constant drizzle was no bother to him. He just sat back and watched another sorry day unfold.

The first sign of life was the swindler, picking up his S.S. money. He had a stain on his shirt. Fil swore the man did it on purpose. Alan was high yet though. Maybe this day would turn around for him. No. there he goes to get his supply of syringes. When he was safely back in the building, the crazy woman came out of the store. She looked both ways and hurried back to her appartment building, oblivious to the rain. Fil felt sorry for her. The showgirl came out. She was wearing a smile, as always. Fil could not see why. When the world helped him out, he would smile, maybe say something, but not 'til then.

Another slow day. No one really bought newspapers, especially soggy on-ow, he thought. Someone had just run into him. People never noticed him. He liked it that way. This woman didn't notice either. Her face was blocked by boxes of flowers, stacked in her arms.

He waited. Now dusk, it was still raining. A woman on her phone crossed the street to Oscar's. She looked tense. The man that had been following her since she came to this town went after her. She came out quickly. She had blood on her hand. FIl was worried. The man didn't come out. Resigned, Fil started packing up for the night. Things were getting strange. Stranger than normal. He wanted to get out, but this was the only place he could remain anonymous, but he felt that was about to change. The town was stirring from its stupor. He didn't like it one bit.

Molina Rose

It didn’t always use to be like this. There was a time when Molina lived a normal; some would even call a privileged life. Every night as she slid on her boots before leaving for work you could see the grace in her motion. What a waste, someone had spent money on her ballet class and driven her to piano recitals. Such a waste. A year seems like forever when spent in this type of place. It didn’t used to always be like this. She didn’t have to be a stripper at some sorry excuse for a club; she could have been anything she wanted to. Oh well what’s done is done.
Shit! It is too god damn cold in here. I know it is not raining, I just know it aint. Not today, not this one day I get to step the hell outta’ this sorry town. No not today. It isn’t raining on me today. I’m gonna’ need to find some way to get a car.
Damn it I’m bout to be late again. Where is my jacket? I can’t ever find where that damn thing is at. Shit, well he’s just gonna’ have to deal with me being latte. I’m not the one who wanna’ meet all that far away to keep people from seeing us. I don’t have no problem bein’ seen.
Why is the damn elevator taking so long? Finally. Well damn and who is she? She looks new, still happy and cheerful. I guess this hell hole hasn’t broken her down yet. I really aint in no mood to see some happy ass looking little girl. I know if I get on she is goin’ to try and talk to me and I ain’t got shit to say. I guess I ma have to be taking the stairs. Already late, might as wel avoid what I don’t wanna’ deal with.
My hair is going to get messed up.

Ricky Shay

It is only so long before one man can't take the stresses of poverty any longer... before the hunger and the greed takes over and the morals of society matter not. I cannot continue like this. Today is the day I take what is not rightfully mine and enjoy it. I have suffered far too long while they all prosper. Stolen coins, pilfered bread, it is not enough. I need something big. I need something to completely turn my life around. Today is the day.

...

I woke up to the cold patter of the rain. I was drenched from head to toe, shivering uncontrollably. I made my way from the hard park bench over to the nearby synagouge and pulled on the door. Locked. It was late at night and the only light came from the windows of the towering apartment complex. Lucky bastards with their soothing heaters and their comfortable beds. Here I am standing out in the cold rain with no shelter and they have all the comforts they need and more.

I walked over to the nearby flower shop, hoping the owner was foolish enough to keep the door unlocked, but alas. The window, however, was opened just the slightest bit, maybe I could squeeze myself through and escape the rain. However, no matter how much I tried, it was hopeless. As skinny as I was, the window would not give enough space.

I walked into the middle of the street, exposed to all of the rain and sat down, knowing at any second a car could emerge from the darkness and take away the cold and he hunger. I stared at the diner, dreaming of what lied just beyond the door. I knew that in the morning, the smells would fill my nostrils and I would once again struggle against the urges to burst in there and grab the food off an unfortunate man's plate.

Jealousy. Jealousy, jealousy, jealousy.

Just then, two blinding lights approached from Baker Street. Right before they came close enough to end it all, a loud screeching sound filled the neighborhood, and the lights veered a sharp right. All of this was followed by the shout "Damn low-life!" from late night bastard behind the wheel.

Those words were just enough to set me off. I grabbed the nearest chunk of gravel and hurled it at the car. The glass shattered and I ran off towards the park to escape the wrath of the driver, however, after a few strides, I noticed that there was an absence of an engine roaring after me, or the cursing of an enraged late night bastard.

I stopped and turned around and faced the scene. Only the low rumble from the stationary vehicle could be heard. I cautiously walked up to the car and looked through the shattered window. Shards of glass had embedded themselves inside the driver's face and neck. The chunk of gravel lay in the passenger seat. It had gained a splotch of crimson on one side, obtained from its skull crushing collision.

I stood there, shocked. Amazed. Guilty. Empowered.

This is what it is like to be free.

Fey Mandrake

This is the Way the World Ends......

It was dark out. Fey hated the dark. How could anyone trust something that concealed dangers. Evil. That was the word Fey used to describe the dark. It was the only thing that Fey felt truly deserved the word. Closing the curtains and turning away from the window that led to a seemingly unending blackness and to the room that flooded her with light, she sighed.

"Fey, don't you see there's nothing out there to hurt you? The dark is no different from the light. What are you going to do when you must live out on your own?" Fey hadn't known what to say, she could only look at her mother silently.
"As usual, you just stand there silent. Waiting. What are you waiting on?" Why did mother insist on always asking the questions that Fey had no way of answering? She had gotten better. Since finding Finicky, Fey had been able to sleep without a night light and withstand the dark inside rooms. There she knew she wasn't alone. It was late. Fey was tired, so she called Finicky over and went to bed.

*************
Pit...pat...pit...pat..pat..pat.pat.pat.patpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpat. That was the sound Fey seemed to wake up to most mornings here in Washington Heights. Not that she disliked the rain. Really it was a good part of the world. Fey just wished that the sun would make a consistant appearence in Washington Heights more often then not. Finicky whinned beside Fey and went over to the door frame of the bedroom to scratch at it.
"I'm comin' Finiy, don't worry, I won't make you hold it in. Even on a rainy day." Fey laughed at Finicky. Whenever he had to go out and they were in the apartment he seemed to act like he was asking for some great favor.

Fey walked to the coat rack, Finicky by her side, and put on a coat, grabbed an umbrella, and stuffed her crotched hat into her bag along with a plastic bag.
"Let's be off!" She opend the door, and the pair went out.

Fey and Finicky turned into the vacant lot and walked to the far corner of it. While Finicky did his business, Fey politely looked elsewhere. It was then she noticed the stand in the lot had been reopend. Once Finicky had finished, Fey was pleased to find there would be no need for the bag and began to walk back to the side walk. The reason for the use of the vacant lot as apposed to the park was simple. there were so few nice areas in Washington Heights Fey figured Finicky could use one of the least pleasant parts and leave one of the nicest ones unspoiled, atleast by himself.

Reaching the sidewalk, Fey decided to go out for some coffee. The rain wasn't that bad after all, and she had her umbrella jauntily held above her head. Walking past the now unvacated stand, Fey was struck. Not physically, but with the sight of a great bird perched on a shelf. It wasn't alive, Fey could see that, but the state it was in wasn't natural. From the earth it came, and to the earth it should have returned, all of it, for the next generation. Fey suddenly became aware of a small, strange woman looking back at her. Averting her eyes, Fey hurried herself and Finicky down the street towards the traffic light.
Deep breaths Fey, deep breaths. Everyone has a reason. It is just her being herself, you are not the one to judge, or you will be judged. Despite her attempt to calm down and just accept the woman as she'd accepted everyone else, a cold chill went down her spine as she thought back to that bird.