A Midnight Clear on the Boulevard of Boys

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Not the same old story....

A Midnight Clear on the Boulevard of Boys

by Donna Lamb

Molly staggered a little on her high heels, parts of the Boulevard of Boys were a bit steep to be walking in the dark. And it was dark, a moonless night in late December. No smog or fog concealed the skies; Molly didn't think she'd seen the stars so bright since she'd come to Los Angeles from her home in Pennsylvania. Only the glare of the traffic prevented her from seeing thousands of stars but even the few dozen bright ones she could see between the buildings and power lines were unusual sights.

Gooseflesh covered her bare legs and arms -- partly from cold, for even Southern California can be nippy in the winter -- but partly from an uneasiness she couldn't name. She wasn't strung out; she didn't do the heavy shit except a few skinpops. It had just been a weird night and it had barely got started.

Threats from her pimp had driven her out on the Boulevard before sunset and now she would have to walk more than a mile to her usual corner because Jerry had refused to give her a ride. "Damn," she cursed mildly. "Why does he have to be such a jackass?"

A cruiser slowed in the nearest lane, the driver checking her out. "Shit," she muttered. It really was a cruiser, a sheriff's cruiser. The black-and-white stopped, then pulled into the driveway between a dry cleaner and a storefront lawyer's office.

The county peace officer got out and looked at her over the top of the patrol car.

Molly tried to strike an attitude but she was cold, tired of walking already and freaked by something. She pulled her fake lambskin half-jacket around her and stood with her legs close together and her arms crossed over her chest. Maybe it was the hormones she'd been taking, she thought; maybe they were making her crazy like a real woman.

"What'choo doin' walkin' heah, Molly? It ain't hardly dark thirty yet and you muss be ten blocks from yo' corner?" The cop purposely spoke in the muddy street dialect of South Central L.A. and she knew his voice. An ex-gangbanger himself, the streetwise deputy had a reputation for being soft on the citizens of the Boulevard who carried no guns and sold no drugs.

"Joe Bertie," she said. "Deputy Joe, gimme a ride?" It couldn't hurt to ask.

"Shee-it," said Joe. "I ain't in the bidness of being a taxi fo' no ho." But he grinned at her, in a friendly way. "I 'spose I could maybe let you sit in the cruiser whilst I questions you 'bout -- stuff? Then we could sorta drift down the Boulevard and maybe I could let you back out, near, um, Hancock?"

"Ho, ho," she said.

But when he came around and opened the right hand door for her, she gratefully slid inside, out of the chilly wind. After he'd got back in and pulled out into the traffic, he asked her again, "'Choo doin' out so early and walkin', girl?"

She shook her head to say that she didn't really have any explanation. "You want something, Joe?" She thought his reference to Hancock Avenue might have been a hint and as long as she didn't mention money or offer him explicit sexual favors, he couldn't arrest her. Well, he could but he'd have to lie. Besides, this part of the Boulevard was in L.A. not the county and Joe was out of his jurisdiction.

"Nah," he said. "I'm good. I just goofin' on you wi'that Hancock stuff." He grinned. "Jerry th'ow you out?"

She nodded. "Told me he wants four hundred before midnight, and no excuses."

"Shee-it!" Joe shook his head. "That dink is pure loco. How you goan make fo' hundred tonight? They ain't hardly no traffic."

It was true; the Boulevard held not a quarter of its usual flood of vehicles for this time of night. She sighed. "I think it's his way of warning me I'm gonna get a beating."

"Why he want to beat on you, darlin'? And tonight?"

She shrugged. "You know," she said. Not many johns would stop for a quickie from a tranny prostitute on Christmas Eve; her beating was almost a certainty. And she didn't think Jerry was even from a Christian family, why would he care? He was probably pissed off just because it would be a bad night for his whores.

They said nothing for a few blocks while the police radio between them played a hymn to violence, misdeeds and disaster. "See the man," said Joe, pulling to the curb. "That my car number; I got to let you out, Molly, honey. Got to go see the man on Melrose."

"Kiss, kiss," she said in thanks as she climbed out; she had only a two block walk now. Joe laughed and sped away after she closed the door.

The wind coming up the Boulevard chilled her but it was nothing like a winter in the Rust Belt city where she'd been born sixteen years before. Of course, she would have been wearing more there. Or would she? Did pimps make whores dress in fishnets and mini-skirts in the winter in places like Boston and Detroit? She wouldn't have been surprised. "Bet they have to send out trucks to clean frozen hookers off the streets in the mornings, right ahead of the snowplows," she said aloud and giggled.

She reached her corner and alternated standing out of the wind in the doorway of the bakery for five minutes at a time with standing right on the curb where potential johns could see her pretty legs for as long as she could stand it. No one could doubt her profession but for the first half hour she had no takers. Still, she did her job as well as she could, trying to look alluring and cheap.

Night settled on the city, getting darker then lighter as the street lights and night time signs came on. The few stars bright enough to be seen against the glare twinkled like lonely drag queens. One in particular, east above the city, shone bright and steady enough that it must be a planet or a satellite, she decided. She imagined it to be Venus, not knowing enough astronomy to realize that would be impossible.

Tunelessly mouthing the lyrics to the song, she bopped on the street corner. "I'm your Venus, your desire," she sang. Dancing kept her warm for several minutes until three motorcycles pulled to the curb and she stopped.

The big man on the lead Harley had a Santa Claus beard, a dirty bandanna around his forehead and a tattoo of a ghost on the back of his hand. "You Molly Bedlam?" he asked around the joint in his mouth.

She nodded, wondering how he knew her street name. She didn't think she'd ever seen him before.

He fumbled in the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a money clip. "This is for the kid," he said then revved his hog and pulled forward.

The second biker looked like an Indian, dark-complected and clean-shaven with a nose like the hood of an old Pontiac. His hair hung in two thick, black braids down the side of his face and he wore a rancher's coat over his jeans and plaid shirt. Molly tried to look at him and at the money in the fat clip at the same time; it looked like it might all be hundreds.

"You need some weed," said the Indian, pulling a large Ziploc out of his fleece-lined coat. The buds inside glistened with waxy potency, golden and seedless. "Ev'body must get stoned," he intoned then revved his bike and got out of the way.

The black biker was last, his shaven head gleaming like the black skullcap helmets of the other two. His tangled beard had yellow ribbons woven into it and two silver streaks running parallel down from his chin. He reached into his boot and pulled out a gun.

Molly gasped.

"Don't let nobody mess with you," he said and passed her the little automatic, butt first.

She almost dropped it, trying to juggle the money clip, the dope bag and her tiny plastic purse. She asked, "Who are you guys?"

The black man smiled, "I'm Skonk, that's Raven and Friendly. We're the Road Kings. Eddie Murphy told us where to find you."

Molly had never met Eddie Murphy, despite the legend that he liked to cruise the Boulevard of Boys, picking up the queens for a chat. She gaped at Skonk, wondering why he would tell such a strange lie.

Engines snarling and spitting fire, the bikers sped away, disappearing into the westbound traffic without looking back.

Molly stuffed the gun into her purse, hid the dope inside the sleeve of her jacket and retired into the bakery doorway to count the money. There were forty hundred dollar bills in the clip, four thousand dollars -- more than her life was worth, she knew. "The hell?" she whispered. She counted them again. Still forty.

She wouldn't have to turn any tricks to make four hundred for her pimp but she'd never be allowed to keep the money if she went back to Jerry. Not unless she shot him with the little gun. She shivered again and not from cold.

The thick wad of money would barely fit in her purse with the pistol already there but she shoved it in anyway. She stood well back from the curb, trying to hide from view in the skimpy cover of the bakery doorway. She tried to think of what she should do but before she could make a start she heard footsteps.

More high heels, the teevee hooker who called herself Willow strode up the Boulevard. Most nights, Willow and Molly shared the corner sometimes with two other girls. Molly prided herself on looking completely female, prettier than some of the real girls over on Sunset but Willow had hairy, muscular arms and beard stubble. They appealed to completely different clientele.

"'Zappenin'?" asked Willow in a slurred voice.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Molly.

"Got that right," said Willow. "I don't believe nothin'. I don't believe my sweet Jake got me out here on Christmas Eve freezing my buns off. For what?" She staggered on her teetery heels, calf muscles clenching.

Molly nodded, numb with tension. She couldn't confide in Willow for the sisterhood of whores is more myth than reality. Besides, Willow was drunk but Molly wasn't sure she'd ever seen Willow sober.

"You had any luck?"

Molly shook her head. Luck wasn't what she had had except for when Joe gave her a ride.

"You ain't going to make any money hiding in the bakery, sweetie," said Willow.

Molly just shook her head again, letting Willow have the place near the curb to wave and wink at passing cars.

A third girl showed up. She called herself Tamaqua and dressed in torn jeans and a red bustier worn over a long-sleeved yellow t-shirt. Molly had shared the corner with her before, too. Tammy, as the other girls called her, affected Gothic makeup and dayglo fingernails. Again, the three working girls did not really compete.

Tammy answered Willow's, "'Zup?" with a shrug and barely glanced at Molly. She stood back from the curb, smoking a Shermie and looking freakish -- possibly the most subtle advertisement in Hollywood.

The fourth girl arrived without the click-clack of heels. Mee-Lynne dressed like a college girl and wore cut down sneakers. She even carried a book, a paperback Stephen King, and she moved down the block a bit to stand in better light where she could read. The corner had become a delicatessen of tranny delights, something for every taste.

Molly stayed in the bakery doorway and dithered over what she should do.

Two white-haired little old ladies came down the sidewalk pushing shopping carts full of old clothes, record players and video cassettes. Howie Doon, one of the local winos, followed them, talking to himself. He wore a black t-shirt under a USC sweater with a camouflage field jacket over that. He had pulled a pair of drawstring sweatpants over his threadbare Levis, for warmth. All his clothes were too big and he had stuffed excelsior and shredded newspaper into his sleeves and pants legs so that he leaked stuffing like a worn-out plushie. He carried a bag of groceries in one arm and a bottle of wine wrapped in a newspaper in the other.

"Got no television, how'm I gonna hear the news? Man send me a messenger, I gotta go to the courthouse. Gotta tell the judge, 'm innocent. I didn't steal no bread, I didn't smoke no grass, and I sure didn't -- hello, ladies," he said to the ersatz girls on the corner. He smiled and his missing teeth looked better than the ones he still had.

Mee-Lynne ignored him, Tamaqua sneered at him but she snered at everyone. Willow cursed him and moved away so Howie turned his empty grin on Molly. "How'ee doin'?" he chirped, cheerful as sunshine.

"I'm all right," said Molly quietly, grateful that the wind was blowing up the boulevard so she couldn't smell him.

Howie peered at her through the tangles of his eyebrows and beard. "You got problems? Not to worry, some big man's goin' take care of you. You jes' got to wait a little while." He took a swig from the bottle and Molly caught a whiff of the potency of whisky, not wine. "See, the messenger from the court house, or was it the White House, he done tol' me -- Molly is goin' to be all right. She's goin' to be a queen among queens. Yessir." Near the curb, Willow snickered.

Howie seemed ready to expand on this theme when he interrupted himself. "Hey! Mavis, don't you go out inna street!" he shouted at one of the bag ladies. "Eva, don't follow her. Goddam." He nodded at Molly, "Scuse me, I gotta watch these two, get them down to the mission. And they got my stuff in they carts." He hurried off, taking his bourbonic plague stench with him.

Molly watched him shepherd the two old ladies down the boulevard, wondering if Howie realized he was going the wrong way on the wrong avenue -- the downtown mission was back the other direction and Covenant House was on Western. Eva's cart got away from her about then and Howie chased it into the street, yelling at the cars that had to dodge around him. The cart ended up stuck in the tracks of the old Electric Railway and he had to wrestle it free while Mavis and Eva giggled at him from the curb.

Molly decided that Howie had survived on the streets much longer than she had; he probably knew of some little church that would take him and his bagladies in on Christmas Eve. There wasn't anything she could do for him except maybe donate all the money weighing her down to some homeless shelter. She thought about that and huddled deeper into the doorway.

A big SUV picked up Willow and brought her back fifteen minutes later. A car full of boisterous suburbanites picked up Mee-Lynne. A new Thunderbird pulled to the curb and Tamaqua sauntered out to dicker. After a moment, she called to Molly, "Good news. He wants you."

Molly didn't know what to do. Moving like a sleepwalker, she ended up at the curb, clutching her purse and bending over with one hand on her knee. "I'm not working tonight, mister," she said, her voice breaking up a bit.

"Get in," said the man in the Thunderbird.

"I'm not working," she repeated.

"I'll double what you've got in the bag," said the man. He'd turned out the overhead interior light and she could see his face only in the dim glow of dashboard gauges. He had wavy hair that might be dark, a closely trimmed beard and moustache and regular features. He wore a shirt with a collar and a ring with a Masonic symbol. He looked right into her eyes and said, "Get in, Molly Bedlam. Get in the car, Matthew Lucas Bishop."

Molly gasped and got in the car.

"We're going to do things differently this time," the man told her.

Six hours later, just after midnight, Deputy Joe Bertie found her on a different street corner in West Hollywood with a man's suit jacket wrapped around her bulging tummy. Joe used his siren to get her to the only Westside hospital that would take street people having an obstetric emergency.

They had to do a caesarean, of course.

"It's a miracle," said one of the nurses.

"It's a girl," said the doctor.

Notes:

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Comments

A very neat twist

To make this improved Xmas story more believable, we could hypothetize that Molly had an extremely rare intersex condition in that she had a uterus deep inside her, but no external female parts. But then the truly hard to believe part becomes the gestation time compression aspect: how was it that she went from zero to ready to pop in mere 6 hours, as opposed to the expected 9 months?

Being a very definite non-Christian, I am not too familiar with the original version of this tale - did the original also feature some time compression where Mary's pregnancy was way shorter than 9 months?

Fun story, maybe closer to the real story than we like to think.

I got the star in the sky, Joesph the police deputy, the three wisemen with the gifts & Xmas decorations in the beards, the cash for the baby sealed my suspicions, the two old ladies and the drunk looking for shelter for the night.

There was a story that Mary had an association with a roman soldier who may have been the father, maybe he was a Molly?

Donna, or is that Madonna? what a creative piece of work put together so well - loved it!

LoL
Rita

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

A good Christmas tale

Podracer's picture

There are many, but I'm glad this one popped up as I would have missed it, laid in the dusty past. It twinkles, Adonna. :)

Teri Ann
"Reach for the sun."

Very nice story!

gillian1968's picture

It took me a while to catch the references, but it was a fun story.
Glad I caught it this time.
Have a happy 2015!

Gillian Cairns

Well. I really loved this story, Midnight clear...

And I thougth it was on of the neatest and most clever things I ever read.
Of course, when I wrote a story dealing with christian mythology, it was
probably not as well thought of. I think it's just because this was a
great story, adonna

Sarah Lynn Morgan

Love the humour

Monique S's picture

Wonderful story! I don't rememeber a Christmas story ever, that made me laugh so hard. Well done!

Monique S

what no little drummer boy ?

it is about as real as the original myth ...was hoping for better ending though

I Completely Missed It

littlerocksilver's picture

But then, I'm not particularly bright.

Portia

I'll Pay This One

joannebarbarella's picture

Love the twists on the Christmas story.

A very special Christmas story,

and I do not know if it was for the contest, but I voted for it anyways! Just wonderful.

Sweet and touching

Just what we need today. Happy Christmas to all.

>>> Kay

Re-re-re-presented...

Absolutely wonderful. This has become a true T-Christmas classic, and is one of the most memorable short stories in the genre.

A great Christmas present.
Easy

After reading this ode to the

After reading this ode to the Christmas Story, all I can say in response is "A MERRY and HAPPY CHRISTMAS to one and all; followed by a truly wonderful New Year.
Janice Lynn

A Midnight Clear on the Boulevard of Boys

Like the variation on the Nativity story.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Very nice story!

Janice34B's picture

Very nice story!

Janice

Wow, new comment on old story

This really makes a writer's day. ::smile:: Thanks and glad you enjoyed it.

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through Doppler Press to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Comment threading

The comment threading here is messed up but now I've got two nice comments on an old story. Thanks. ::grin::

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through Doppler Press to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

I did better this time

littlerocksilver's picture

Obviously, the story made an impression on me because I recognized the title immediately. A classic!

Portia

I think everyone knows the ending...

Most westerners have read the book. And neither Maria von Trapp nor the Little Drummer Boy is in the book. :)

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Nope

"It's a miracle," said one of the nurses.

These comments are not threading properly. Anyone know why?

shrug

erin's picture

This story was originally posted two major revisions of Drupal ago, so no telling. Sorry.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Loved it

This one would get my vote. - Monica

Wow

Cool story. I get the feeling I'm still missing something but that was fun. :D

JC

The Legendary Lost Ninja

Missing the ox

I forgot the ox. Oh well, I had three hogs. ;)

Glad you liked it.

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Thanks, Monica

I'm glad you liked it. I saw the contest and couldn't resist trying to do something different.

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

I think I get it

Hope Eternal Reigns's picture

But but but ----- Where is the myrrh?

I just had to chuckle at the whole thing, and waiting for the "shepherds" to show up.

"Hey man don be scairt, I got good news man, gonna perk you right up..."

Good fun thanks.

with love,

HER

with love,

Hope

Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.

Missing shepherds

I got interrupted and forgot the scene with the winos, maybe I'll edit and add it in. ;)

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Three Magi

I never envisioned the three Magi as Bikers before!LOL A really nice modern retelling of the Christmas story. Gritty maybe, but with a dark humor in it just the same. Like with JC , I think I'm missing some of the references, but it's Kool just the same!
grover-

Dark humor

I'm glad I walked that line between being funny and being offensive.

There may be references in there that I haven't got yet. ;)

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

A Midnight: Clever concept, and writing,

Adonna:

My gosh, what a clever girl you are! I raptly read this story.

Like poetry, sometime short stories may be very effective.
They can be little bits of wisdom to which we may aspire,
or little pearls of humor, when our sad lives make us tire.
Either or, as I’ve said before, they’re jewels I carry with me.

This story was full of clever and humorous allusions.
Each a small treat that made me smile in genuine enjoyment.

“the police radio between them played a hymn to violence, ... and disaster.”

I’ve never heard that before. All I can say, is that I
hope to be ale to write as well as you some day!

We consumers of these fictions, will always plead for more.
Craving bigger, longer stories from clever writers to be sure
I pray like all the others, that you quickly grant that boon,
But let me raise a smaller voice, add more short stories soon!

Thank you!

Sarah Lynn Morgan.

Thank you for the impromptu poem

Glad you liked it. I think my own favorite line was the one about the stars twinkling like lonely drag queens, ;)

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Well done!

Donna,

This was a well written, very original twist on a the classic Christmas story.

Bravo!

Nicole (a.k.a. Itinerant)

--
Veni, Vidi, Velcro:
I came, I saw, I stuck around.

Thanks

I'm glad you liked it. ;)

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Well, for a transgendered Chr

Well, for a transgendered Christmas story, this is one of the best I have read. A miracle child, just like baby Jesus. Thank you Donna for sharing.

With super love & big as the sky hugs
Barbara

"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."

"With confidence and forbearance, we will have the strength to move forward."

Love & hugs,
Barbara

"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."

Don't forget the Virgin Birth

Very slick retelling of an old tale.

The Three Wise men with their gifts gold -- the cash --, frankencense -- the weed -- and mirh -- the small gun -- not sure how that one ties in but it's practcal in Mollies case.

A virgin birth, the Christmas star. Ceasarian was in reference to the time of Ceasar. The T-bird -- that's a symbol of resurection. Molly is nearly Mary -- there are so many possible parallels and parodies here it's hard to keep track.

Clever stuff.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Molly, Myrrh and T-birds

Molly is actually an old nickname for Mary and Mary is also a generic nickname for any transvestite performer. Molly also used to be an insulting nickname for a soldier who was considered weak or womanly.

Myrrh was associated with death as a funeral perfume, hence the gun.

The T-bird represents divine power and like the song says, "if there's a God up in Heaven, you know he drives a silver Thunderbird." ;)

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Thanks Barbara

For a short story, this one took lots of effort, I'm glad you liked it.

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Good short stories ...

... usually do take a lot of effort, and this is certainly a good 'un. I'm certainly not a Christian (or anything else for that matter) but the references I spotted were cunningly done.

I think my favourite line is the one about the missing teeth being better looking than the present ones. All very wittily done -I froze with poor Molly. I'm wondering if it's worth finishing my contribution - I'll probably vote for this anyway LOL

great stuff, thanks

Geoff

Ack!

Please do finish your submission for the contest, Geoff. I want to see it.

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

The Devil You say?

Adonna,
Well, you just showed me how a good writer can be just obscure enough. The comments attest to that. This was fascinating in the reading and the commenting.

I liked it very much, but a nativity scene? LOL! I thought the fine line was not between " being funny and being offensive" but between TG metaphor and I am not sure what? "Amahl and the Night Visitors" or "Anal and the Night Visitors" comes to mind but that would still be funny. I never really got the idea of "immaculate conception" none of the fun and all of the pain.

Perhaps a Thundirbird is a Phoenix and a sign of resurrection. I don't know, maybe it's just a sign of an erection? I did find it striking that "Molly" is commanded into the car by his boy name and his girl name is Bedlam? Hmmm,that was an infamous asylum.

Masonic rings and bellies sliced open? Well, at least it didn't take place in London,oh was that where Bedlam was? I must give the devil his due on this one and I hope the "virgin" had fun too. The anti-christ would likely be a woman. "ripped untimely from her father's womb" :) Relax, Shakespeare hates me too.

A ripping great yarn (no pun intended)and well told! Oh, sorry, I seem to have interpreted this in a different light. Darn that obscurity stuff. Well done Adonna.

Gwen

Gwen Lavyril

Gwen Lavyril

Devil in the details

Bedlam is derived from Bethlehem Hospital in London. Matthew and Luke are the two gospels that talk about Christ's birth.

The masonic ring is a symbol of power and secrecy.

But the devil drives a solid gold Cadillac. ;)

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Missing wino

I added back the scene with the "shepherd" and fixed a few typos.

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna

Fascinating

I read the story and was so wrapped up in the characters, I missed all the clever tie-ins. Then I read the comments and re-read it all over again.

Nice work on the word play, especially the part that Sarah noted.

Nice story!

Geronwyl
__________________________________________________________________
Some realities are limited by what we sense, others are defined by what we dream.

Some realities are limited by what we sense, others are defined by what we dream.