Bowpea and the Vets

November 10, 2025JT Twissel 20 Comments

Before he was Bowpea, Jim was a dough boy whose mother wrote his given name on the back of the photo (below) in case he didn’t return from the war in Europe.

Jim only had one brother and that brother had divorced his Protestant wife to marry a Catholic woman. He had fallen from grace with a mighty thud. So it seems unlikely that Jim’s mother would forget the angelic face of her youngest and still in good graces son. Perhaps she did it to protect him; like a silent prayer whispered to the war gods. Bring my boy home.

The Preacher’s Family – Jim is between his father’s legs.

According to Wikipedia, dough boy was a nickname for a member of infantry until WWII when GI became the preferred term. There are several theories as to how the term dough boy came about, ranging from the color of their dust covered uniforms to what they ate. None of them are very heroic sounding. I’m glad they no longer use that term.

Fortunately for me, Jim did return home and had a long and reasonably happy life. Until he got saddled with the silly moniker of Bowpea by his eldest granddaughter, that is.

Bruce longed to fly but his mother wanted her only son firmly on the ground. In the end, she was not able to keep him grounded but, with the help of her powerful step-father (known only as The Judge), she was able to keep him stateside until the end of the war. Bruce was not happy with his mother or The Judge. For the rest of his life, he surrounded himself with flying aces, men who had flown combat missions.

Below is Bruce with one of his buddies, Captain W.U. Gray, affectionately known as Wug.

Captain Wug was renowned for his eclectic vocabulary which I tried to capture in my first book, Flipka.

“You must forgive my meritorious comrades their resistance to melioration,” Captain Wug interjected. “Referring to Cavalry (Peak) as a monadnock is hardly a grievous malapropism. However, my curiosity remains unabated. Why is a charming young lady such as yourself interested in that area of mystifying moraines? ”

Yes, that’s really the way Captain Wug (his obit here) spoke.

Another of Bruce’s buddies was this guy who was born and raised in the same town in Montana:

Hub was not modest about his heroics, like Captain Wug. He wrote several books highlighting his exploits: Zemke’s Stalag, Zembe’s Wolf Pack, The Hub: Fighter/Leader. Although he dragged Bruce and Wug into several unsuccessful business ventures, I’ll forever associate him with the bags of oranges he always brought with him from his ranch in California. From bombs to oranges – what a life.

Of course, they were the lucky ones.

The American Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy.

Never Forget.

Whenever it is November

November 9, 2025November 10, 2025JT Twissel 21 Comments

I don’t know what to do in November when sunrises are so grim. And so early. By morning’s switch to afternoon I am done in for the day.

I don’t know what to do in November when it’s time to store outdoor furniture and put tools back in the shed.

When the only four tomatoes I managed to save from the critters,
struggle to ripen.

And these two fellas arise again.

This plant first appeared in the garden in August 2020 looking very much like that *certain* part of a man’s anatomy.

The stalk stretched to almost five feet tall. Snake-like, purple and malevolent.

When I asked readers to help me identify what was growing in my garden, they advised me to hire an exorcist or move far away. But then it blossomed. Spectacularly.

However, the last time it blossomed was August 2022. I don’t know why sometimes it blooms and sometimes only foliage appears. Why sometimes in August, sometimes in September and now … November. To confound me, to confuse me, to make me want to wander far away …

But then, it’s November! A Happy Birthday to the many lovely people I know who were born in this month … the thought of you does bring me a smile!

I draw naked people

November 6, 2025January 5, 2026JT Twissel 22 Comments

One of my many hobbies is figure drawing. There’s something meditative about spending a couple of hours intently focused on another human being, the contours of their body as they take different poses, the shadows and nuances of their muscles … I could go on and on. I haven’t done a lot of figure drawing over the past twenty years because it’s difficult to find a group of artists to join. And trust me, you don’t want to ask a friend, neighbor or spouse to strip and pose.

In the first session the five minute poses really killed me! But I had fun making messes.

A lot of people don’t understand that drawing naked people is not the same thing as creating pornography. Figure models generally belong to guilds that have strict rules and regulations. (Everyone can take off their clothes but not everyone can hold a poise for five minutes!) Successful figure models can earn up to 100 dollars per hour and the hours are generally mid-day or in the evening. Perfect for professional dancers.

Here I went a little crazy with a variety of pencils and chalks! I’m still trying to figure out my tools.

When my children were young I lucked on to a sculpture class that focused on the human form. Thus, my children were accustomed to seeing sculptures of naked people all around the house. However, every now and then I’d hear a new playmate snickering over the sight of “naked boobies!” and worry that the local vice squad might be showing up at my door.

This sculpture was done so long ago I can’t remember what I was thinking. We certainly weren’t beheading children and using them as props.

The group I was lucky enough to join meets in a room at the local community center that is also used for children’s art classes. It’s delightful to see their drawings posted all around … however, last session I needed to leave early and inadvertently left behind my sketches. Whoops. Naked boobies in the children’s art space.

Experiments with chalk – it’s soooo delightfully messy.

I hope the janitor finds them and throws them away before the kids show up for their class! I don’t want to get arrested for warping young minds with naked boobies!

If I don’t show up for a while, send bail money!

The pretty kitty finally gets a name #MondayMadness

November 3, 2025JT Twissel 20 Comments

Way back in 2013 this cat started showing up on our deck. I guess he/she figured my husband fed the birds and squirrels and so why not feed him/her as well? But … cats and birds generally don’t get along and so hubby shooed him/her off the deck and out of our yard. We couldn’t imagine such a beautiful cat was homeless. And then the weather turned cold and we discovered the cat had been taking refuge under a pile of plant covers left on the bottom deck. Long story short, we ended up dragging the beast, by this time, its long fur matted in filthy dreadlocks, off the deck. For two weeks the cat hid out downstairs but thankfully knew how to use a litter box! Another long story short, the cat turned out to be a neutered male and unable to find his owners, we more or less adopted him.

Can’t you find a better name than Pretty Kitty?

For years we’ve tried to find a more appropriate name than Pretty Kitty but none has stuck. Then, last night … or rather early this morning … the name came to me in a dreamlike fugue. Percival. A noble but whimsical name, I think.

Percival Von Kitty from his royal perch.

Anyway, that’s how my week is starting out.

I’m hoping the cold weather will hold off long enough for these, my only tomatoes after months and months, to finally ripen.

But with a storm and a drop in temperature on Wednesday, I kinda doubt it.

We shall see. Only Percival the Perceptive knows and he’s not telling.

This daylight savings crap has got to go!

Let’s hope that, with Percival finally getting his name, things will start to improve in this stark raving mad country!

The Eleventh Month and Vanilla

November 1, 2025JT Twissel 31 Comments

Hard to believe that we have reached the eleventh month of 2025. Only one more month until … yikes … 2026.

I’m guessing these are grapevines. What do you think?

This month there are apparently only two holidays in Japan: November 3rd which is Culture Day and November 24 which is Labour Thanksgiving Day. I couldn’t find too much on either. According to multiple tour guides, this month the main event in Japan is what we call “leaf-peeping.” But you have to get out early in the morning as it is very popular!

I found this guy very entertaining! However, so far I’m planning to visit my son in March or April. Did I tell you he bought a house? Yup. Paid the equivalent of $3,000 dollars so it is a doozy. Doesn’t have running water and he’s too tall to get in the front door. Lordie, lordie. Children. I try not to worry but …

Meanwhile, yes I did it. Ordered the very expensive Hawaiian vanilla. Now, what am I going to do with it?

A numbered bottle of vanilla. Sheez. I know, I know. There’s a sucker born every minute.

Please leave recipes (the easier the better) in the comments, and, have a great November!

This is How We Work #BookLaunch

October 31, 2025November 2, 2025JT Twissel 6 Comments

Fellow blogger Yvette Prior over at Priorhouse has written a brilliant new book on a subject most of us know all too well: Working for a living. She didn’t do it alone. She invited thirteen other authors to submit pieces reflecting their experiences.

Many of these authors are bloggers whose paths have crossed with mine over the years and so I’m thrilled to announce the book is now available.

I haven’t read the whole book but the pieces I got an early glimpse of are definitely unique! Yvette allowed each author to express themselves in whatever form they wanted.

I’ll definitely download a free copy on their upcoming promo day!

Congratulations to all of these authors! And to Yvette for all her hard work!

The End #Storytime

October 30, 2025JT Twissel 10 Comments

Daniel knew that his boss would hate to see him go. Unlike the other men who came and went from the service station, Daniel was courteous, didn’t smoke, and helped with the bookkeeping. But the boss had mentioned retirement on many occasions and so perhaps Daniel’s leaving would provide the impetus to take that step. That would be a good thing; a happy conclusion.

“Mr. B, it’s time for me to go,” Daniel said. “I’ve seen it, you know, sailing through the fog. The winos were right. It has returned.”

But his boss didn’t seem to be listening. “What are those stupid girls doing now? They’re going get themselves killed!” He was referring to the three girls from Nevada, who, loaded down with their things, were heading toward their funny little car. Remarkably, it had survived a night on the streets of lower Manhattan. Probably because it was a foreign job whose ancient parts weren’t worth crap.

“It’s all right, Mr. B. They’re leaving. Marcia talked them into going to an uncle’s house where …”

“Shit, not that asshole!” A vagabond known for aggressive panhandling had jumped out of the shadows and was blocking the girls’ path.

“Stay here, Mr. B. I’ll take care of him!” Daniel grabbed the broom from the garage and ran across the street swinging. “Get out of here,” he said swatting at the man with his broom.

The man looked around confused, “What the hell?” Then he took the spare change that one of the girls offered him and walked away.

“Oh no,” the Catholic’s Daughter cried. “Look at my car.” The passenger side window had been smashed and glass shards covered whatever remained inside, which wasn’t much. Just that sculpture of a man’s head looking wistfully up at them. “Oh no! My flute! My flute is gone! We’ve got to call the police.”

“They won’t come down here. They won’t even take a police report.” Daniel said.

“That’s so awful.”

“That’s why you guys need to get out of here. Go across the street to the service station and ask the owner to help you. He’s a crusty old guy but his heart is pure.”

“How about you?”

“It’s time for me to go.”

They seemed perplexed. “We’ll never forget you.”

He grinned. “Get on your way now.”

The girls drove across the street and told the old man who’d been watching them: “Daniel said you would help us.”

“You saw Daniel? A guy about thirty, wears thick glasses, quotes a lot of scripture?”

“Yeah. That’s him.”

“Where is he?”

They looked across the street and Daniel was gone. “Well, he did say it was time for him to go.”

“He did? I guess that’s good. You wait here and then, yeah, we’ll patch those windows.” He disappeared into the station and then returned with some cardboard, duct tape and a newspaper folded neatly into a square.

He handed the newspaper article to the girl who seemed the most sensible.

“Terrible thing. What happened to him shouldn’t happen to a dog, no sir. And that poor woman,” he shivered. “Terrible. Unthinkable. Gives me the willies. You know, Daniel was a good kid, a little mixed up but then you should have met his mother. That lunatic held vigil here at the station for three days thinking her son was going to resurrect like the friggin’ Christ.”

The girls didn’t say a word, even amongst themselves. Perhaps I should have softened the blow, Buckley thought, but then he hadn’t had much experience with the so-called fairer sex. “It’s been a whole damn year and they still don’t have any suspects. Not a one.”

“Daniel’s dead?”

“Yup. And you know it happened not too far from here. A year ago. Yeah.”

“But we were just …”

“I told you there was something evil going on in that apartment.”

“Daniel, evil? Nay. He studied to be a priest. You know, the winos claim they’ve seen him too but then they also see rats the size of German Shepherds,” he laughed. “Okay, nuff said, let’s get you gals fixed up and outta here.”

He helped them sweep out the inside of the car and put cardboard over the shattered window. He even gave them a can of oil after checking the dipstick and sighing in disgust “women never check the oil, or the tires. We’d better check them as well.” When he was satisfied the little car just might make it to Massachusetts, he gave them directions on how to get out of town. He watched the little car as it sputtered down the road. They’ll never make it, he thought, but he waved back anyway.

Happy Halloween Everyone! Have you ever spent the night with a ghost?

An Offer #Storytime

October 30, 2025JT Twissel 1 Comment

Recap: Daniel assumes that his friend Marcia has talked the three wayward girls into returning home until he bumps into two of them on the street. They tell him that they’d left the third girl alone with a strange Englishman who arrived in the pre-dawn hours but whom Marcia seemed to know well. When he realizes who it is, Daniel returns to the Carriage House and confronts the man. After he leaves, Daniel, exhausted from a sleepless night at the YMCA, falls asleep on Marcia’s floor as the girls call their parents and finally arrange to return home.

Daniel awoke in the predawn hours slightly hungover and starving. Next to him the girls were heaped together like a team of sled dogs united against the cold Alaskan winds. Talking to their families and being reassured that they were still loved must have helped because they were sleeping peacefully and breathing almost in union. Yes, Marcia always knew exactly the right thing to do in any situation. He rotated the bean bag chair to face the dawn and sat back down. With luck he would be able to see the sun rise over the city skyline. What a grand start to the day that would be.

The quiet was broken by the rat-a-tat of footsteps in the courtyard, like a drum beat which grew louder and louder as the drummer approached until … Before he had a chance to react, someone had entered the carriage house and was climbing the stairs. He crawled into the kitchen and cowered behind the counter. Where was the phone? He couldn’t remember.

The door flew open silhouetting two figures.

“Well, lookie there. A whole pile of bitches.”

“Them? Oh no. Those sweet young things haven’t showered in weeks. I have something much better in mind.”

The taller figure was Theron. Next to him, a much shorter man twitched like a drunken marionette tangled in his strings.

Daniel rose and switched on the overhead light. The shorter man was an albino with only a pinprick of color in his eyes. Perhaps to compensate, he wore lime green trousers, a lemon turtleneck and flashy gold jewelry around his neck and wrists. “Shut off the damned light!” He squealed.

It wasn’t that bright. Daniel thought. The man must be on drugs. “No way.”

“Daniel, old man. Still here protecting your little flock? What a noble lad you are.”

“They poured out innocent blood, the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the idols of Canaan; and the land was polluted with blood. Thus they become unclean by their acts, and played the harlot in … ”

Theron turned to his perplexed companion. “Daniel left the priesthood because he had a bloodly crisis of faith. He couldn’t stand the thought that God loved him the best, which is what his mother drilled into him. God, in other words, is a prejudicial old duffer who plays favorites so you better be pure of thought and blah, blah, blah. Isn’t that right, Daniel?”

Before he could say anything, Marcia appeared in the bedroom door dressed only in a man’s white dress shirt, her strawberry blonde hair spinning about her face like a delicate spider’s web. “What’s going on?”

“Now you’re talking,” the albino said moving toward her. “Hi Honey. How would you like a couple thousand bucks in exchange for a quick roll in the hay?”

“Sweet Jesus!” The girl who was not a Catholic cried.

“Shut up you, fucking virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin!”

“Well then …”

Get out Theron!” Marcia said. “Take your drugged up friend and get out now.”

“But Jamie just signed a record contract, Luv. He’s got the cash. He just wants a quick shag. A thousand dollars, as you Yanks say, easy peasy.”

“Get out!” Marcia ordered.

The albino spun around like a cartoon dust devil. “That does it,” he said, turning to leave. “There are plenty of bitches in this town who won’t give me this kind of shit!”

Theron seemed to grow in size as he turned and directed his attention toward the girls … specifically, the one named Nora. “A few minutes with my pigeon and you wouldn’t have to return to Nevahda to live out the rest of your miserable life with the jackrabbits … the sagebrush, and … with that arse who got you preggers. Oh yeah, he’s a real arse.”

“Danny and I are in love. We’ll be in love –“

Theron threw his head back and howled. “Oh please, little girl … don’t say it. Forever. I’ll have to vomit all over Marcia’s carpet. You were forn-i-cating. Forn-i-cating! And you loved it. I bet she made you other girls miserable, didn’t she? You know, she never really wanted to go on your silly, little romp across country. But she felt obligated. The most pathetic of emotions. Obligation. Now, see how she despises you. Despises you because she wasn’t bloody strong enough to be honest and tell the truth.”

“Enough, Theron or whatever your name is. Get out.”

“With pleasure. Who knows, I might be able to catch up with our little friend and the night won’t be a total faff.” He slid out the door with a sharp whistle that lingered and echoed through the room.

Marcia marched over to the door, slammed it shut, and this time … locked it. They debated calling the police. Daniel argued that the albino’s life was in danger. The year before, the police had been looking for a man who matched Theron’s description, a man who’d befriended drug dealers and prostitutes and then viciously killed them. Marcia countered that they wouldn’t do anything. They hadn’t done much before. A whole year had gone by and they still hadn’t arrested anyone. Besides she was more concerned about the girl whose secret was now revealed.

“Theron must be a demon,” Nora said, massaging her rosary beads.

“You have options. If you are pregnant, you don’t have to have the baby … “

Daniel thought about the cycle they were trapped in. Hadn’t they both tried to save Connemoira so many years before and hadn’t they both failed? And they would again. And again. Fail.

It was time to go. Shore leave was almost over.

Next: The Boundaries

Spending the Day with the Devil #Storytime

October 28, 2025October 28, 2025JT Twissel 14 Comments

Recap of the previous post: Daniel introduces the girls to his childhood friend, Marcia who works as a social worker and lives in a carriage house behind the Hari Krishna Institute. She agrees to help them.

By the time Daniel arrived at the gas station the next morning, the Volvo was gone, retrieved, his boss explained, by a couple of harebrained gals. Good, Marcia had worked her social worker magic. She’d either gotten them into some program or convinced them they were not prepared for life in the big, bad city and they’d left for home. That happy thought sustained him through a busy day spent fixing tires for teamsters (their only customers) and helping the boss keep his ledgers balanced. It would have been a good deed mentally rehashed for months. However … corned beef called, corned beef stacked on rye bread with sauerkraut and a drizzle of the kind of cheesy mayonnaise found only at certain delis. An indulgence he couldn’t afford every day but would be his reward. Corned beef on rye.

He savored the thought for several blocks, noting the cool October breezes as his stomach grumbled. Winter had come early and it would be a long one. He pictured the inside of the deli, the white-coated salami and barrels of pickles, as he turned onto Hudson Street. Maybe he’d eat just half the sandwich and give the rest to a street person, some poor soul seated on the curb or hunched in one of the alleyways

But it was not to be. Just outside the deli he ran headlong into two of the girls he’d rescued the night before: the ring-leader and the girl who reminded him of a young Eleanor Roosevelt. “I thought you guys left town.”

“Left town?”

“Or something.”

“Oh no – we’re going to stay with Marcia another night. Nora’s really sick. After you left, she began puking and she puked all night long! We’d finally gotten to sleep around FIVE in the morning! And this other guy showed up. A guy with a funny English accent and a really weird name.”

“Theron?”

“Yeah! So you do know him. He said you would. He called you ‘Daniel Beloved of God’ but he said it kind of sarcastically.”

“Oh my God Daniel. You look totally freaked out. Nora’s up there all alone with him.”

“What?”

“Marcia went to work. She told him he could sleep in her bedroom but had to be gone when she got home. Oh my God, is Nora in danger?”

“You should buy some chicken soup for your friend. Lou makes the best …”

“Daniel!”

“And it’ll cure … listen, Marcia wouldn’t have left if she thought Theron was a danger. But I’ll come back up there with you. I owe her an apology anyway.”

“Daniel, old man!” Theron said after he realized he was being watched and moved away from the Catholic’s daughter, who, despite being sick, had spread herself over the bean bag chairs suggestively. From the beginning Daniel’d been leery of Theron’s tall, dark and handsome movie star looks. It wasn’t jealously. Something was missing. Something, thankfully, Marcia had soon realized but then … she had more experience.

Daniel laid the groceries on the counter as the other two girls crowded on the floor next to their friend. “Where’s Marcia?”

“Oh my. Marcia has had a nasty day dealing with the wretched underbelly of Manhattan. She’s in the shower. And this lovely young lady,” he said with a wink towards a girl who was not much more than a child, has been entertaining me with the stories of their travels. Did you know they are from Reno Nevahda? Have you ever met anyone from Nevahda? Quite unusual really, one only thinks of Nevahda as the home to sagebrush and jack rabbits, now doesn’t one?”

“What are you doing back here?

Theron slid along the wall toward the door. “Oh you mean, why aren’t I in jail. Blimey,I’ve been alluding coppers since I was fourteen. They’ll never catch me. They don’t even know my name. Speaking of stories, that was rather funny this morning, wasn’t it girls?”

“It was four in the morning.”

“Sorry Luv. That’s when me shift at the docks ends. So funny, once they heard my English accent, they weren’t at all afraid of me. It’s those bloody Beatles. Made life ever so easy for us British blokes!”

“You work at the docks?”

“Longshoreman, we’re called.”

It was a ridiculous lie, so ridiculous that Daniel couldn’t help but utter a loud “Ha!”

“Why do you scoff, Mate? I didn’t have the benefits of a seminary education — a mother who thought I was the Second Coming. I’ve been on me own since I was a lad and, aye, I’ve had to do things I’m not proud of but haven’t we all?”

The rumblings of the first evening prayers sounded across the courtyard. Hari Krishna, Hari Krishna, Krishna Vishnu. Theron turned towards the Institute. “Oh my, they’re finished with their supper. That means it’s time for me to head off to work.”

“Are you coming back?” Daniel asked.

“I thought you didn’t live here any more, mate. I thought Marcia got tired of waiting for you to fuck her and kicked you out on your arse.”

The girls gasped.

Don’t respond. Daniel thought. He’s just trying to bait you.

Theron continued. “You’re such a funny old sod. This isn’t the bloody desert. You’re not the friggin’ savior and I’m not the devil. Although I do appreciate the honor of your, shall we say, compliment. But this place is rather crowded with all of us sharing only one rather stinky loo. I think I’ll crash somewhere else. Perhaps at your buddy Frank Frank’s. I hear they always have fresh blood,” he paused and then froze Daniel’s heart with a howl. “Look at Daniel’s face, girls! Hahaha!”

With that, Theron slipped through the door.

After he left, Daniel stepped over to the window but saw nothing in the courtyard. Only shadows. He unscrewed the cheap bottle of wine he’d brought and took a swig just as Marcia emerged from the bathroom.

“Oh good.Theron’s gone Can you believe that guy?”

“Maybe you should lock your doors tonight.”

She ignored him and addressed the girls. “I’ve been thinking. We should call your parents. I bet they’re worried sick about you.”

“Oh yeah. Tell them their daughters are hunky dory. They just spent the day with the Devil.”

“Shit, Daniel! No wonder the girls look so freaked.”

“He killed someone.”

“The police weren’t sure. Besides I don’t want to talk about him anymore. He’s not coming back.” She noticed the bag of groceries.

“Forgive me?” Daniel hadn’t slept the night before. His sole window at the Y was cracked and provided little protection from the rain or the sounds of the city. The walls were so thin he could hear a fellow transient snoring in the next room. Five years he’d spent in New York City practically homeless, figuring it would free him. But it hadn’t. And so the wine quickly gained on him until a dizziness ⏤ borne of eating little and guzzling cheap wine ⏤ soon overcame him. He slumped into one of the bean bag chairs and closed his eyes. He could hear the girls on the phone. Yes, we’re okay. Yes we’re going to Grandpa George’s first thing tomorrow morning. Further and further away they slipped until either he or they were gone.

Two more episodes! Have you guessed the ending? I doubt it!

Things Better Left Unsaid #Storytime

October 26, 2025JT Twissel 4 Comments

“Why, you might ask, does Marcia live behind this place,” Daniel asked, after they’d escaped out the back door of the Hari Krishna Institute.

They’d been lucky. The Krishnas were in the middle of a celebration and ignored the four potential converts in their midst. However, shepherding the girls through their orgy of the senses had been difficult. Men, women, and children swirled mindlessly around them, through clouds of burnt cooking oil and sandalwood incense to the rhythm of slapped bongo drums and rattled tambourines, intoxicating and hypnotizing the three road weary girls. Only out in the fresh air, had he allowed them to stop a forward motion.

“Believe it or not, they’ll keep swirling and twirling and banging those drums until they pass out and then, in morning, why, I’ve seen men leave that place in business suits and carrying brief cases. Investment bankers on Wall Street during the day. Krishnas at night.” Daniel joked as he led the girls across a cobblestone courtyard to the carriage house. “You’re kidding!”

“I am not.” The second floor was dark. Troubling. However, the doors to both the stairwell and to the flat were unlocked. That was a good sign. “Marcia thinks the Krishnas will protect her,” he chuckled as he led them inside. “She never locks her door.”

Looking around a room lit only by the Krishna’s celebrations, he recognized the two beanbag chairs they’d sewn together over popcorn and beer one night and a wooden coffee table left behind by a previous tenant for obvious reasons. The clincher that she hadn’t moved was good old Che still hanging on the wall next to the kitchenette. It was a poster of Guevara that Marcia’d had since college, the dead revolutionary, so young, so handsome, and so dangerous.

“Marcia?” He called as he flipped on the light over the sink. In response he heard two sets of voices coming from the bedroom. She wasn’t alone. What made him think she would be?

“It appears we’ve stumbled into something,” he said. The girl he’d called the Catholic caught his meaning. She was the tallest of the three and model-thin. Her long black hair and white skin seemed to set in marble a pair of blue eyes, unnervingly intense and crystal blue eyes. Compared to her, the ringleader (Venus of the Sewers) looked less like a goddess and more like the neighborhood tomboy. The third girl, who reminded Daniel of a young Eleanor Roosevelt, seemed to be trying to hide behind her friends.

The mumbling from the bedroom continued. “Marcia?” He repeated.

“Is that you Daniel?” Was the response.

“No, it’s Che Guevara.”

Marcia opened the door. She’d slipped a flowered house dress hastily over her head, which, on any other woman would look drab and shapeless but not on her. “My God, Daniel. How long has it been? I thought you’d finally given up on New York City and gone to live on Walden Pond.”

“No. I’ve been here. Well, around. Here.”

She spotted the girls and turned her questioning eyes on him.

“You remember what it is to be adrift in this city without friends?” he asked. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“My God Daniel. I haven’t seen you in over a year and now you show up with three runaways?”

“A year? No, that’s not possible. It hasn’t been that long, certainly not in meaningful days and you can’t count my useless days – for which I’ve had many – against me. For the angel who talked with me came again, and waked me, like a man that is wakened out of his sleep.”

“Daniel? Old Testament now?”

“Daniel saved our lives! We were completely out of gas —we had no place to go. We would have been killed or worse.”

“He can’t help himself. He’s a Jesuit.”

“Was…was a Jesuit. No longer.”

“That’s right Daniel, I forgot. Now, you’re the Anti-Christ. How old are you girls?”

“I’m eighteen. My name is Bronte and this is Nora and Ellie.”

“Bronte? That’s an unusual name. Did you make it up? You don’t look eighteen. Are you runaways?”

“No, we’re not runaways. We’re musicians. Ellie and I play the guitars and Nora sings and she’s got a really good voice, just like Cher. We tried getting jobs in Montreal but the Canadians wouldn’t give us work permits cause there are too many Americans up there trying to avoid the draft. So we came down here.”

“To New York City? Do you know anyone in the city? “

They shook their heads no. “See, even stupider than we were when you came here to save the world and I came here to escape from God.”

“Escape from God? Is that what you’re calling your mother these days.”

“Heretic!” Daniel returned. Her face, despite the years spent in New York City working on hopeless causes, had not changed. It was still springtime and fresh air. Freckles swam across her nose like wandering stars, making her look much younger than she was. Meanwhile his hairline receded, the lenses in his glasses thickened each year and, the grime of city air had rendered his complexion dull and grey.

Before she could respond, the door to the bedroom opened and what emerged, albeit shyly, was a lawyer. Of that fact, Daniel was one hundred percent certain.

It was then that he said things he never should have said, opened Pandora’s Box and let evil take flight.

Next time: The Hunter Returns