Roaring springs water park

Looking for a scent that encapsulates (european) spring. Think white floral, green leafy/grassy notes (this is a must), water notes to represent rain...
I have Laboratorio Olfattivo Decou-Vert which is ALMOST perfect but I don't love the musky drydown. Any recommendations are much appreciated!

Throwaway account, I promise what happened This happened in 2015 on the Piccadilly Line, in the London Underground, if you are not familiar with It you might want to get a map of it. So, I was just going back home after seeing a friend's concert in North London, at the time I lived around Dollis Hill Stn in NW, I was travelling back with a friend of mine, we were both extremely sober (I only had a small beer at the start of the evening and drank water during the event) and hadn't smoked nor taken any sort of drugs, nor we have ever been psichiatric patients. It was some time after 11 pm and we were a bit concerned about the underground closing time so we were trying to figure out the best route. As we approached King's cross St Pancreas stn we decided that maybe It would have been best for us to change with the jubilee line at Green Park, only to change idea at the last second. We got up from out seats towards the exit and the train doors closed right in front of us. Not a big deal, we decided to get off at the next station (Russel Square) as It was a small station and it would have been easier after all to go back to King's cross were we had more chances to find trains still running. So we wait a few minutes for the train to get to next stop, the monitors on the train and the voice over the speaker telling us that out destination will be Heathrow Airport. The train reaches Russel Square, its name spelt out on the ceramics that decorate the walls. The doors open right in front of the short corridor leading to the staircase where a man is mopping the steps, in preparation for closure. We go over the bridge and wait on the platform, right in front of a billboard advertising David Bowie's latest release (I believe It was the last of his compilation albums). The monitor tells us our train is only 2 minutes away and will terminate at cockfosters. As usual, my friend and I can't help but chuckle. The train arrives, we both get in, doors close behind us. A couple of minutes go by and I can't help but notice the people with their luggage, that for whatever reason didn't seem like they were coming back from the airport. The monitor says: 'This is a Southbound train to Heathrow Terminal 1,2,3 and 5'. It must be some kind of mistake...so why is the recorded voice announcing the same? And why is It saying "The Next stop Is Russel Square"? My friend and I are a bit confused, so we ask the couple with the luggage for their destination. Heathrow. They must be on the wrong train and the computer system must have somehow fucked up. There is no other explanation. So we wait patiently for our train to get to King's Cross St Pancras, however as the light starts coming in from the windows we can't help but notice the same ceramic patterns of Russel Square Stn, its name spelt on the wall. Once again the door opens in front of the same corridor and the same guy is cleaning the stairs - I swear he glanced at me in a way that made me clear that he's seen me already. Once again we are greeted by David Bowie's face and once again we get on a train to cockfosters, only this time we are not thinking about juvenile puns. We manage to both get home safely, in complete disbelief but sure that we have had the same experience, nobody has ever been able to give an explanation of what happened and I have done again the same route to find out that its perfectly ok.
TL;DR I took a train at Russel Square station in London to go back to King's Cross and ended up once more at Russel Square, where I had to take the same train again to continue my journey.

I just returned home last night from a 750ish mile trip. Before I left for my trip, I managed to upgrade my front brake system using a GX460 brake kit(new brake rotors/calipers/SS kit line). It was awesome, so I loved it. When I braked, it felt so incredibly strong! However, I felt a bit vibration by the left side when I drove average 70-75 mph. I know it still needs some alignment work but I'd rather upgrade my current shocks/struts first. I'd like to lift it by 1" inch (mild lift) to avoid losing more mpgs. However, I dont mind keeping the stock ride height if you guys think it'd be better mileage. Also, I am still researching and looking for reliable front and rear coil springs. Heres what I found, but I prefer to hear everyone's opinion before I invest more $$ into that new upgrade;

1. Bilstein B8 5100 package https://www.ebay.com/itm/252816555362
   
2. KYB SM5724 - Strut Mount Kit (Fresh mounts for longer use): https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B011SOZO9I/ref=ox_sc_act_title_1?smid=ATVPDKIKX0DER&psc=1
   
3. Option#1 Coil Springs (Stock height I believe) https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08CQPBKFT/ref=ox_sc_act_title_1?smid=A3I1NANZZ4RHRY&psc=1
   
4. Option#2: Coil Springs (.05” lift) https://www.dobinsonsdirect.com/products/dobinsons-c59-323-rear-coil-springs-for-toyota-4runner?variant=37712589717687
   
5. GX470 Coil spring conversion kit with upper isolators https://www.southernstyleoffroad.com/product/gx470-air-coil-spring-conversion-kit-upper-isolators/
   
6. Fresh Front/Rear Sway bar link https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07Q3TVQ15/ref=as_li_qf_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=braxbeezy-20&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B07Q3TVQ15&linkId=ada044785fe6ac48adf5697d54840f9a
   

Or I just buy this complete kit (stock height) plus #6 mentioned above:
https://www.amazon.com/Strutmasters-Suspension-Conversion-compatible-4-WheelConversion/dp/B08ZZ21Z6D/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=gx470+coil+conversion+kit&qid=1685467422&sprefix=GX470+coil+con%2Caps%2C280&sr=8-3
Additionally, I plan on replacing my tires as well, so I am leaning towards 265/75r17 all season (either Kenda or Cooper discoverer). So, I thought lifting my GX470 by .5 or 1 inch would be cool to have the above bigger tires than the stock tires I have now.
GXers, pls share any comments and thoughts if you already have done the same thing to your GX470 which is much appreciated. My goal is to ride 90% on road and 10% off road - will travel to the West from Florida soon for several months to explore numerous national parks and forests. That's why I want my GX470 to be all set for a long trip with minimal issues. Thank you!!

I apologize if this is the wrong place to post this, I just need to vent, and Google isn't offering any 2ays to mentally move through this.
My husband bought a home in 2014. We met in 2015. We toyed with the idea of selling on and off, but kept making updates to be how we like it until we decided. I didnt want to move and loced our home. It was a split ranch, 5 acres, beautiful, hated the dirt road and traffic but whatever, it was amazing to me. We'll, after ongoing issues with a neighbor, we had our last straw and i folded to selling.
While pregnant in spring 2020, we listed. We had our baby in late summer and found a home that was 80 acres, 3 bed 2 bath old farm house. We wanted about 30-50 acres, but the price hadn't inflated for covid and we could sell our home with covid pricing inflation. We had literally just gotten everything in the home as we wanted except the kitchen and a few things outside.
The whole house needs to be updated, and we increased out mortgage payments for 50%. We would've had the other home paid off in another 3 years if we stayed and now we have 25 more years at a higher mortgage.
Esp now with a potential recession, I am so worried about costs. We also only have electric here, our old home had a wood stove and propane, we are now spending a fortune in heating oil, and have only remodel the second floor and done siding, so first floor doesn't have Insulation.
We did a garden and its 2 fields away in a horse circle. We have no idea how to get water back there. The old home we had made 3 raised beds in the yard.
I know we had to work to get the old home how we wanted, but it just seems so much harder at this new home.
We now have 2 kids and I am so happy they have land, yard, pool, tractor, etc to grow up with... but I think my husband has dreams of them wanting it... and i diubt they will. Heck we probably wont even want it when were 80 people we wont be able to maintain it, much less climb stairs to our bedroom. Mowing, brush hogging, everything is just more time and more money here, and I am seriously struggling.
If you made it this far, thank you!

Up until yesterday, I have avoided the new waterfront development entirely, choosing to support the businesses in and around the Uptown Village area. Before I moved out of downtown, I enjoyed many of the local watering holes, restaurants and small locally owned shops, and came to appreciate the hard work it took to make them thrive(not always). I made friends with owners and employees alike and have so many great memories. These businesses made Uptown a great place to live and hang out. So, instead of abandoning them for the new and shiny waterfront, I stayed away. However, my curiosity got the best of me and yesterday and I decided to check it out. All I can say is wow, they knocked it out of the park! It was a beautiful day to walk the area and just sit along the river and relax. Everything was clean and well maintained, with lots of people enjoying themselves. The public restrooms were certainly a plus. I had a nice lunch and a beer on the patio of The Waterfront Taphouse, and will definitely return to check out some of the other establishments if the future.

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I have a Meyer lemon tree in a nice ceramic pot, but the pot doesn't have a drain hole in the bottom, and I'm hesitant to try to drill one for risk of cracking it. I want to keep the lemon tree outside during the spring summer and fall, but I'm not sure the best way to prevent the soil from getting too waterlogged when it rains.
Are there any good tricks for monitoring if the soil is too wet without having to tip the whole pot? I'm thinking of some sort of super narrow glass tube inserted all the way down that will draw water up indicating the amount of pooled water in the bottom of the pot? Doesn't necessarily solve how to get the water out though. Or maybe I just need a plastic cover around the top of the pot?

“So, what, I'm just supposed to sit in my car by the train tracks until you call?” I ask, as my car rolls to a stop. I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.
“I thought you said this kid was smart?” Connor asks Johnny, from the back seat.
“I thought he was, too. Yes, obviously. Wait here – and cut the headlights, goddammit,” Johnny says, looking at me from the front seat of my Monte Carlo and shaking his head. He looks furious. He is sweaty, despite Old Man Winter starting to get his grip on Maryland. I look away from him and cut the headlights off.
The freezing rain that is coming down is a perfect match for Johnny’s mood and our plan tonight. Johnny is dopesick. Besides the sweat on his face, his visible irritation, and his obvious anxiety, his wide eyes and pupils are a dead giveaway to a fellow junkie. He no longer looks like the healthy and decent-looking kid that I saw when he got out of jail.
He looks absolutely skeletal, his cheeks sunken in from his heroin habit. He has bags under his eyes, and they somehow look equally terrible during both the over-stimulation of withdrawal and the extreme sedation of a dose of heroin. He is sick now, but he was incredibly high last night. So was I.
I still am. Despite how high on heroin I am, I am not high enough to think that I look better. I would never want anybody that I know to see me right now. I don’t even want to see myself.
Johnny gets out of the car. Connor, a blonde haired, blue-eyed, Irish-looking kid, follows suit. I push the ‘trunk’ button to open the trunk and hear it pop open. I cringe at how loud the sound is. I watch my side view mirror.
I see Johnny and Connor pull two shirts out of the trunk and wrap them around their faces, while they are illuminated by the surreal red color of my brake lights. I have extra shirts that I keep in the trunk in case I soak mine through with sweat while playing ball, and now they are being used in a robbery.
I can see the gravel road that is underneath us stretching out behind us. The gravel road is surrounded by huge, old trees. We are deep in the sticks. About a half mile back are the train tracks where I will wait. Connor and Johnny move out, towards a very small and well concealed driveway.
I start to pull off, slowly, not turning on my headlights yet, even though I can’t see anything at all. I listen to the gravel crunching underneath my car, my entire body clenched as I drive, hoping that I don’t hit a tree. These properties are huge. I couldn’t even see most of the houses from the road, even when it was daylight outside. These are double digit-acre properties.
Johnny is probably right. This is going to be one hell of a come-up. I manage to drive only a little further down the road before I turn my headlights back on, too scared to keep driving into the pitch-black dead of night. I go half a mile and then turn around in somebodies’ driveway, careful to back in, conscious of where I shine my headlights.
Ok, now back to the train tracks until Johnny calls. My heart starts to beat faster.
How did this happen? I was clean. I was so happy. I thought I wasn’t an alcoholic. I drank, and drank again, and drank again. It doesn’t matter if it was just on the weekends for a while. I should’ve known I was going to smoke, too, eventually. I started to smoke, I stopped playing ball, and I started hanging out with Johnny all the time.
Alcohol gave me a hangover. Weed took it away. I became a stoner again, and adderall helped me get through the lazy fog of the weed burnout and force myself to play ball again – until it made me too anxious. The anxiety led me back to oxy. It was only supposed to be one time; one 30mg pill.
Now, I’m doing heroin again.
Of course. With heroin comes robbery. The cycle is complete – well, it will be once I get arrested again, and I definitely will.
I park at the train tracks and turn my car off. The car that I paid off with money that I worked for while I was clean and happy.
Didn’t matter. Never does. Nothing matters, Lonnie.
Not the ‘nothing matters’ thought loop. Please. Anything but this.
I reach into the inside of my left sock and pull the last of my heroin out. The 3 of us bought some last night. They have no self-control or hustle, which is why they are broke and dopesick right now.
I pour some of it onto the ‘Illmatic’ CD case I keep in my car. I use the same CD case to sniff my drugs, every time.
The heroin is a chunky tan powder. It is Baltimore’s ‘raw’ heroin. It’s good, but I know I can find better. I am generous in my self-prescription. After all, robbery anxiety can’t be good for my health. I sniff the dope slowly, hoping to ease the burn that always ensues upon insufflation. It doesn’t burn too bad this time.
I put everything away and recline the driver’s seat. That ought to do the trick. I lean back as far as I can, and then tilt my head back. I sit and wait for the God of dreams, Morpheus, to say hello. The warmth, the muscle relaxation, the dreamy euphoria. The itch, even.
I can’t wait. I hate waiting.
I wait. A minute, then two. Then, I start to feel an extremely pleasant tingle in the back of my neck. All of my limbs become comfortable and warm.
Ah, there it is. Like the tickle of an angel. My whole body relaxes with pleasure. Parts of my body that I didn’t even know I could relax wind up relaxing. All of my needs are satisfied. I have not one worry in the world.
Why am I trying to keep my eyes open? They don’t even need to be open.
A loud, frantic, continuous series of knocks startles me awake. I can hear Johnny's voice before my eyes adjust to my environment.
"-the fucking door"
I semi-spring into action, fumbling for the handle only to find the door locked. I see Johnny running around the hood of my car, over to the passenger side. I hear Connor hitting his fist loudly, aggressively, and repeatedly against the trunk of the car. I unlock the doors, pop the trunk, and then glance in the mirror just in time to see Connor put something in my trunk.
The passenger door opens a millisecond after it is unlocked. It remains open for a few seconds. The trunk slams, and Connor appears, diving smoothly into the back seat.
“Go-go-go,” Johnny says, as he locks the passenger seat back into place, sits down, and slams the door in one motion. He almost closes it on his own leg. The interior of the car plunges into darkness as I start it, put it in drive, and pull off as quickly as I can. I can maintain silence for less than a second of driving.
“What did we get?” I ask. My nose itches. I itch it.
“We?” Connor asks from the back seat.
“Yeah, WE,” I say, unable to keep anger from edging into my voice. “The only reason I didn't come in with you guys is cuz you told me not to,” I add.
“Yeah, because you don't need the money,” Johnny says. I glance over at him. Even through the darkness, I can tell he is sweating even more than before, though he no longer seems angry. They must have made out good, for Johnny to suddenly be able to control his rage and tolerate his sickness like this.
“Bullshit. I need the money,” I say, looking back to the gravel road in front of us. I have to take us back to Johnny’s grandmas’ place. It is at least a 30-minute drive.
“You aren't even sick, Lambo,” Johnny says, softly, like a parent trying to calm their kid down.
“What did you come up on in there?” I ask. I have to know.
“Don't worry about it. You'll get your weed,” Connor interjects quickly. I say nothing. I look back over at Johnny. He's staring at the road. I keep staring at him, waiting for him to look back at me, but he never does.
“Fuck you, Connor,” I say. He chuckles, the way he might at a kid.
45 minutes later.
Johnny gave me extra hashish to assuage his guilt. I know they found a LOT of money in that house. Johnny knew it was loaded. He knew there were pounds of hash, pounds of weed, and fat stacks of cash. That's why we hit it. Fuck them for not even letting me see the inside of the cooler.
My mind takes me back to something Connor said, yet again.
“That's all you get. Unless you're a dope boy in disguise,” he sneered at me, before giving me only half of the ounce of hashish that he was supposed to give me. Dope fiends are the lowest of the low, but dope boys...
I'm off probation. I can make a run at selling heroin. I have thousands of dollars saved from being clean and working my ass off. In our city, heroin sells for quadruple what it does in Baltimore. Go to Baltimore, buy heroin, bring it back here, sell it, quadruple my money. Easy.
I drive and scheme as to how I am going to do it. No way that motherfucker Connor will be involved. I get back to my parents’ house, sniff more dope, and lay in bed. As the dope hits me, it becomes easier and easier to see myself as a heroin kingpin. I have much greater resources now than in my old oxy dealing days. I could really pull it off – especially with Johnny’s help. I can see myself in that Benz I wanted so badly in high school.
I float and drift further into my fantasy, and my waking dream becomes a dreamless nothing.

GONZO
Not sure If I am using the flair correctly, I'm not sure how to edit it to say what I want...? Any tips would be helpful..
Since I've begun reading some american literature, I am very fascinated with Hunter S Tompson, his work Fear and Loathing and his Style of writing.
To share my love of his work I am working on a book called "The Feathered Starfish" using his style or GONZO style journalism.
This work is 60% an auto biography if not more, most of the things you will read happened, the drugs consumed, the happenings, the psychosis induced meth stupors, the near death experiences, the memories, they are all real experiences coming from myself- Michael Worthy Duke, and my best homie Josh Carr.
I do add many quotes of Hunters into the book, just for fun, he'd a legend in my eyes.
I have just did my first revision of chapter one, and I will post it on reddit to gain some constructive criticism.
Any and all criticism is welcomed this is my first time writing anything.
Chapter 1: Aufbruch
In the desolate confines of a decrepit apartment in Buckhannon, West Virginia, Duke slouched over his grimy desk, a faint glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness that engulfed him. The rain pelted relentlessly against the windowpane. "I really hope this one does it, man, I don't know how much more of this shit I can take"- Duke whispered with a mix of desperation and anticipation. With trembling hands, he carefully emptied six stamps of fentanyl into the tarnished spoon. Carr, his weary companion, cast a skeptical gaze upon Duke "Well you're not going to die if that's what you want. It's just not how GOD or SATAN works, or maybe I'm thinking of manifestation. Either way, they're both going to make us suffer, I doubt we'll get off that easy, as much as I want it to end, you're just wasting good dope, but go ahead, I won't Narcan you this time"
"You know? You're right, that makes a lot of fuckin sense dude, it's like each time there's something in the way. I always thought it was the LORD SAVIOR, SATAN, or maybe one of his DEMONS hoping I would strike some sort of deal with them to get off of this godforsaken ride" Duke's hands moved with a mixture of determination and trepidation, crushing a few clonidine tablets into a fine powder, adding it to his lethal concoction. The raindrops continued their relentless assault on the window, their rhythmic patter a cruel symphony accompanying their dark ritual. As the orange powder melded with the white, Duke drew back the plunger of the syringe, his eyes fixed on the swirling fusion of drugs and vodka. The amber liquid, held the weight of his hopes and fears, this white-orange liquid could very well be his out. "That's not what I meant, though hat's off to you if it works," Carr says.
In the ethereal glow of uncertainty. Duke's heart raced as he prepared to plunge into the abyss, the needle poised to deliver a bittersweet release. The rain outside intensified, its melancholic symphony matching the intensity of their clandestine act. As the raindrops continued their melancholic descent, Duke pressed the needle against his skin, the moment of truth inching closer. The world held its breath, suspended in the eerie stillness before the storm. The needle was dull and has been used many times before, but Duke hopes this will be the last time. He pressed, and with hesitation, it severed the skin between this world and the world unknown. He pressed on the plunger and as the toxic elixir coursed through Duke's veins, time seemed to distort, stretching into an abyss of darkness. His consciousness is on the verge of oblivion, teetering between life and death. A kaleidoscope of vivid hallucinations painted his mind, a swirling maelstrom of distorted images and fragmented thoughts of fear, abandonment, lost love, and the unforgettable regret of his life so far.
Hours turned into eternity as Duke slipped into a state of unconsciousness, surrendering to the unforgiving embrace of his drug-induced slumber. The world outside carried on, oblivious to his internal struggle.
When Duke fatefully awoke, his surroundings were shrouded in a haze. The dim light filtering through the tattered curtains cast a somber glow over the room, revealing the remnants of his despair. His body ached with a dull ache, each pulse a testament to his fragile existence.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile silence, jolting Duke from his dazed state. His heart raced, the sound reverberating through his chest like a war drum. Slowly, he reached behind the couch and grabbed a pistol, he then stumbled towards the door, uncertainty gripping his every step.
Carr remained peacefully asleep on the sofa, unaware of the potential danger that lay ahead. If the stranger turned out to be a threat, Carr would have to confront the aftermath and dispose of the bodies. Meanwhile, Duke envisioned a scenario where he would paint his doorstep red. In this grim scenario, Duke's action would likely be repeated twice, burdening Carr with the task of disposing of not one, but two bodies upon waking up.
Duke muttered something like "How the fuck did you evoke second-stage manic psychosis on a goddamn Tuesday morning at 7:32 AM? Incredible," Duke grumbled under his breath. His grip tightened around the cold, steel frame of his .357 Magnum-Rhino, resting firmly at chest level, as he cautiously flipped open the peephole. With a deliberate motion, he placed his index finger on the trigger, a well-spoken prayer escaping his lips. "Oh, twisted universe, In this blurry dance between life and death, my words resound: To the enemy of the state lurking beyond this door, I offer this plea. Reveal thyself, if foe you be, let your presence be known, As adrenaline courses through my veins, May my aim find purpose, In this grotesque theater of existence, may the forces that guide us grant me strength in this dark hour, Should the door reveal an adversary, may my aim be swift and true, Grant me the resolve to protect what I hold dear, Yet let mercy temper my actions, even in fear. May peace find us all, in this realm or beyond."
As his heart raced and his vision blurred, he stood firm, bracing himself for any sign of movement. Suddenly, a thunderous knock shattered the silence, echoing like a gunshot. Startled, Duke's instincts took over as he pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through the door. Convinced he had vanquished his adversary, he hastily returned to the living room. In a corner, wild-eyed and gripping an Avtomat Kalashnikova, stood Carr, poised to unleash a barrage of bullets upon Duke's entry. With a swift stop at the coffee table, Duke muttered, "Weird heroes and mold-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final."
In that intense moment, Duke proceeded to lay out two substantial lines of schneef, while Carr discarded the AK, preparing for their habitual morning routine.
Schneef takes the lead, followed by the ritualistic sipping of coffee with a few swigs of dirt-poor vodka or rum followed by another round of Schneef. As the haze thickens, They indulge in a flurry of cigarettes, punctuated by yet more Schneef. Duke then meticulously prepares a 1-0z plastic med cup, a concoction of SOMAs, a 100mg Ghost, and a dose of 40mg Adderall. And then, a 3.5-gram blunt of the finest, high-grade cannabis. A choice between PurplePunch #1, GratefulXChemdog #6, or an obscure local strain only known as BaileyRidge.
With his morning muscle relaxant held loosely in his lips, Duke leisurely strolls towards a weathered shelf adorned with cherished relics. Each plastic circle, steaming with echoes of bygone eras. In a deliberate gesture, his hand reaches out and retrieves a Stevie Ray Vaughan vinyl record, the album "Texas Flood". Duke places the disc upon the turntable, maneuvering the needle to land on the tenth and final track, titled "Lenny."
In the sounds of crackling vinyl and bluesy vibrations, Duke and Carr find a quiet moment, merging the intoxication of sound with their morning ritual. The melodic tendrils of "Lenny" intertwine with the smoke-filled air, creating a harmonious sanctuary within the confines of their dwelling.
Carr begins, his voice etching with concern, "Duke, you know I love you dog, willing to go any length for you. But there's a real possibility that one day you might mistake an innocent stranger at our door for something else entirely." Duke, frustrated by the untimely disturbance, retorts, "Damn it, it's 7 AM on a Tuesday morning. Who the hell would be knocking like an undercover agent if they weren't an enemy of the state?" Carr counters with a hint of humor, "Well, maybe it's just some friendly girl scouts trying to sell us cookies? Or perhaps the postman delivering a parcel?" Duke scoffs, as he brandishes a rattle crafted from turtle shells, wearing a Booger Mask made up of wood and hornets nests. Duke's deep connection to his Native American heritage is evident, as these artifacts are believed to possess the power to repel evil spirits.
Carr, chewing on a mouthful of pepperoni roll, springs to his feet and marches toward the door, eyeing Duke as he sets fire to some sage and palo santo, engulfing the space in smoke. Duke traversed the apartment with purposeful strides, occasionally stopping to shake his turtle shell rattle and speak to the Great Spirit. Meanwhile, Carr reaches the door, peering through the gaping hole in their door.
To his surprise, there are no dead undercover agents, no bloody girl scouts scattered amuck, nor fallen postal workers. Stepping outside, Carr scans the surroundings, his gaze darting left and right. With a sudden surge of curiosity, he sprints toward the mailbox, chirping birds echoing in his ears. The alluring scent of fresh grass beckons him, and he wonders why they don't venture out more often, even just to bask in the scent of blooming flowers. Reaching the mailbox, he momentarily forgets his purpose.
A bird chirps once more, its call now transformed into unmistakable human words, "Post." Carr offers a nod of gratitude before tearing open the mailbox, revealing a vibrant yellow letter adorned with a starfish-shaped white wax seal. Hesitation grips him, recognizing that this could be the perfect weapon to subvert him into an unwitting insurgent—its contents potentially laced with deadly anthrax, capable of bringing an end to both his and Duke's tumultuous existence. Yet, deep down, the knowledge that they have been flirting with death for what feels like an eternity seizes his hesitation. With anticipation, Carr seizes the letter, a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, and heads back toward the door. Before retreating, he tosses a ball of bread to the friendly bird that aided him, a small token of gratitude.
Inside the apartment, Carr's voice breaks the silence, "Looks like we've received some mail. You lucky bastard, you better thank the Great Spirit that you didn't blast a hole in the mailman. You know, if you witness someone offing a postal worker, and then turn in some sort of evidence to help with the arrest and conviction for their murder, there's a $100,000 reward waiting for you." Duke chuckles and with a hint of mischief says, "Oh, come on now. You wouldn't have ratted me out for 100 grand, would you? Is that all I'm worth? Although I must admit, that kind of cash does sound tempting." A grin spreads across Duke's face. "How about this: We order something to be delivered to the unsuspecting folks down the road. I'll take aim with my hunting rifle and wait for the mailman wearing a camouflage ghillie suit, while you capture the entire spectacle on camera. We'll scoop up the reward money and ride into the wind. What do you say?"
The room's energy takes a sudden 180-degree turn as Duke witnesses Carr's eyes widening. Duke, his paranoia deeply ingrained with thoughts of the enemy of the state, mutters "Who the fuck is it? Burn after reading, always. No exceptions. I don't care if it's a letter from my dead mother." Carr responds, "Dude, it's Allicent." Duke's heart skips a beat as memories of the girl who got away rushed to his intoxicated mind. His eyes well up with tears as he stammers, "Not a funny joke, not funny at all." He hastily prepares three consecutive lines of schneef on the coffee table. "She's been missing for four damn years. The last time we spoke, she despised me, despised us. She wanted nothing to do with us ever again."
Allicent was a vision of perfection, encapsulating everything desirable in a woman. Endlessly driven, she possessed an insatiable thirst for adventure. Her smile radiated warmth, except when met with condescension. She was a genius—a basement chemist, mycologist, historian, free-thinker, a natural-born leader amongst so much more. Her beauty was unparalleled, captivating anyone with her deep blue eyes, flowing blonde hair adorned with random braids, and forgotten dreadlocks. Painted with hand-drawn sacred geometry tattoos, her flawless body was a canvas of her own expression. She effortlessly glided through life, this woman could gracefully execute a gazelle flip off a half-pipe and then lay down a wicked bassline on a head full of acid. In their eyes, she embodied the true essence of beauty.
Their minds raveling in disbelief, An unopened letter from Alicent clutched tightly in Dukes hands as he Loomed over the worn wooden desk. His fingers traced the edges, his eyes scanning over the envelope that bore the familiar flourish of Alicent's handwriting... A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, its smoke twisting upwards in the gloom of the room. He scanned the room, his eyes shadowed under the heavy weight of exhaustion and intoxication. Carr sprawled across the ragged sofa, a joint lazily balanced between his fingers as he rustled his nostril trying to clear the ketamine out of it.
An oppressive silence clung to the room, disturbed only by the ramblings of the TV. The voice of 'Gonzo' from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" echoed through the air, "Jesus, did you see what GOD just did to us, man?" They had been sitting like this for what seemed like an eternity, suspended between anticipation and apprehension, caught in the throes of a drug-induced stupor.
Finally, breaking the silence, Carr exhaled a cloud of smoke, its pungent scent blending with the stale odor of spilled beer and unwashed clothes. He ran a hand through his unkept hair and glanced at Duke with a mix of impatience and curiosity. "So, are we gonna read it or just fuckin' stare at it all day?" he drawled, nodding towards the letter on the table.
Duke blinked, emerging from his daze, and cautiously tore open the envelope, revealing Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages. Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages, each word etching a growing unease into their hearts.
"The pursuit of happiness..." Duke muttered, reading Alicent's message aloud. Her words painted a vivid picture of a place far removed from the choking grasp of the modern world, a commune nestled amidst nature's bounty. She spoke of the hills of the feathered starfish, a place of tranquility and kinship, a sanctuary from the greed and hatred that plagued society — this was a stark contrast to their own reality.
Yet, amidst her words of contentment, a chilling reference to the "day of the light" sent a shiver down their spines. Alicent's words held an ominous undertone, her tales of happiness tainted with the subtle hint of finality.
Turning over the letter, Duke's gaze fell upon a picture of Alicent, standing on a mountain with rolling hills in the background, dotted with tepees and yurts, bathed in the soft hues of a setting sun sprawled behind her. Her face held a serenity they had never seen, a serenity that seemed to belong to a world far removed from theirs.
Carr leaned over to study the picture. "This place...It doesn't look like anything I've seen before. Where the fuck is she?" he mused, his fingers tracing over the photograph. A deep frown etched itself onto his face as he fell into deep thought.
Duke sat back, his gaze shifting between a typewriter in the corner of the apartment and the picture of Allicent, "The edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." a tale of a voyage into the unknown. He could feel it in his bones, the gnawing curiosity, the deep-seated desire to uncover the truth of where she was and why she decided to write to them after so many years. His gaze fell onto the typewriter, each key echoing "A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance."
A sense of determination replaced Duke's initial bewilderment. He stood, moving towards an old gun safe, he quickly dials in 0 4 1 9 0 4 1 9, an old suitcase was tucked beneath boxes of ammunition and firearms.
"We had 9 grams of schneef, 120 European Cadillacs, a vial of JORs long lost #5, a knee-high tank of nitrous oxide, a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quarter of opium, a ball of speed, 2 oz of mushrooms, enough weed to serve the east coast, and a zip lock bag of substances we were either too high or didn't care enough to label. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”
Carr nodded, stubbing out his joint in the ash-tray. His eyes held a spark of determination, his usually laid-back demeanor was replaced with a newfound sense of purpose. The impending journey already stirring his usually placid demeanor. They knew what they were signing up for, the journey wouldn't be a walk in the park, but Alicent was worth the ride.
As the day began to fade, they started packing. The room was soon filled with the buzzing of zippers and rustling fabric, each item selected for their journey. The once quiet room now bursting with anticipation. Their adventure had begun, but will their determination to DIE fade away as they start this new journey? Will the promise of reuniting with Allicent be enough for them to go on one more day?
Duke paused, his eyes scanning the room, its walls painted with stories of disturning happenings and shenanigans. Among the clutter and graffiti, a worn-out green balloon caught his eye, its faded letters spelling out the haunting words, "RIP Mya...."
A twisted grin curled on Duke's lips as he muttered to Carr, his voice with a hint of madness. "Fuck, man, Remember when you found this in the woods?"
A smirk tugged at Carr's lips. He ran his fingers through his hair before letting out a big sigh, his eyes reflecting a hellish nostalgia. He let out a deep sigh, releasing a cloud of smoke that hung heavy in the air. The memory stirred within him. "Are you joking? I'll never forget that night," Carr began, his voice tremoring with blend of fascination and dread. "I recall being up for days on meth after a witch performed some black magick on me, I heard the loudest crash I've ever heard, almost like a god-damn plane crashed in the woods 35 feet away. I walked into the woods letting curiosity get the best of me.
Duke leaned in, his eyes wide with anticipation yet again even though this was the hundredth time he had heard this story. Carr continued, his voice dropping to a low, ominous tone. "I then saw a bright flash of green light in the distance, but as I got close enough to see what it was it was only that damnned busted balloon on the ground that said "RIP Mya" an 8yr old girl who had passed away. Carr's voice trembled as he recounted the aftermath. "The next day, fate took a hellish turn. Mya, my faithful companion, died without reason or explanation. And then, my young cousin, only eight years old, whispered something that sent me into full-blown psychosis...you shoud've taken the witch seriously, this is just the beginning, when you hear 3 knocks, just know the devil will be waiting"
They shared a nervous laugh, then collectively thought this was somewhat nice reminiscing in their hellish nature, yet hoping this new adventure would bring positive memories to replace all of the dark ones that brim their minds.
Duke turned back to their suitcase, and popped it open to reveal a secret compartment. There, tucked between 2 firearms, was a small amber jar, containing some of the most sought-after cocaine in the world. Miss Pinks's Cocaine, Duke was only 14 when he was able to navigate the Dream Market, Oasis, Hansa, Alphabay, many DarkNet markets on the web, to secure some of the most wanted drugs known to man.
Now this is not your ordinary schneef, this is genuine staghorn, not your cheap knockoff stepped-on monticorn staghorn, this schneef was carefully manufactured in a top-of-the-line German laboratory. Miss Pink uses the finest cocoa leaves, she makes small batches to ensure quality, and most of all, using anhydrous acetone, she washes each batch of these nose beers 15 times. Then an additional 5 times with chloroform. It is truly a testament to the dope feind, this is 98% pure, with a 2% cut of Vitamin B12, to, ya know balance shit out, you gotta take your vitamins.
With practiced ease, Duke poured a small mound onto the glass top of the coffee table. Using a battered ID card, he carefully shaped two neat lines. Carr watched, tapping his fingernails at the speed of sound against the table, Duke has only brought this stuff out once before, who knows when he will again. The illicit substance represented more than just a chemical high—it was their means of escape, a vehicle of dissociation and derealization they so desperately needed.
"Carr," Duke began, offering him the rolled-up Benjamin, "To old times, and to the journey ahead if we end up dying- at least we fed the head."
With a nod, Carr accepted the note, leaning over the table. He snorted the first line, the sharp sensation sending a shudder through him. After a brief moment, he screams "Jesus Christ this shit is jet fuel!" he passed the note back to Duke, who quickly followed suit.
Duke rips the line with ease, then swabbed the remaining powder for some scoobysnax. Carr, who is now blaring techno and dancing says "Bro we should start a go-fund-me, or go build a school in Nepal, fuck I just want to run, Do you think I could outrun an emu? I heard they can run like 30 MPH, I think I could run 30 MPH, idk man I would probably need better shoes-, Duke interrupts and says "Dude you are literally yakked out huh" - "I'm literally yakkychan" -"I'm the lead singer of the yak street boys" they both laugh for a while and lit up a cigarette.
This buzz coursing through their veins, its effects immediate and potent. An electrifying energy pulsed within them, and their senses heightened. They exchanged a look of understanding.
Hours passed as they packed the remainder of their essentials, the room now resonating with the focused hum of their preparations. With every item tucked away into their suitcase, they were a step closer to finding Allicent and the hills of the Feathered Starfish.
As Duke loaded the last of their belongings, he took one last glance around their apartment. The battered furniture, the stained carpets, the spilled beers and unwashed cloths, the dirty needles scattered everywhere. – it was a melancholic farewell to a past that had shackled them for too long. It was time for a fresh start, time to go in a new direction for once and for all and leave this version of themselves behind.
They stood at the precipice of an extraordinary journey, their hearts fluttering with a mix of anxiety and excitement. As the dusk painted the sky with hues of purple and red, they packed up their belongings into Hallii, Dukes' 1991 Mercedes-Benz 420 SEL, they gassed her up and took her down Route 50 towards OHIO blasting the song "KoKo by E.VAX".
To be Continued...

My fiancé and I took advantage of the Memorial Day weekend by going to Lake Compounce and Six Flags New England!
We started our adventure at LC on Saturday. The main reason for this trip was to ride Boulder Dash, as I've heard so many good things about it and have been really trying to get to it for a while now. We started with Zoomerang, their boomerang which I thought "wasn't bad" compared to some others. Ranked at #104. We then rode Phobia Phear Coaster. I didn't realize that the restraints were different than Tempesto (#113) so going into it, I was dreading the restraint situation and explaining to my fiancé to prepare for it. I was very happy to see that PPC didn't have the death trap restraints. The lap-bar only made the hangtime a lot cooler and more comfortable than Tempesto. Ranked it at #88.
Now it was finally time to experience Boulder Dash!
We got a ride in the very back row and it was pretty rough and had a lot of jackhammering. I thought that a few laterals were intense and the turnaround was one of the best laterals I've ever experienced actually. Unfortunately aside from a couple good moments, I felt like the airtime was extremely weak. Based on reviews I've watched/read, I was really looking forward to airtime and I'm a bigger fan of airtime than laterals as well. There was one intense ejector air moment that I remember and a few other decent pops but nothing really made me say "wow". I perused this sub after the first ride thinking maybe I needed to try a different seat. At this point, my fiancé opted out since the jackhammering gave her a bad headache. I got a ride in the second to last row so I had a non-wheel seat (had to awkwardly tell a GP guy that was trying to let me go with another single rider in the very back "I'm waiting for a non-wheel seat"). The jackhammering wasn't "as" bad but was still bad, but a little bit better of a ride than the very back. Still not much good airtime that you would expect from a back car ride. I finally gave it one more shot on the front row. I think to get the best experience, the front's definitely needed since you really get the true terrain experience. I still came away thinking the coaster was overrated. That's not to say it's bad, but with all the awards and raving I've seen about it, I was expecting it to be in my top 10 at least and my fav or at least top 3 woodie. It's at my #29 spot, so it's still a great coaster! But for woodies, I have Phoenix, Ghostrider, El Toro, Mystic Timbers, and the Beast all ahead of it.
Sunday, we went to Six Flags NE. Arriving to the park sort of reminded me of Six Flags Darien Lake where you just have a lot of farmland/residential and then BOOM, there's the Massachusetts line and the park entrance 100ft later. I am glad that the park was not much like SFDL though! We started with a ride on Batman TDK which we enjoyed as you can't go wrong with a B&M! Thought it was one of the better B&M floorless that I have ridden. We then rode Joker which was my third S&S Free Spin. I preferred this one over Tumbili and SFGAdv's Joker - not sure how since it's the same ride but I'll take it! We were going to ride Riddler but opted to wait until later to not potentially ruin the day early with an SLC. Then came the best coaster of the trip to much of my surprise - Wicked Cyclone. Guys, I seriously can't say enough good things about this coaster. On paper and watching it from the queue, I figured it would be good but I didn't realize how EPIC it would be. It truly reminded me of a mini SteVe with how good the airtime was. I checked out some other posts about this coaster and it would seem that it's running a lot faster this season because on all of my rides, it was hauling, especially at night. I got to ride it 4 total times and it became my #2 coaster overall. I expected it to be on par with TT (was my #5, now #6) but it blew TT out of the water. Not quite SteVe level but this thing is definitely underrated.
We then rode Pandemonium which we thought was a pretty fun spinning wild mouse. I did a solo ride on their boomerang Flashback and hated it, worse than Zoomerang IMO. We waited FOREVER for Thunderbolt even though the line wasn't very long. They were running one-train ops there which was a tad annoying. It was an OK ride, had a few "'oh we might get airtime here' and then didn't actually get airtime" moments. We made our way back to Superman which was a really amazing ride! I felt like this one compared to Boulder Dash actually deserved the awards that it got back when it had first come out. Have it ranked at #19. We rode the Gotham City Wild Mouse which was one of the worst rides I've ever ridden. Wild Mice are never really exciting but this one HURTS. We have a couple bruises from it. It's ranked 197/199 for me, worse than Time Warp, but better than Wilde Beast and Mind Eraser @ Six Flags America (because those two had very uniquely terrible experiences in terms of pain/etc.). We did Catwoman's Whip which I thought would go two laps like the sister coaster at SFGAdv but only went one lap. It was OK, actually less painful than the one at SFGAdv which was a plus. I finished the day with Riddler Revenge - fiancé opted out which I can't say I blame her for! It wasn't the worst SLC I've ridden (looking at you Mind Eraser SFA) but it also wasn't good, as expected. At least it had the vest restraints. #169.
Now for the ugly part of SFNE - Aside from Wicked Cyclone and Superman, the ops were pretty awful when there was a line. The one-train ops on Thunderbolt was a time sink. Riddler was the worst offender as the main line probably would have taken hours. The dispatches were something like 3-4 minutes but since my fiancé opted out, I got to use the single rider line to "only" wait about 20 minutes (Yep, Flash Pass was still waiting this long too which I would have been upset about if I were them spending money to wait that long). I didn't understand that the Gotham City wild mouse could only take up to 2 adults per ride, therefore most of the cars had 1-2 people instead of 2-4. Flashback only had a short queue, but the dispatches were like 5 minutes. We had short queues for Joker and Batman, and basically no queue for Catwoman's Whip so these didn't matter. The park was busy as preferred was into overflow and general looked packed, although it seemed to me that compared to other parks, people were doing a lot more flat rides/family rides/waterpark in comparison to the coasters. Maybe the number of coasters also helps spread people out. But in cases where the park is very busy and people are riding a lot of coasters, I have a feeling the operations would be extremely frustrating.
All in all, a trip that had somewhat of a letdown with Boulder Dash but led me to my surprise #2 favorite now, Wicked Cyclone!

Since I've begun reading some american literature, I am very fascinated with Hunter S Tompson, his work Fear and Loathing and his Style of writing.
To share my love of his work I am working on a book called "The Feathered Starfish" using his style or GONZO style journalism.
This work is 60% an auto biography if not more, most of the things you will read happened, the drugs consumed, the happenings, the psychosis induced meth stupors, the near death experiences, the memories, they are all real experiences coming from myself- Michael Worthy Duke, and my best homie Josh Carr.
I do add many quotes of Hunters into the book, just for fun, he'd a legend in my eyes.
I have just did my first revision of chapter one, and I will post it on reddit to gain some constructive criticism.
Any and all criticism is welcomed this is my first time writing anything.
Chapter 1: Aufbruch
In the desolate confines of a decrepit apartment in Buckhannon, West Virginia, Duke slouched over his grimy desk, a faint glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness that engulfed him. The rain pelted relentlessly against the windowpane. "I really hope this one does it, man, I don't know how much more of this shit I can take"- Duke whispered with a mix of desperation and anticipation. With trembling hands, he carefully emptied six stamps of fentanyl into the tarnished spoon. Carr, his weary companion, cast a skeptical gaze upon Duke "Well you're not going to die if that's what you want. It's just not how GOD or SATAN works, or maybe I'm thinking of manifestation. Either way, they're both going to make us suffer, I doubt we'll get off that easy, as much as I want it to end, you're just wasting good dope, but go ahead, I won't Narcan you this time"
"You know? You're right, that makes a lot of fuckin sense dude, it's like each time there's something in the way. I always thought it was the LORD SAVIOR, SATAN, or maybe one of his DEMONS hoping I would strike some sort of deal with them to get off of this godforsaken ride" Duke's hands moved with a mixture of determination and trepidation, crushing a few clonidine tablets into a fine powder, adding it to his lethal concoction. The raindrops continued their relentless assault on the window, their rhythmic patter a cruel symphony accompanying their dark ritual. As the orange powder melded with the white, Duke drew back the plunger of the syringe, his eyes fixed on the swirling fusion of drugs and vodka. The amber liquid, held the weight of his hopes and fears, this white-orange liquid could very well be his out. "That's not what I meant, though hat's off to you if it works," Carr says.
In the ethereal glow of uncertainty. Duke's heart raced as he prepared to plunge into the abyss, the needle poised to deliver a bittersweet release. The rain outside intensified, its melancholic symphony matching the intensity of their clandestine act. As the raindrops continued their melancholic descent, Duke pressed the needle against his skin, the moment of truth inching closer. The world held its breath, suspended in the eerie stillness before the storm. The needle was dull and has been used many times before, but Duke hopes this will be the last time. He pressed, and with hesitation, it severed the skin between this world and the world unknown. He pressed on the plunger and as the toxic elixir coursed through Duke's veins, time seemed to distort, stretching into an abyss of darkness. His consciousness is on the verge of oblivion, teetering between life and death. A kaleidoscope of vivid hallucinations painted his mind, a swirling maelstrom of distorted images and fragmented thoughts of fear, abandonment, lost love, and the unforgettable regret of his life so far.
Hours turned into eternity as Duke slipped into a state of unconsciousness, surrendering to the unforgiving embrace of his drug-induced slumber. The world outside carried on, oblivious to his internal struggle.
When Duke fatefully awoke, his surroundings were shrouded in a haze. The dim light filtering through the tattered curtains cast a somber glow over the room, revealing the remnants of his despair. His body ached with a dull ache, each pulse a testament to his fragile existence.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile silence, jolting Duke from his dazed state. His heart raced, the sound reverberating through his chest like a war drum. Slowly, he reached behind the couch and grabbed a pistol, he then stumbled towards the door, uncertainty gripping his every step.
Carr remained peacefully asleep on the sofa, unaware of the potential danger that lay ahead. If the stranger turned out to be a threat, Carr would have to confront the aftermath and dispose of the bodies. Meanwhile, Duke envisioned a scenario where he would paint his doorstep red. In this grim scenario, Duke's action would likely be repeated twice, burdening Carr with the task of disposing of not one, but two bodies upon waking up.
Duke muttered something like "How the fuck did you evoke second-stage manic psychosis on a goddamn Tuesday morning at 7:32 AM? Incredible," Duke grumbled under his breath. His grip tightened around the cold, steel frame of his .357 Magnum-Rhino, resting firmly at chest level, as he cautiously flipped open the peephole. With a deliberate motion, he placed his index finger on the trigger, a well-spoken prayer escaping his lips. "Oh, twisted universe, In this blurry dance between life and death, my words resound: To the enemy of the state lurking beyond this door, I offer this plea. Reveal thyself, if foe you be, let your presence be known, As adrenaline courses through my veins, May my aim find purpose, In this grotesque theater of existence, may the forces that guide us grant me strength in this dark hour, Should the door reveal an adversary, may my aim be swift and true, Grant me the resolve to protect what I hold dear, Yet let mercy temper my actions, even in fear. May peace find us all, in this realm or beyond."
As his heart raced and his vision blurred, he stood firm, bracing himself for any sign of movement. Suddenly, a thunderous knock shattered the silence, echoing like a gunshot. Startled, Duke's instincts took over as he pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through the door. Convinced he had vanquished his adversary, he hastily returned to the living room. In a corner, wild-eyed and gripping an Avtomat Kalashnikova, stood Carr, poised to unleash a barrage of bullets upon Duke's entry. With a swift stop at the coffee table, Duke muttered, "Weird heroes and mold-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final."
In that intense moment, Duke proceeded to lay out two substantial lines of schneef, while Carr discarded the AK, preparing for their habitual morning routine.
Schneef takes the lead, followed by the ritualistic sipping of coffee with a few swigs of dirt-poor vodka or rum followed by another round of Schneef. As the haze thickens, They indulge in a flurry of cigarettes, punctuated by yet more Schneef. Duke then meticulously prepares a 1-0z plastic med cup, a concoction of SOMAs, a 100mg Ghost, and a dose of 40mg Adderall. And then, a 3.5-gram blunt of the finest, high-grade cannabis. A choice between PurplePunch #1, GratefulXChemdog #6, or an obscure local strain only known as BaileyRidge.
With his morning muscle relaxant held loosely in his lips, Duke leisurely strolls towards a weathered shelf adorned with cherished relics. Each plastic circle, steaming with echoes of bygone eras. In a deliberate gesture, his hand reaches out and retrieves a Stevie Ray Vaughan vinyl record, the album "Texas Flood". Duke places the disc upon the turntable, maneuvering the needle to land on the tenth and final track, titled "Lenny."
In the sounds of crackling vinyl and bluesy vibrations, Duke and Carr find a quiet moment, merging the intoxication of sound with their morning ritual. The melodic tendrils of "Lenny" intertwine with the smoke-filled air, creating a harmonious sanctuary within the confines of their dwelling.
Carr begins, his voice etching with concern, "Duke, you know I love you dog, willing to go any length for you. But there's a real possibility that one day you might mistake an innocent stranger at our door for something else entirely." Duke, frustrated by the untimely disturbance, retorts, "Damn it, it's 7 AM on a Tuesday morning. Who the hell would be knocking like an undercover agent if they weren't an enemy of the state?" Carr counters with a hint of humor, "Well, maybe it's just some friendly girl scouts trying to sell us cookies? Or perhaps the postman delivering a parcel?" Duke scoffs, as he brandishes a rattle crafted from turtle shells, wearing a Booger Mask made up of wood and hornets nests. Duke's deep connection to his Native American heritage is evident, as these artifacts are believed to possess the power to repel evil spirits.
Carr, chewing on a mouthful of pepperoni roll, springs to his feet and marches toward the door, eyeing Duke as he sets fire to some sage and palo santo, engulfing the space in smoke. Duke traversed the apartment with purposeful strides, occasionally stopping to shake his turtle shell rattle and speak to the Great Spirit. Meanwhile, Carr reaches the door, peering through the gaping hole in their door.
To his surprise, there are no dead undercover agents, no bloody girl scouts scattered amuck, nor fallen postal workers. Stepping outside, Carr scans the surroundings, his gaze darting left and right. With a sudden surge of curiosity, he sprints toward the mailbox, chirping birds echoing in his ears. The alluring scent of fresh grass beckons him, and he wonders why they don't venture out more often, even just to bask in the scent of blooming flowers. Reaching the mailbox, he momentarily forgets his purpose.
A bird chirps once more, its call now transformed into unmistakable human words, "Post." Carr offers a nod of gratitude before tearing open the mailbox, revealing a vibrant yellow letter adorned with a starfish-shaped white wax seal. Hesitation grips him, recognizing that this could be the perfect weapon to subvert him into an unwitting insurgent—its contents potentially laced with deadly anthrax, capable of bringing an end to both his and Duke's tumultuous existence. Yet, deep down, the knowledge that they have been flirting with death for what feels like an eternity seizes his hesitation. With anticipation, Carr seizes the letter, a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, and heads back toward the door. Before retreating, he tosses a ball of bread to the friendly bird that aided him, a small token of gratitude.
Inside the apartment, Carr's voice breaks the silence, "Looks like we've received some mail. You lucky bastard, you better thank the Great Spirit that you didn't blast a hole in the mailman. You know, if you witness someone offing a postal worker, and then turn in some sort of evidence to help with the arrest and conviction for their murder, there's a $100,000 reward waiting for you." Duke chuckles and with a hint of mischief says, "Oh, come on now. You wouldn't have ratted me out for 100 grand, would you? Is that all I'm worth? Although I must admit, that kind of cash does sound tempting." A grin spreads across Duke's face. "How about this: We order something to be delivered to the unsuspecting folks down the road. I'll take aim with my hunting rifle and wait for the mailman wearing a camouflage ghillie suit, while you capture the entire spectacle on camera. We'll scoop up the reward money and ride into the wind. What do you say?"
The room's energy takes a sudden 180-degree turn as Duke witnesses Carr's eyes widening. Duke, his paranoia deeply ingrained with thoughts of the enemy of the state, mutters "Who the fuck is it? Burn after reading, always. No exceptions. I don't care if it's a letter from my dead mother." Carr responds, "Dude, it's Allicent." Duke's heart skips a beat as memories of the girl who got away rushed to his intoxicated mind. His eyes well up with tears as he stammers, "Not a funny joke, not funny at all." He hastily prepares three consecutive lines of schneef on the coffee table. "She's been missing for four damn years. The last time we spoke, she despised me, despised us. She wanted nothing to do with us ever again."
Allicent was a vision of perfection, encapsulating everything desirable in a woman. Endlessly driven, she possessed an insatiable thirst for adventure. Her smile radiated warmth, except when met with condescension. She was a genius—a basement chemist, mycologist, historian, free-thinker, a natural-born leader amongst so much more. Her beauty was unparalleled, captivating anyone with her deep blue eyes, flowing blonde hair adorned with random braids, and forgotten dreadlocks. Painted with hand-drawn sacred geometry tattoos, her flawless body was a canvas of her own expression. She effortlessly glided through life, this woman could gracefully execute a gazelle flip off a half-pipe and then lay down a wicked bassline on a head full of acid. In their eyes, she embodied the true essence of beauty.
Their minds raveling in disbelief, An unopened letter from Alicent clutched tightly in Dukes hands as he Loomed over the worn wooden desk. His fingers traced the edges, his eyes scanning over the envelope that bore the familiar flourish of Alicent's handwriting... A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, its smoke twisting upwards in the gloom of the room. He scanned the room, his eyes shadowed under the heavy weight of exhaustion and intoxication. Carr sprawled across the ragged sofa, a joint lazily balanced between his fingers as he rustled his nostril trying to clear the ketamine out of it.
An oppressive silence clung to the room, disturbed only by the ramblings of the TV. The voice of 'Gonzo' from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" echoed through the air, "Jesus, did you see what GOD just did to us, man?" They had been sitting like this for what seemed like an eternity, suspended between anticipation and apprehension, caught in the throes of a drug-induced stupor.
Finally, breaking the silence, Carr exhaled a cloud of smoke, its pungent scent blending with the stale odor of spilled beer and unwashed clothes. He ran a hand through his unkept hair and glanced at Duke with a mix of impatience and curiosity. "So, are we gonna read it or just fuckin' stare at it all day?" he drawled, nodding towards the letter on the table.
Duke blinked, emerging from his daze, and cautiously tore open the envelope, revealing Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages. Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages, each word etching a growing unease into their hearts.
"The pursuit of happiness..." Duke muttered, reading Alicent's message aloud. Her words painted a vivid picture of a place far removed from the choking grasp of the modern world, a commune nestled amidst nature's bounty. She spoke of the hills of the feathered starfish, a place of tranquility and kinship, a sanctuary from the greed and hatred that plagued society — this was a stark contrast to their own reality.
Yet, amidst her words of contentment, a chilling reference to the "day of the light" sent a shiver down their spines. Alicent's words held an ominous undertone, her tales of happiness tainted with the subtle hint of finality.
Turning over the letter, Duke's gaze fell upon a picture of Alicent, standing on a mountain with rolling hills in the background, dotted with tepees and yurts, bathed in the soft hues of a setting sun sprawled behind her. Her face held a serenity they had never seen, a serenity that seemed to belong to a world far removed from theirs.
Carr leaned over to study the picture. "This place...It doesn't look like anything I've seen before. Where the fuck is she?" he mused, his fingers tracing over the photograph. A deep frown etched itself onto his face as he fell into deep thought.
Duke sat back, his gaze shifting between a typewriter in the corner of the apartment and the picture of Allicent, "The edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." a tale of a voyage into the unknown. He could feel it in his bones, the gnawing curiosity, the deep-seated desire to uncover the truth of where she was and why she decided to write to them after so many years. His gaze fell onto the typewriter, each key echoing "A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance."
A sense of determination replaced Duke's initial bewilderment. He stood, moving towards an old gun safe, he quickly dials in 0 4 1 9 0 4 1 9, an old suitcase was tucked beneath boxes of ammunition and firearms.
"We had 9 grams of schneef, 120 European Cadillacs, a vial of JORs long lost #5, a knee-high tank of nitrous oxide, a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quarter of opium, a ball of speed, 2 oz of mushrooms, enough weed to serve the east coast, and a zip lock bag of substances we were either too high or didn't care enough to label. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”
Carr nodded, stubbing out his joint in the ash-tray. His eyes held a spark of determination, his usually laid-back demeanor was replaced with a newfound sense of purpose. The impending journey already stirring his usually placid demeanor. They knew what they were signing up for, the journey wouldn't be a walk in the park, but Alicent was worth the ride.
As the day began to fade, they started packing. The room was soon filled with the buzzing of zippers and rustling fabric, each item selected for their journey. The once quiet room now bursting with anticipation. Their adventure had begun, but will their determination to DIE fade away as they start this new journey? Will the promise of reuniting with Allicent be enough for them to go on one more day?
Duke paused, his eyes scanning the room, its walls painted with stories of disturning happenings and shenanigans. Among the clutter and graffiti, a worn-out green balloon caught his eye, its faded letters spelling out the haunting words, "RIP Mya...."
A twisted grin curled on Duke's lips as he muttered to Carr, his voice with a hint of madness. "Fuck, man, Remember when you found this in the woods?"
A smirk tugged at Carr's lips. He ran his fingers through his hair before letting out a big sigh, his eyes reflecting a hellish nostalgia. He let out a deep sigh, releasing a cloud of smoke that hung heavy in the air. The memory stirred within him. "Are you joking? I'll never forget that night," Carr began, his voice tremoring with blend of fascination and dread. "I recall being up for days on meth after a witch performed some black magick on me, I heard the loudest crash I've ever heard, almost like a god-damn plane crashed in the woods 35 feet away. I walked into the woods letting curiosity get the best of me.
Duke leaned in, his eyes wide with anticipation yet again even though this was the hundredth time he had heard this story. Carr continued, his voice dropping to a low, ominous tone. "I then saw a bright flash of green light in the distance, but as I got close enough to see what it was it was only that damnned busted balloon on the ground that said "RIP Mya" an 8yr old girl who had passed away. Carr's voice trembled as he recounted the aftermath. "The next day, fate took a hellish turn. Mya, my faithful companion, died without reason or explanation. And then, my young cousin, only eight years old, whispered something that sent me into full-blown psychosis...you shoud've taken the witch seriously, this is just the beginning, when you hear 3 knocks, just know the devil will be waiting"
They shared a nervous laugh, then collectively thought this was somewhat nice reminiscing in their hellish nature, yet hoping this new adventure would bring positive memories to replace all of the dark ones that brim their minds.
Duke turned back to their suitcase, and popped it open to reveal a secret compartment. There, tucked between 2 firearms, was a small amber jar, containing some of the most sought-after cocaine in the world. Miss Pinks's Cocaine, Duke was only 14 when he was able to navigate the Dream Market, Oasis, Hansa, Alphabay, many DarkNet markets on the web, to secure some of the most wanted drugs known to man.
Now this is not your ordinary schneef, this is genuine staghorn, not your cheap knockoff stepped-on monticorn staghorn, this schneef was carefully manufactured in a top-of-the-line German laboratory. Miss Pink uses the finest cocoa leaves, she makes small batches to ensure quality, and most of all, using anhydrous acetone, she washes each batch of these nose beers 15 times. Then an additional 5 times with chloroform. It is truly a testament to the dope feind, this is 98% pure, with a 2% cut of Vitamin B12, to, ya know balance shit out, you gotta take your vitamins.
With practiced ease, Duke poured a small mound onto the glass top of the coffee table. Using a battered ID card, he carefully shaped two neat lines. Carr watched, tapping his fingernails at the speed of sound against the table, Duke has only brought this stuff out once before, who knows when he will again. The illicit substance represented more than just a chemical high—it was their means of escape, a vehicle of dissociation and derealization they so desperately needed.
"Carr," Duke began, offering him the rolled-up Benjamin, "To old times, and to the journey ahead if we end up dying- at least we fed the head."
With a nod, Carr accepted the note, leaning over the table. He snorted the first line, the sharp sensation sending a shudder through him. After a brief moment, he screams "Jesus Christ this shit is jet fuel!" he passed the note back to Duke, who quickly followed suit.
Duke rips the line with ease, then swabbed the remaining powder for some scoobysnax. Carr, who is now blaring techno and dancing says "Bro we should start a go-fund-me, or go build a school in Nepal, fuck I just want to run, Do you think I could outrun an emu? I heard they can run like 30 MPH, I think I could run 30 MPH, idk man I would probably need better shoes-, Duke interrupts and says "Dude you are literally yakked out huh" - "I'm literally yakkychan" -"I'm the lead singer of the yak street boys" they both laugh for a while and lit up a cigarette.
This buzz coursing through their veins, its effects immediate and potent. An electrifying energy pulsed within them, and their senses heightened. They exchanged a look of understanding.
Hours passed as they packed the remainder of their essentials, the room now resonating with the focused hum of their preparations. With every item tucked away into their suitcase, they were a step closer to finding Allicent and the hills of the Feathered Starfish.
As Duke loaded the last of their belongings, he took one last glance around their apartment. The battered furniture, the stained carpets, the spilled beers and unwashed cloths, the dirty needles scattered everywhere. – it was a melancholic farewell to a past that had shackled them for too long. It was time for a fresh start, time to go in a new direction for once and for all and leave this version of themselves behind.
They stood at the precipice of an extraordinary journey, their hearts fluttering with a mix of anxiety and excitement. As the dusk painted the sky with hues of purple and red, they packed up their belongings into Hallii, Dukes' 1991 Mercedes-Benz 420 SEL, they gassed her up and took her down Route 50 towards OHIO blasting the song "KoKo by E.VAX".
To be Continued...

Hello! Well, I’ve broken a new record and managed to wait an entire 3 weeks after completing our last cruise before booking the next. Haha. That said, I have a few questions some of you more seasoned cruisers can help me with.
For background, Our last cruise was on Allure and before that in Indy. I was on Voyager years ago. We have been to Coco Cay before. Our last cruise was Roatan, Cozumel, and Coata Maya. Partner did the Discovery scuba in Coz, so didn’t get to see the good stuff scuba wise but will be cert’d by the time of our future sailing so we’d be able to have some better dives. We aren’t into the party life so that part (esp in port) doesn’t matter to us. Also, we’ve been careful to always book after spring break and Easter and before graduation season or the end of school. We have nothing against the kiddos, don’t want to be overrun with little ones (or midsize ones) zooming around. Below are the two we’re considering and they each have their pros and cons. I’d love some feedback please! I’d especially like to know about included dining options since neither ship appears to have a Sorrento’s and I’m not sure if the info I found on the Solarium bistro offering late night pizza is accurate or old. I also read that Windjammer on Enchantment takes orders and delivers tableside in the evening but again I don’t know if that’s old information.
Adventure: Curaçao, Aruba, Coco Cay. May 10-17. Pros: school still in session and Solarium has a hot tub. In-port hours are longer. Haven’t been to 2 ports before. Cons: more expensive (though would be paying for fewer excursions so may be a wash.) Didn’t find snorkeling in Coco Cay to be that great (we didn’t spring for the water park admission.) Unsure: What the diving is like in either port (that may turn into a Pro; we are more into swim-throughs, walls, and coral than wrecks).
Enchantment: Roatan, Belize, Costa Maya, Cozumel. May 23-30. Pros: Cozumel and Belize diving which I know I like and partner hasn’t tried yet. Less expensive. Cons: School out. No hot tub in Solarium. Probability of Memorial Day traffic on the drive home is high (driving 8 hours). Edging closer to hurricane season.
So, throw me your feedback! I want to hear the good, the bad, and the ugly. Aaaaand GO!

Why do I have to pay for parking now at Barton springs ?

Some examples from me!

• Sand and Sky! LOVE the skincare and the Dream Glow Drops and Australian Pink Clay Mask, but want to see the Tasmanian Spring Water line appear and more of the Australian Emu Apple mask make an appearance.
• Glossier: Love the no makeup look and Glossier is perfect for that
• Bondi Boost! I’m a Bondi Boost girl to the DEATH. Everything has been AMAZING from them. You can’t pry the HG line out of my hands, not this sensitive fine wavy hair gal. I want to potentially get rewarded with Ulta points for trying out the Thickening Therapy line or the Sonic Dryer, and see the Brunette Booster Line not be Online Only!
• Klorane: I wish the purple conditioner with centaury and their aquatic mint dry shampoo was not online only, I want to see the Peony and Aquatic Mint lines back on the shelves (sensitive scalp loves this)
• Mermade! I think the waver would be huge in Ulta. I use the pink one and leave it at my second home so I don’t have to carry my Bindi Boost Waver around.
• Aavrani: My Indian sister-in-law got me into this brand and everything feels so refreshing and I love supporting my brown sisters!
• Frank Body! The scrubs are so soothing but rejuvenating at the same time. There’s a mango scrub in Australia that I want to try, and the peppermint is not in Ulta 😔