DARK ........ 1/1/13

He struggled to his feet and stood there, watching them wield the metal cover back in place. Three minutes later they were done. He heard them pick up the tools, scramble into the helicopter and lift off. And then he heard nothing... absolutely nothing... Sealed in a maze of cold, black, silence. No one ever said where they were taking him. No one ever said what they'd do... if he'd live... if he'd die. An ice pick through the eye would have been better. 

He wanted to sit down, but was scared to make any noise at all. He wanted to curl up with his back pressed tightly into a corner and wait for death. Where were the walls? What was in there? How would it end? How vast was the space behind him and what was back there? He wanted to pray, but was afraid to whisper and unless he said the words they didn't seem real. 

Then he hiccuped.... a simple spasm of the diaphragm. But the sound absolutely terrified him. Five heartbeats later he heard another hiccup, but it was not his own. He listened, still and quiet as a corpse. The sound never came again. And he stayed that way till he fell asleep. Sometime later he awoke on the floor with his mouth pressed against a pool of drool on what tasted like dirty linoleum. Still nothing. No light. No sound. And he peed. He couldn't help it. He just peed. Then he slowly got up and began to shuffle into the void. 

Now ghosts can be patient. Time means nothing to them. To be dead for a heartbeat is the same as a billion years. Indeed, some are immobile statues, staring and thinking and feeling for eons. And the man slowly progressed for seventy two hours before he met one. First he heard the dripping. First he heard the water. He felt along the wall till he found a door and he ever so softly opened it.... drip... drip... drip... He heard it again. He needed it. He wanted it. So he got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl. Somehow it felt safer close to the hard, cold, tile floor. The sharp, little bone right below each knee cap pinched the skin and what little flesh there was behind it tight against the floor. But still he went on. ... Shhh, was that a sigh, or just the silent hissing in his skull?

Where were the bugs? There were no bugs. And where were the mice, the rats, the vermin? Suddenly the lights flickered. He tensed. He flinched. He saw her. There before him, maybe eighteen inches away sat a huge, white., reeking mound. A neolithic 'Venus' sheathed in fat, enthroned in a shallow,galvanized tub beneath a rusty, dripping shower head protruding from a cracked and peeling ceiling. 

He froze. The thing looked down at him through flat, white, lifeless eyes and smiled, revealing rotted teeth and pink-red, bleeding gums. Then he saw the maggots. She was sitting in them. The tub was filled with them and she was eating them.

The illumination, or whatever it was flickered again. She was gone. The tub was clean and all was quiet. Then he heard a click and it was dark once more. He cried. He sobbed. He was thirsty and desperately wanted to find the knob that would release the water, if there was water. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't move he was afraid to leave the floor. So he felt his way over to a wall and made for the hallway again.

Perhaps it was all just an hallucination? Sensory deprivation can cause such things. Perhaps that's all it was? 

But then he heard the voices and soon he heard the screams. God help me. God help me. God help me. He whispered over and over again. He sat with his back pressed hard against the wall..... till something under the paint began to move...

God help me. God help me. But this time it wasn't him...

And then what lay beneath the paint broke through...

'The Dark'..... more tomorrow.

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ISOLATION ........... 12/31/13

The Russian steppes go on forever.... endless vistas of tussock and tundra... no trees... just horizon... a sea that doesn't move. Human structures and other artificial violations  are rare in these parts, but occasionally you'll come across isolated rotting structures. Some are small, though others seem like neolithic cities. Rooms open into rooms. And crumbling, linoleum passageways lead nowhere. 

They say Stalinist technicians tried to make monsters here, sad hominid mixes, part man, part ape. Officially they never succeeded.. But that was just officially. And when Moscow lost interest the technicians were recycled into something else. That's what they did. One day a big truck pulled up. Nameless, low level functionaries man-handled two or three heavyweight wood chippers out onto the permafrost.

That night at dinner (maybe 'evening  feeding would be more accurate), the soup had a certain tang and after the vodka and babkah, all were fast asleep. A bit later, silent minions commandeered from an up river gulag laid each technician down upon the floor of the recreation hall, a wide, unfinished space used for basketball and public canings. Both equally entertaining and well attended. The sleeping communists were trussed up like suckling pigs, carried to the wood chippers and unceremoniously lowered in. 'Bone meal' I think they called it and cattle all the way to the Urals were glad to get it.

Then cages housing curious half human creations were emptied. Everything else of value disappeared into the pockets of nomenclatura (Soviet nobles) in the capital, or perhaps Leningrad. The whole place was sloshed with a solution of water and carbolic acid, locked up and abandoned. 

For eighty years none but the rats and some screaming, disembodied souls knew its name.

Each window was sealed behind chipped green metal shutters, wielded into place. And the ghosts walked in darkness, for no light came within.

No road came this way. No troika passed in winter. Only the wind rushed by.... til one night something happened. A conveyance dropped from the stars. A helicopter came down all black and new and shiny, landing on the roof (that part, reinforced cement) like a huge, nocturnal dragonfly.

Two masked figures, obviously familiar with the place, or at least the blueprints of it, hurried to a skylight and via small, controlled explosions blasted off its metal lid. Then two others with drawn weapons led a third figure to the opening and lowered him in. Within minutes the skylight was resealed and they were gone.

All was as before..... except for the living figure locked within...

But he was not alone...

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The VAMPIRE Known as Tomas Forms a Fraternal Group on Penn's Campus... 12/30/13

There were five of them, not counting the vampire. They met in this little cafe place off campus and crowded into  one of those circular, corner booths in the back. Sunday night, after midnight, forty-eight hours (actually a little less) til New Year's Eve. Joint was empty. From the front it looked like they were closed and they were, but the owner was friendly with Doctor Franklin and let them in because of him. The old patriot-reprobate wasn't in attendance. He'd hosted an Eagles-Cowboys party earlier in the evening and was enjoying nightcaps with the last of his guests in his stylish digs beneath the Navy Yard deep within the womb of The Anti-Enchantment Bureau.  I suppose our vampire, friend, Tomas, contacted him. After all, his group, The Junto, was the first good works and mutual aid society, outside the bonds of religion, on Earth. And Tomas was an unnamed member of that. Seventeen twenty seven or so. That's when I think it started. Twenty one he was. Ben Franklin, I mean. The other original members were much older than he, but America's secular prophet (what else was he back then?) was obviously their leader. 

Tomas imagined such an arrangement for his group. Brainy college kids, from somewhat influential backgrounds, willing to met weekly and share what they knew. An earlier local synod, also called 'The Junto' and coincidentally born on Penn's campus too (2011) filled a similar niche. Other groups of educated, young gentlemen throughout the United States and overseas, as well, formed their own chapters. Learn what can be learned. Use it for 'the good.' Help society... and each other. But none of them had a vampire at the core. Though some claimed there was one in Yale's Skull and Bones, but I don't know who he was (is?), or who they helped, or what went on over there, or if that's even true. 

The cafe owner brought out steaming mugs of coffee and toasted sticky buns for the mortals and laid it all out upon the large, round, varnished table. Vampires can tolerate plain, hot tea, so Tomas got a mug of that. And there in that place , down a little side street, snug in the back of a vaguely Early American style cafe The Junto Vampirido was born.

In an effort to speed and facilitate things, please allow me to relate the proceedings in loose, script format.

Tomas - Kevin (the Sturdy Kid) why don't you introduce me to your friends?
Kevin - Sure, Tomas , allow me to present  Max and Jordan and Liam. His name's really William, but in Scotland and Ireland that can be Liam. He likes that, so he changed it. But it's really still William.
Liam shrugs.
Each nods and says 'hi' or 'how you doin'?'  as they shake hands all around. 
Kevin - And, uh,' gentleman,' this is Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi. Noble life-eater, originally from Al-Andaluz. But he's, uh, lived a lot of places since then and in case you don't know, 'life-eater' means vampire... Sorry, Tomas...
Tomas - That's alright. (fidgets) You think the proprietor has any aroma candles? I could use a good sour apple. 
Kevin - I don't know. Wait a second. (yells 'off camera') Yo, Bert! You got any aroma candles?!
Bert - (off camera) Go to hell. I got a can a Glade in the toilet. Does he want that? 
Tomas - No. That's alright.
Bert - (off camera) I can give him some lemon wedges?
But no one answers... They quietly sip their hot beverages.
Skinny Kid (Rob) - You know, Donald Trump once threw up in this booth. I don't know where he was sitting, but he did.
Tomas - Yeah, and I can still smell it. (mumbles) I wish he had that aroma candle.... They he reaches into one of his trademark black leather jackets and takes out a little vial.
Max - What's that?
Kevin - That's his blood.
Max - Yeah, right. F*ck you. Shut up. What is it?
Tomas - My blood. It's a vial of my blood.
Max - That's some free perfume sample shit. My mom has them in her bathroom. No 'blood.'
Kevin - It's blood. And I already drank some last night. Rob too.
Rob - Yep.
Max - You mean Enrique Iglesias over there is really a vampire? (to Tomas) Sorry, dude, but what can I say? 
Kevin - What do you think we're doing here?
Tomas - Do you want to see some proof? 
Max just looks and inches back in his seat..... Tomas reaches out over the table, sublimates his hand down through the wood and feels 'round till he finds something. Then he pulls it out with a big wad of chewing gum in his fingers. The three new comers don't say a word.
Kevin - Yo, Liam, you wanna pass organic chem? (Liam just looks) Drink the blood.
Tomas opens the vial and shakes a drop or two into their mugs. The new comers stare at the contents.
Kevin - (gestures toward the mugs) Drink.
They do, a bit reluctantly, but they do. Tomas looks relieved. Then everybody giggles.
Tomas - (Voice Over) And in that way my dream took shape.... Hey, it's a beginning... 

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Amazing Voice Sings Nessun Dorma On X-Factor..NESSUN DORMA means 'no one is sleeping' and is an unofficial VAMPIRE ANTHEM..plus Tomas tells the college kids his plans.. 12/29/13

They sat there for a while just looking at the fire. No other lights were on. Tomas likes it that way. The skinny kid said - You got any chips or peanuts?... But no one answered.  Edith brought in another bottle, some more of that hard cider. This was 'hard cider week.' You know how the vampires latch onto things. Sturdy kid says - Who's she? Your mother?..... Skinny kid gets a fit of laughing. Tomas just gives him a look. Skinny kid clears his throat and stops.

Tomas says - Am I the first, shall we say 'special' being you've ever come across? ..... Sturdy kid says - No, Eric from Pittsburgh can light his farts. does that count?.... This time Tomas laughs and says - No, that doesn't count.  I just thought some of your friends might like to meet me..... Sturdy kid goes - Are, are you gonna kill them?..... Tomas quietly says - No.... Sturdy kid says - I didn't mean that 'who's she? your mother' crap. Just nervous. You know..... Tomas nods. Then he goes - Do they believe in vampires? Your friends, I mean. The young people at the university...... Skinny kid looks at his buddy. Buddy goes - They believe in aliens. They believe like in chupacabras and stuff. They believe in Bigfoot. I don't know. Guys don't believe in vampires. Chicks do. I don't know...... Tomas says - Well what do you think?...... Skinny kid, who don't talk much goes - I think we're drunk..... Sturdy kid says - Look, dude, maybe you're like a hypnotist. What the f*ck do I know?

With that Tomas leaps from his chair, grabs the Sturdy kid's hand, pulls it toward his mouth and chomps off a pinky finger.... Kid goes - aaaggghhh! SHIT!!! F*CK!!!.... Skinny kid stares, slack jawed and wide eyed....... Then our vampire pulls the digit out of his mouth, bites his tongue, draws blood, licks the oozing end, grabs the kid's hand (from where he held it cradled tight against his chest) and jams that pasty, bloodless sucker back where it came from....... And it 'sticks.' And it's positioned right...... Sturdy kid goes - It burns! It burns! It burns!..... Tomas sucks his own (now blood covered) finger, pulls it out and slowly wipes the dripping tip over the rapidly healing wound..... Kid calms down. Stops wheezing. Studies his mutilated hand.... only now it's not mutilated anymore..... Tomas goes - Edith!..... The witchy-woman friend and housekeeper bustles in from the kitchen, turns on a lamp and offers the kid a plastic canister of baby-wipes. He takes one and gingerly cleans the wound... but there IS no wound. He flexes his fingers, grins, nods and laughs... All is well..... Skinny kid goes - Yo, dude, you got blood stains on your crotch....... Sturdy kid kicks him and goes - Shut up!

Tomas (standing by the fire) says - Please excuse my thoughtless act of wild indiscretion, but I needed your attention. So let me ask you once again. Do YOU believe in vampires? ..... The Sturdy kid nods....... Tomas gestures toward the other one and goes - What about 'Silent Bob?' ..... Skinny kid nods too....... Tomas says - Now I want to meet some of your friends. You think you could arrange it?

More nodding.....

Tomas smiles......

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The Vampire Known as Tomas Shares Some Other Strange Experiences... 12/28/13

Don't ask me who I killed. Don't ever do that. It doesn't concern you, so don't. You're here because things are 'slow' this time of year. The long, seemingly endless nights calm us down. The cold has something to do with that too. Room for everyone and time enough for everything.  No one feels constrained. So unlike the manic nights of summer. Do you know in June and July there's just eight hours of true darkness. And solitary mortals are hard to come by. They travel in packs then, screaming on street corners for the boys to come and catch them. Well sometimes they have to contend with me. And stop staring that way. You know I don't kill indiscriminately. My food deserves to be cooked. 

And then Tomas shut up, studying the hefty tumbler in his hand. He poured in the hard cider and drank it down before offering some to his guests. Students, I think they were. Film students fro Penn. He met them at a showing... some new gallery on North Second Street. They come for the cheese mostly. You know how students are. The wine too, but cheese can make a meal.

Did they know he was a vampire? No. One thought he was the eldest Jonas brother, if you want to know the truth. Creative types always seek 'contacts.' Relationship is everything in the arts. So they chatted him up and began to ask questions. But when it became obvious he had no idea who Scooter Braun was that Jonas pedigree flew out the window. And when the last of the Colby-Jack was gone they left. Ersatz Dali by way of Grant Wood wasn't cutting it. 

Tomas followed them, eager to get away from these art world 'looky-loos.' Place smelled from new, wool sweaters, probably Christmas presents and semi-controlled mice. Amateur rodent hunters can only do so much. But he fell in behind them, making his way along the rough, cracked sidewalks of Old City (an 'entry-level' smart district, north of Society Hill). After a bit they ducked into a pretentious men's clothing store. Three hundred dollar jeans and all that. Bamboo hardwood floors. Although bamboo isn't really a hardwood, but that's what they say. The skinny one tried to palm a bill fold, not from someone's pocket (they did have standards after all) a new one for sale on a polished, wood table. Six hundred and seventy dollars, in case you're interested The sturdy one kept watch. Couldn't steal like this from the big stores. Too many safeguards for that. Tiny, little cameras all over the place. Underpaid, judgmental, wage slaves. Little pin lights highlighting perfectly folded trousers. Who buys dress pants like that anymore? Where would they wear them? Well, apparently some people knew where. But that's another story. One of the owners saw the whole thing and moved in for the kill. Obviously loves moments like this. Crushing other people's lives makes up for so much. And the kid never saw it coming. 

Excuse me. What the hell do you think you're doing!? - barked the shopkeeper. And the kid almost died. The place wasn't that crowded, but a couple people did turn around. Before things could escalate, Tomas stepped up, plutonium card, or whatever they call it, in hand, flashed in before the partner and said - No, no, no, he's just passing it over to me. I want to buy it. Christmas present for myself actually.... Just like that. A switch was thrown and the owner beamed. Five minutes later the sale was made and the three of them were out on the street. Skinny kid sniffs and goes - Yo, thanks, dude. Why'd you do it?..... Sturdy kid goes - Yeah, why'd you do it?.... Tomas says - I did it 'cause I hate that guy.... Sturdy kid goes - You spent about seven hundred and thirty f*ckin' dollars, including tax, in that guy's God damned store because you hate him? Yo, dude, what do you do?..... Tomas thought for a moment, considered lying. When pressed, he usually says - I'm an investor... But these were college kids. Nothing shocks them. So he did it. He told them. He goes - I'm in vampirism. Self-employed. How do you do.... They trade names and shake hands. Sturdy kid (the talker) goes - Vampirism? What, there's a lot a money in that?..... And Tomas goes - Oh, if you only knew. Care for a drink?... But before they could even answer he hailed a cab and fifteen heartbeats later they were on their way.

He tells 'em a real good story about an old torture involving ferrets, or polecats or something and guys wearing white silk, pajama-like suits with tight necks, wrists and ankles. No underwear, or any protective garment next to the skin. Ain't allowed to do that. And it's gotta be white, 'cause white shows the blood. Stuff a couple a them hungry, sharp-toothed weasel things down the front a the pants. Button everything up real snug and tight and let her rip. First one to scream gets baked alive. And everybody watches, as they tremble, sweat and bleed.

Sturdy kid says - Did you just hear about that, or actually see it?..... Tomas goes - Saw it. Made a lot of money on it too..... How? - said the skinny kid.... Sturdy one goes - Jesus Christ! They bet! They bet on it. Can't you figure it out?!...... Tomas goes - Hey, I ain't proud.

And then he tells them more.....

Now Edith put a couple drops of Tomas' blood in their drinks. She's got a little dropper from some old bottle of over-the-counter earache medicine. That's what she uses. It works. Who needs 'fancy?'

But that I'll tell you tomorrow night...

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The Vampire, Tomas, Speaks Directly To You..... 12/26/13

When bad things happen it's foolish to wish they had not. Better to face the new reality and bend it to your will. It took me time to learn that. During the early years of my transformation I wandered aimlessly. Oh, I was aware of my surroundings. I knew where I was. But things transpired in and of themselves. I was but a passenger... not even an onlooker... just a passenger... barely able to recognize my own form in a mirror. Though there were few of them, back then. The era of my second birth was cold and coarse and hard. 

I established a war chest in short order, dispatching self-proud feudal lords and confiscating baubles and gold. Not many diamonds back then. For the most part, they didn't appear in 'Christendom' til returning Crusaders brought them back from the Levant. And even there they were not native, but the fruit of long established trade with Hind (what you call 'India'). My stash included rubies, emeralds, opals, pearls and gold. Silver too, but mostly gold. 

This was before I could easily sublimate through walls and other barriers. But I did have 'vampire eyes' from the beginning and to me, anyway, beguiling bewildered mortals was natural and automatic. I adopted the dress of a Christian scholar... a noble son traveling between Catalonia or Provence and the university-like academies of La Serenissima (Venice). Not too difficult for a rather aristocratic Rite-Of-Spain (Sephardic) Hebrew, like myself. Please know that we did not dress any different than others of our class. And I already knew assorted chunks of Greek and Latin in addition to Hebrew and Aramaic, plus the local vernaculars of Northern Spain. I had a Hebrew Bible and a copy of the Trinitarian Holy Books. I think there was a Trinitarian prayer book too. During the dark months of the year I even attended vespers. Not on a daily basis, but often enough in various locales to make my presence known. 'Tomas de Macabea'... They knew my name. I traveled with at least three men-at-arms. The term 'familiar' was unknown to me then, but that is what they were, subverted by tiny droplets of my magical blood. I hid caches of valuables off in the woods in places even outlaws avoided, near haunted springs, or mysterious caverns. Were they haunted? Occasionally. Though what am I but a ghost still dressed in flesh?

Please know that I could, at times, when frightened, manage to sublimate through barriers and walls. But I could not pass through  air. I could not fly. Travel was difficult, limited to the distance a horse could traverse by night. Were there outlaws abroad then? Of course. We were waylaid many times, but I fed on them, turning some into meals and others into servants.

Then, one night while passing through new environs, a thickly wooded track near the sea, I dozed at the reins and tumbled off a cliff. In a heartbeat, the poor horse went one way and I another, streaking into the heavens like an arrow. Thus did I acquire the power of flight. Not true flight. Not what the elferinos and elferinas do, but something very much like it. I did not float on the air, but climbed through it, one molecule at a time, though in a very rapid fashion. And my life, or what I called life, was forever changed.

In the space of a few hours I passed between polities and heard new songs, each in a different tongue. One night Genoa, another Marseilles, Some nights spent among the nobles of Barcelona, or the citrus groves of Aragon. And I picked up phrases from each place, as did other night-folk. We conversed. We wrote things down and a new language appeared... a Latin tongue binding the northwestern Mediterranean world from Rome to Cadiz. 'Vahmperigo' we called it... 'in the manner of the vampires.' According to the accent it might sound like Spanish, or Catalan, or French, or Italian, or a melange of all four. Some higher Catholic clergy knew it too. Captured vampires made rich trophies. And many a prelate kept one in a leaden, cellar crypt.. For lead confounds us and we cannot sublimate through it. 

Now we've traveled this road before. But many of you are new and I thought that you should know.

What did I wear? I can hear you thinking. You want to know how I looked, so I'll tell you. Next to my body came a cloth, passing o're my crotch and held in place  by a braided, linen cord. Over that went a light, long-sleeved, unbleached tunic that fell almost to the knee. Tightly knit, thigh-high stockings, held up by buttoned garters and fine, pointy-toed, leather bootkins clothed my legs and feet. There was an outer garment, another tunic fashioned from a more colorful cloth of more substance, bound 'round the waist by a sash. My cloaks had hoods. I wore soft, leather gauntlets and sometimes during chilly months, woolen scarves and thick, knit tunics worn inside, toward the skin. My hair was long and wavy, in the Mediterranean fashion, though some knights, in anticipation of The Crusades had begun to crop theirs close to the skull. I had knit hats too, essentially the same as what boys still wear now.

Besides my mount and lesser breeds for the men-at-arms, we had two pack animals. Asses they were.... 

And my 'vampire eyes' always got me a snug, dark place to sleep.

Now that's it. Good night. It's time for me to kill ...

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SOMETIMES VAMPIRES GET TALKATIVE .. the wee hours of Christmas...... 12/25/13

Sometimes when they feel threatened vampires retreat. They stay close to home, peering through the draperies and sipping fine distillations by the fire. Tomas is no different. And when he stays home, they all do. Sarah watched a cooking show about recipes she'll never make. Conrad and Leo gambled on line, playing hand after hand of joker-poker. A 'familiar' set it all up for them. But the market's been good and the night-folk have plenty. So a thousand dollars every fortnight or so isn't too bad.  Besides, the 'boys' really enjoy it. Don't ask me where the elferinos and elferinas are. They're so quiet and discrete. Sarah thinks they look like Kate Moss, but with ever so slightly pointier ears. The males not so Kate Mossy.... maybe like Sebastian Bach. God knows where they are.

Edith made a big pot of pasta. Rigatoni, I think. She tosses it with some kind of soft, crumbly cheese and a little bit of cream. Then she chills it. It's good. She eats it. I eat it. Them four Kate Moss' will eat it too. Look, when I say 'eat' I mean taste. They're vampires, after all. They throw it up, five minutes later (hopefully in the little powder room down the hall) and then, soon after, taste a little more. You know how the Romans were with their tricliniums (dining rooms) and vomitoriums? Well, vampires are a lot like classical Romans too. 

They like the starchy aroma. The vampires, I mean. But only the younger, 'pubescent' ones actually taste the stuff. The night-gift settles differently on them. They can do things like that. And I know Tomas envies the way they fly. You see, he 'sublimates' through the air. Moves through the actual molecules like a knife through butter. Looks like he disappears and reappears someplace else. Sometimes you see a streak, but not always. Elferinos and elferinas, on the other hand, truly fly. They float on the air and dance through it like bubbles in champagne. And they're vain about it too. Believe me. They know how cool it looks.

Tomas calls me over. He wants to talk. I sit in one of the club chairs. It's warm. The lights are low and I love the way the apple wood fire smells. Edith watches a midnight mass in the kitchen. It's Christmas Eve in the old, red brick warrens of Philadelphia.

I met Charles Dickens, you know. Went with him when he toured Eastern state Penitentiary - he says. Called it a 'strange menagerie.' They let him peek inside the cells. More an assemblage of hopeless dungeons they were.  That's where the expression 'lock the door and throw away the key' came from. He didn't know I was a vampire. He didn't even know I was a Jew. You know how he wrote 'Fagin'? I didn't want to get into all that. Some mortals love their hatreds more than they love life.... It defines them. They were crazy, you know. The penitents, I mean. Locked away in dark, tiny cells all alone. They didn't have open bars. They had doors... stout, heavy, black, iron doors...... Then he just stopped passed me the bottle. Grey Goose. Always Grey Goose. I think a connection with the state liquor stores sends it over to him. Edith bustled in from the kitchen. Brought me a little glass. You know she's a witchy-woman.  Telepathy's like the first thing they teach 'em.

I think he feels locked in too. Edith says he wanted to be a saint. When he was mortal, I mean. Used to read books about it. 'Into every generation of men thirty six blameless souls are given.'..... And those old, devout, Spanish Jewish families really believed that. 

I'll tell you what he's gonna do. It's still dark for a few hours. He has time. He'll get up, put on his coat and his gloves and his scarf and all. Got this wool hat he pulls down too. Then he'll stuff his pockets with silver dollars...real silver dollars. Go out. Walk the streets and give them to homeless people. That's his 'thing.' He does it for almost every holiday. Then he'll go sit on a bench in Washington Square Park, talk to the ghosts for a few minutes  and come home.

I feel bad for Tomas. I really do.

You know, Charles Dickens had a pet raven named Grip. Been mostly dead for a hundred and sixty years. Main Library in Center City's got it on display... all stuffed and mounted and all. Sits in the rare book room. Still looks like it wants a peck your eyes out. Apparently, death don't mellow ravens. 

This is Billy. I'm tired. I gotta go to sleep. 

May the Season of Miracles be magical for you and yours.
That's all I got to tell you tonight. I don't make it up. I just write what happens.

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