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He mumbled tohimselfWhile munching away on the only cereal his mother would buy him lucky charms, Charlie sat reminiscing about his life. I am defiantly going to the corner drug to get those anti-depressant pills today he thought. Thinking over his life really made him depressed. "Let's see here" he thought "I've never had sex, really the closest I ever got was the one time my cousin and I got drunk and slobbered all over each other's faces for two minutes until I passed out."After that happy thought he looked up and saw the time. "Well its 10:00 I should go over to the corner drug now." As he was walking along from his mother's house he saw one of his old high school classmates washing his beloved car. The way he lovingly and lightly caressed its body triggered a memory of his dream. He continued on now slightly uneasy have remembered part of his unpleasant dream. I wish I could see who it was in my dream. He said out loud to himself.Crossing another intersection Charlie tripped and. And the rest of the drive passed in silence."Here we are," Ms. Morrison," he said later."Thanks," I said. "Wait here." Sure thing," he said. "But wouldn't it be cheaper if you just started payin' that...." I slammed the door, effectively cutting off the rest of his verbosity and headed into the Park as the rain slowly stopped.MacArthur's Park was steaming in the dark and the rabid squirrels were rushing by. Some jackass had left a cake out in the rain and I damn near broke my neck as my stiletto heels skidded on its squishiness. "So much for the subtle approach," I muttered as I struggled frantically (and successfully) to regain my balance. But I went on, as a good little TS Investigator should, with hope in my heart and a song on my lips...one of Marilyn Manson's touching love ballads, actually. Then, suddenly, not six feet away, I saw a glint of gold as the last rays of the setting sun reflected off the skull that was dangling from Bramwell's left ear. I began sidling towards him.
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Her husband, who had died so heroically that morning, was a great fireman. But he had also been abusive to her and their sons. It was a side of the tragedy that no one, not even herself, wanted to see. Gail had been just eighteen when she met and married Tim, who was a decade older and already a fire fighter. The irony was that they met when she sprained her ankle running to make it to work on time in the South Tower. She had been bright eyed, a recent high school graduate, who was so excited to have landed a temporary receptionist job at one of the trading companies in the big, shiny apple of New York City. It was quite an accomplishment for a Jersey girl. Of course, the laughing blue eyes, dark curly hair and seemingly endless broad shoulders of the young fire fighter had almost made her completely forget the pain in her ankle. He and his partner had bandaged it before transporting her to St. Vincent’s. Almost before the ankle had healed completely, she had become romantically.

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