Doors serve a couple purposes. They segment a space, with walls, while providing a place of egress. But unlike open thresholds, they aren't always passable. And unlike walls, they aren't always going to keep things out.
They can serve multiple purpose, but closed doors, alone, play more roles than one. A closed door can be a manner of protecting yourself from danger, it can be a way to maintain your privacy without sacrificing the freedom to leave if desired, or it can be a way to exclude someone or something.
The phrase 'whenever a door closes a window opens' is really unusual. I get it, the idea is that just because one option becomes non-viable, doesn't mean there are no other options. But then again, who the hell typically has windows that are as big as doors and go all the way to the floor? Climbing through a window is noticeably more difficult. Additionally, since when has anyone ever slammed a window in somebody's face? I don't recall it happening much, but doors are much more common in that regard.
But the thing about closed doors is that they can be metaphorical. So when someone shuts you out of their life, that can be a closed door. And when options are dwindling, or appear to be absent, those are closed doors.
I find myself in a strange space, since I like the ability to have time to myself, I willingly close doors sometimes... but then when I want to connect, I find the doors of others are not only closed, but locked. Not all the time, but enough.
So, I'm waiting for a person who will open their door, a person with whom I can swap skeleton keys. Because I am way too big to climb through the windows.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Monday, March 19, 2018
FEAR
Again, they brought out their most decorated soldiers, wearing their most powerful exosuits, and wielding the most advanced weapons their country had. Third country in a row. Soon they would bow to his power.
"COME! Prove yourselves worthy of death by my hand!" Geroldt cried out, as he took a defensive stance, his exosuit's spikes digging deep into the earth to anchor his footing. He looked defenseless, no weapons clearly in hand, anchored in place. What more could he do but to stand there and be slaughtered.
Haughty with pride, the enemies charged at him. But, he merely opened his hands, and they all stopped in place. A stream of tokens launched from his back, landing in his suit's hands, and with a simple flick, they went flying directly into the heads of the enemies. There were no survivors.
This was the power of FEAR. The power of their Fulminating Electronic Anti-personnel Resonator. Built into his exosuit's palms, they fired a whirling blast of electric resonance designed to disrupt the enemy's nervous system, showing them their worst nightmares in an instant. Side effects included PTSD, loss of consciousness, and in some of the more severe cases, brain aneurysms. Of course, since it was a weapon of war, none of this mattered. The protocol was only use it on those who are going to die right away.
Geroldt was met by the steely gaze of a newcomer, who arrived at the top of the wall. His exosuit was strange. Unlike the previous soldiers, he wore a gleaming silver, and his face was protected by a black faceplate. He suddenly saw them. The eyes of a daemon, just behind the mask. In that last moment, Geroldt truly realized how terrible having the FEAR used back on him was.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"COME! Prove yourselves worthy of death by my hand!" Geroldt cried out, as he took a defensive stance, his exosuit's spikes digging deep into the earth to anchor his footing. He looked defenseless, no weapons clearly in hand, anchored in place. What more could he do but to stand there and be slaughtered.
Haughty with pride, the enemies charged at him. But, he merely opened his hands, and they all stopped in place. A stream of tokens launched from his back, landing in his suit's hands, and with a simple flick, they went flying directly into the heads of the enemies. There were no survivors.
This was the power of FEAR. The power of their Fulminating Electronic Anti-personnel Resonator. Built into his exosuit's palms, they fired a whirling blast of electric resonance designed to disrupt the enemy's nervous system, showing them their worst nightmares in an instant. Side effects included PTSD, loss of consciousness, and in some of the more severe cases, brain aneurysms. Of course, since it was a weapon of war, none of this mattered. The protocol was only use it on those who are going to die right away.
Geroldt was met by the steely gaze of a newcomer, who arrived at the top of the wall. His exosuit was strange. Unlike the previous soldiers, he wore a gleaming silver, and his face was protected by a black faceplate. He suddenly saw them. The eyes of a daemon, just behind the mask. In that last moment, Geroldt truly realized how terrible having the FEAR used back on him was.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Dread
"Come on, it's not that bad, Joshua. You don't even feel it!" Zeke said. Across the table, Zeke had a sincere smile on his face. Joshua trusted him implicitly, but he still dreaded the idea of it.
"Zeke, man, you are so cool, but I just... can't. I mean it looks awesome, but I am worried. What happens if something goes wrong?" He replied. "I need my eyesight to do my job! I can't afford to lose it."
"Look, dude. If you're that worried, then just do one eye first." Zeke responded. Joshua was getting a little bit angry. Losing sight in even one eye would make his job significantly more difficult.
"No. I just can't. Listen, I'll happily get another piercing or a tattoo elsewhere, but those sclera tattoos seem too dangerous to me."
"Man, I thought you were chill. But alright. You don't have to get one if you don't want one." Zeke replied. After that, the two of them sat in silence for a while, waiting for the pizza to show up at the table.
After they finished eating, the two friends went their separate ways. Zeke called up later that week, and showed off his new sclera tattoo. Joshua was impressed, but knew he could never bring himself to do the same.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Zeke, man, you are so cool, but I just... can't. I mean it looks awesome, but I am worried. What happens if something goes wrong?" He replied. "I need my eyesight to do my job! I can't afford to lose it."
"Look, dude. If you're that worried, then just do one eye first." Zeke responded. Joshua was getting a little bit angry. Losing sight in even one eye would make his job significantly more difficult.
"No. I just can't. Listen, I'll happily get another piercing or a tattoo elsewhere, but those sclera tattoos seem too dangerous to me."
"Man, I thought you were chill. But alright. You don't have to get one if you don't want one." Zeke replied. After that, the two of them sat in silence for a while, waiting for the pizza to show up at the table.
After they finished eating, the two friends went their separate ways. Zeke called up later that week, and showed off his new sclera tattoo. Joshua was impressed, but knew he could never bring himself to do the same.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Numbers
1, 2, 3, 4, 5... I counted. Each of the numbers representing a series of numbers that represented yet more. As I spoke and moved my hands, arrays of symbols appeared in the air before me. Even as my mouth spoke the basic numbers, my mind was crafting the matrices of calculations appearing midair, as a warm glowing energy.
"Wow, that is impressive." A woman nearby said, as she stopped in the road to observe as I continued, undaunted by the growing audience. The initial setup complete, I now moved onto the complex calculations.
2x/sin(3r+5y³) - 1.5(T+2i) ; Π-2tan(2.87T-r² ± 12)... The runes and numbers now started flowing from the matrices, forming the structure of the incantation. Just a moment longer and I would be complete. Now for the most arcane.
ɣɚȵȶɕʡȝȡǽ, ʊʂʆʨϰϨȃȢȵ... The last of the equations seemingly words, but in fact merely substitutions for the mathematical concepts built up in the matrices upon which the lattice now sat. Then, with a triumphant yell, I solved the incantation.
"Kyrota!" And just like that, I saw the pull of the fabric of spacetime warp, as matter from the distant edges of the universe now entangled in the energy of the spell, came forth, and took the place to which I summoned it. Before me now stood a great mansion, adorned in simple stone architecture accented with gold, and ruby carpets. A sprawling courtyard with newly born rose bushes on either side of the path.
"My goodness!" The woman exclaimed, amongst similar reactions from other onlookers. Of course, I found this reaction commonplace. It seemed everywhere I was commissioned to do my work, it held some mystery to those who witnessed it. Years of study and practice, however, made such things mundane.
I walked over to the carriage nearby, as a youth robed in gentle purple and silver fabrics stepped out. He was attended by his butler, wearing a dusty grey suit. The youth looked over my work.
"I am not terribly impressed." He said to me. Most likely an attempt to save himself a ransom of coin.
"Neither am I, but work done is worth payment, my lord." I replied, extending my hand toward him. The youth scowled, a look which did not look good on his otherwise gentle features. It was clear this lord had never worked an honest day in his life.
"Well, we shall see about that. Braev, the money." He instructed his butler. A small pouch was handed to me. I looked inside. As expected, these were gold pieces. My services cost the same weight in platinum.
"I believe there has been an error, sir. This payment..."
"IS ENOUGH for the place you have built here. Pitiful, you shall get no more." He scoffed.
"Then I shall take back that which you have not yet paid." I said, tugging on a few aetherial cords in the structure. With a flash of light, the equations I had built in spacetime came to life, and at once, the second and third floors of the mansion disappeared, and the courtyard as well.
"You FILTHY CHEAT! How DARE YOU?" He yelled at me. "Guards, kill this man!"
Several armed guards rushed forward with their spears and short swords. I sighed. One in every ten transactions, something like this happens. It is ridiculous. As they stepped within my warding area, I spoke a word of power, invoking the powers. The guards were instantly aflame, and frozen in place. They screamed in terror and in pain. Unable to move, they were at my mercy to put them out.
"I, the cheat? You deign to request my services, and then try to pay me less than half for the work I have done, and then intend to have me killed? You sir, are deserving of a title far worse." The villagers rushed out of sight at the commotion, fearing for their lives now that they saw guards burning alive in their suits of armor, leather and metal melting with their skin. The screams stopped, and the bodies fell to the ground in a pool of smoking gore and molten ore.
"Monster! You will pay for this!" The noble boy called, as he fled in his carriage. Another day, another enemy. Such was the difficulty of being a numerologist in this world. It would be far too easy to cheat the system, and build an empire of my own. But I have always believed in the value of hard work. Maybe one day, others will too.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Wow, that is impressive." A woman nearby said, as she stopped in the road to observe as I continued, undaunted by the growing audience. The initial setup complete, I now moved onto the complex calculations.
2x/sin(3r+5y³) - 1.5(T+2i) ; Π-2tan(2.87T-r² ± 12)... The runes and numbers now started flowing from the matrices, forming the structure of the incantation. Just a moment longer and I would be complete. Now for the most arcane.
ɣɚȵȶɕʡȝȡǽ, ʊʂʆʨϰϨȃȢȵ... The last of the equations seemingly words, but in fact merely substitutions for the mathematical concepts built up in the matrices upon which the lattice now sat. Then, with a triumphant yell, I solved the incantation.
"Kyrota!" And just like that, I saw the pull of the fabric of spacetime warp, as matter from the distant edges of the universe now entangled in the energy of the spell, came forth, and took the place to which I summoned it. Before me now stood a great mansion, adorned in simple stone architecture accented with gold, and ruby carpets. A sprawling courtyard with newly born rose bushes on either side of the path.
"My goodness!" The woman exclaimed, amongst similar reactions from other onlookers. Of course, I found this reaction commonplace. It seemed everywhere I was commissioned to do my work, it held some mystery to those who witnessed it. Years of study and practice, however, made such things mundane.
I walked over to the carriage nearby, as a youth robed in gentle purple and silver fabrics stepped out. He was attended by his butler, wearing a dusty grey suit. The youth looked over my work.
"I am not terribly impressed." He said to me. Most likely an attempt to save himself a ransom of coin.
"Neither am I, but work done is worth payment, my lord." I replied, extending my hand toward him. The youth scowled, a look which did not look good on his otherwise gentle features. It was clear this lord had never worked an honest day in his life.
"Well, we shall see about that. Braev, the money." He instructed his butler. A small pouch was handed to me. I looked inside. As expected, these were gold pieces. My services cost the same weight in platinum.
"I believe there has been an error, sir. This payment..."
"IS ENOUGH for the place you have built here. Pitiful, you shall get no more." He scoffed.
"Then I shall take back that which you have not yet paid." I said, tugging on a few aetherial cords in the structure. With a flash of light, the equations I had built in spacetime came to life, and at once, the second and third floors of the mansion disappeared, and the courtyard as well.
"You FILTHY CHEAT! How DARE YOU?" He yelled at me. "Guards, kill this man!"
Several armed guards rushed forward with their spears and short swords. I sighed. One in every ten transactions, something like this happens. It is ridiculous. As they stepped within my warding area, I spoke a word of power, invoking the powers. The guards were instantly aflame, and frozen in place. They screamed in terror and in pain. Unable to move, they were at my mercy to put them out.
"I, the cheat? You deign to request my services, and then try to pay me less than half for the work I have done, and then intend to have me killed? You sir, are deserving of a title far worse." The villagers rushed out of sight at the commotion, fearing for their lives now that they saw guards burning alive in their suits of armor, leather and metal melting with their skin. The screams stopped, and the bodies fell to the ground in a pool of smoking gore and molten ore.
"Monster! You will pay for this!" The noble boy called, as he fled in his carriage. Another day, another enemy. Such was the difficulty of being a numerologist in this world. It would be far too easy to cheat the system, and build an empire of my own. But I have always believed in the value of hard work. Maybe one day, others will too.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sugar
Another young girl entered the dream. I thought to myself about how the last one turned out. Things went pretty well. I, Noble, would guide this one from the land of sugar to the prince, just like I had the last. Well, at least I would try. They can be so stubborn, and selfish.
"Where am I?" The girl cried. And dutifully, the good witch appeared, gave her the magical gifts and her task. And, as expected, the moment the good witch was gone, she attempted to selfishly run with those magical shoes straight to the prince. If only she could see how silly she looked, running in place.
Coming to a stop, she looked around, as she realized she had not moved an inch. "Aww man, these shoes are BROKEN! Dumb shoes."
My role was next, so I cast my fairy magic, transporting her to a land of sugar. I made my usual appearance.
"Hi, I'm Noble! I'm a sugar fairy, and I have been sent to help you get to the prince!" I said, introducing myself.
"I'm Amy. Do you know where I am?"
"Silly, you're in the land of sugar!" I responded. She knelt down, and tasted the sandy ground. Her face brightened as she scooped more toward her mouth. "Hey! Be careful! If you eat too much, you'll get a stomachache!"
"I'm fine... but I wish I could go home." Amy responded, in a huff. Then, in a surprising turn, she looked at me deviously.
"Wait, Amy. What are you thinking?" I asked, but before I had a chance to react, she jumped atop me, and started biting my arm. "Hey! Stop that, I'm not food!"
"Yes you are! You're sugar!" Amy said, as she bit my head off. My body fell limply to the ground. Well, this was going to be harder than when Maya came through. I melted into the sugary ground and reformed a few feet away, this time with wings so she couldn't reach me.
"Ok, listen, Amy. I'm here to help you, but we need to set some ground rules."
"I HATE RULES! I want to do what I WANT!" Amy whined. Rolling my eyes, I prepared for what was SURE to be a LONG trip.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Where am I?" The girl cried. And dutifully, the good witch appeared, gave her the magical gifts and her task. And, as expected, the moment the good witch was gone, she attempted to selfishly run with those magical shoes straight to the prince. If only she could see how silly she looked, running in place.
Coming to a stop, she looked around, as she realized she had not moved an inch. "Aww man, these shoes are BROKEN! Dumb shoes."
My role was next, so I cast my fairy magic, transporting her to a land of sugar. I made my usual appearance.
"Hi, I'm Noble! I'm a sugar fairy, and I have been sent to help you get to the prince!" I said, introducing myself.
"I'm Amy. Do you know where I am?"
"Silly, you're in the land of sugar!" I responded. She knelt down, and tasted the sandy ground. Her face brightened as she scooped more toward her mouth. "Hey! Be careful! If you eat too much, you'll get a stomachache!"
"I'm fine... but I wish I could go home." Amy responded, in a huff. Then, in a surprising turn, she looked at me deviously.
"Wait, Amy. What are you thinking?" I asked, but before I had a chance to react, she jumped atop me, and started biting my arm. "Hey! Stop that, I'm not food!"
"Yes you are! You're sugar!" Amy said, as she bit my head off. My body fell limply to the ground. Well, this was going to be harder than when Maya came through. I melted into the sugary ground and reformed a few feet away, this time with wings so she couldn't reach me.
"Ok, listen, Amy. I'm here to help you, but we need to set some ground rules."
"I HATE RULES! I want to do what I WANT!" Amy whined. Rolling my eyes, I prepared for what was SURE to be a LONG trip.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Smoke, fog, and haze
I did the ironic thing. Despite the fact that I could not see in front of me because of the fog, I lit a cigarette, even knowing that it may make the haze take even longer to clear. I needed it. Cigarettes, I had learned, actually contain a lot of stimulants. But the habits of smoking them always helped me calm down. I felt more clear headed after having one, even though it was probably just the nicotine addiction. Just taking the edge off right before withdrawal kicked in.
"Alright, Bruce. Take it slow, you've got this." I tried to calm myself between puffs. I looked around, still could hardly see past my own hand. The illumination from the cigarette doing nothing to help. The small, handheld flashlight in my free hand, having taken the place of the lighter from a moment ago, did less. It was like shining a light at a wall. I bent down a little.
"Why'd it have to be heights?" I asked myself, noting how there was seemingly no floor on either side of me. Who knew how far down the pit went. "Well, now's a good a time as any to check."
I flicked the butt of the cigarette down the side of the platform, watching the glow as it fell, but a few feet down, and the fog overtook it. Could just be a few feet, could be a mile. I'd rather not find out. Looking back at the path, I knew there was only one direction to walk, and so I steadied myself, and slowly moved through the smoke, fog, and haze. "Wait for me, Margaret. I'll save you."
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Alright, Bruce. Take it slow, you've got this." I tried to calm myself between puffs. I looked around, still could hardly see past my own hand. The illumination from the cigarette doing nothing to help. The small, handheld flashlight in my free hand, having taken the place of the lighter from a moment ago, did less. It was like shining a light at a wall. I bent down a little.
"Why'd it have to be heights?" I asked myself, noting how there was seemingly no floor on either side of me. Who knew how far down the pit went. "Well, now's a good a time as any to check."
I flicked the butt of the cigarette down the side of the platform, watching the glow as it fell, but a few feet down, and the fog overtook it. Could just be a few feet, could be a mile. I'd rather not find out. Looking back at the path, I knew there was only one direction to walk, and so I steadied myself, and slowly moved through the smoke, fog, and haze. "Wait for me, Margaret. I'll save you."
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Foreclosure
"Wait, they're going to foreclose on our planet!?" Jenna yelped. "Who the hell was responsible for making the payments and fell behind?"
"Apparently, it was the president of the committee of space." Gordon replied, as he packed his essential items. You know, the usual things- his automatic hair floofer, his external neuralink transmitter, his 360 holo-outfit adjuster, his trans-dimensional storage cube, and his pet rock.
"Well who put the president of the committee of space in charge of that?" Jenna asked, as she stared at how calmly Gordon was handling the situation. "And why are you so calm! Our planet is about to be destroyed!"
"Now, now, just because the planet is being destroyed doesn't mean we won't have anywhere to live. I heard in just another century they will have repaved this orbit with a brand new planet, which will have exotic living conditions. Also, it wasn't like anyone put the president in charge on purpose, the treasurer of the committee of space got fired after an investigation revealed that he had been smuggling shoopufs from Spira."
"I don't want to have to wait a century for a place to live! Is there anything we can do to keep the planet from going into foreclosure?"
"Well, I suppose if we were able to get someone to volunteer to use the time capsule to go back to the beginning of the universe, and deposit a single penny in the Universal Bank, then by the time it was present day we would have an account with enough money to make this orbit's payment. Of course, you know nobody would volunteer for a one way trip to a time where running water and direct neural broadcasting of sport events weren't available."
"Well I won't stand for this. I'm going to do something." Jenna said. Gordon jumped into the teleportation grid to head to Alpha Centauri, advising her "OK, just be careful. Dinner's at 8!"
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Apparently, it was the president of the committee of space." Gordon replied, as he packed his essential items. You know, the usual things- his automatic hair floofer, his external neuralink transmitter, his 360 holo-outfit adjuster, his trans-dimensional storage cube, and his pet rock.
"Well who put the president of the committee of space in charge of that?" Jenna asked, as she stared at how calmly Gordon was handling the situation. "And why are you so calm! Our planet is about to be destroyed!"
"Now, now, just because the planet is being destroyed doesn't mean we won't have anywhere to live. I heard in just another century they will have repaved this orbit with a brand new planet, which will have exotic living conditions. Also, it wasn't like anyone put the president in charge on purpose, the treasurer of the committee of space got fired after an investigation revealed that he had been smuggling shoopufs from Spira."
"I don't want to have to wait a century for a place to live! Is there anything we can do to keep the planet from going into foreclosure?"
"Well, I suppose if we were able to get someone to volunteer to use the time capsule to go back to the beginning of the universe, and deposit a single penny in the Universal Bank, then by the time it was present day we would have an account with enough money to make this orbit's payment. Of course, you know nobody would volunteer for a one way trip to a time where running water and direct neural broadcasting of sport events weren't available."
"Well I won't stand for this. I'm going to do something." Jenna said. Gordon jumped into the teleportation grid to head to Alpha Centauri, advising her "OK, just be careful. Dinner's at 8!"
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
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