Things that happen to us – Page 6

Let’s Ask Arty about the War in Ukraine

Let’s Ask Arty uses existing Artificial Intelligence (AI) technology to query LLMs about politics in these troubled times.

Query 1: How did the war between Ukraine and Russia start?

The war between Ukraine and Russia began with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022. This invasion was preceded by years of tension and conflict, including Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea in 2014 and support for pro-Russian separatists in eastern Ukraine2. The full-scale invasion in 2022 marked a significant escalation in the conflict

Query 2: Did Russian Forces commit war crimes against Ukraine citizens?

Yes, there have been numerous credible reports and investigations indicating that Russian forces have committed war crimes against Ukrainian citizens since the invasion began in 2022. These war crimes include deliberate attacks on civilian targets such as hospitals, schools, and residential areas, indiscriminate attacks on densely populated areas, abduction, torture, and murder of civilians, forced deportations, sexual violence, and destruction of cultural heritage.

Query 3: Is Vladimir Putin responsible for war crimes against Ukraine?

The International Criminal Court (ICC) has issued an arrest warrant for Russian President Vladimir Putin, accusing him of war crimes related to the unlawful deportation and transfer of children from occupied areas of Ukraine to Russia. This is part of broader allegations of war crimes committed by Russian forces, including deliberate attacks on civilian targets, abductions, torture, and murder of civilians, and destruction of cultural heritage.

Query 4: As an American citizen, how can I support Ukraine in its war with Russia even when my government seems now to be siding with Russia?

It’s commendable that you want to support Ukraine despite the complexities of international politics. Here are some ways you can help:

Donate to humanitarian organizations: Organizations like People in Need, the Ukrainian Red Cross, International Medical Corps, and CARE are actively providing aid to those affected by the conflict. Your donations can help provide food, shelter, medical aid, and other essential services1.
Support Ukrainian businesses: Purchase products made in Ukraine or from Ukrainian-owned businesses to help support their economy.
Advocate for Ukraine: Use your voice to raise awareness about the situation in Ukraine. Write to your representatives, participate in peaceful protests, and use social media to spread the word.
Volunteer: Look for local or international volunteer opportunities with organizations that support Ukraine. This could include anything from fundraising events to providing direct assistance to refugees.
Educate yourself and others: Stay informed about the situation in Ukraine and share accurate information with your community. Knowledge is power, and spreading awareness can lead to more support.
Support cultural initiatives: Attend events, concerts, and exhibitions that promote Ukrainian culture and raise funds for the cause.

Query 5: Was Donald Trump financially beholden to Russia?

The relationship between Donald Trump and Russia has been a topic of much discussion and investigation. While Trump has consistently denied having any financial ties to Russia, investigations and reports have revealed several connections.

Business Ventures: Trump has pursued business deals in Russia since the late 1980s. Although he never successfully concluded any real estate deals in Russia, Russian investors have heavily invested in Trump properties.
Financing: Following his bankruptcies in the 1990s, Trump borrowed money from Russian sources. His children have also acknowledged that Russia was an important source of money for the Trump businesses.
Associates: Several of Trump’s senior advisors and business partners have had financial and business ties to Russian financiers.

Despite these connections, Trump has maintained that he has no financial ties to Russia. The full extent and nature of these connections remain a subject of ongoing scrutiny and debate.

My Input

Before I get going, I need to jettison some of my anger about America’s shift regarding the war in Ukraine.

I’m angry that millions of Americans don’t seem to care their President is a fucking liar. They don’t seem to care that under Trump’s authority, America has flipped its position on Ukraine, signaling support for the nation that unlawfully invaded them while committing war crimes against Ukrainian civilians.

This past week, in America’s name, Trump stood on the world stage and knowingly lied about who started the war in Ukraine and then regurgitated Russian talking points about President Zelensky being a dictator.

Let’s get to the point. As Arty states clearly, there is no ambiguity about what happened on February 24, 2022.

After Putin unlawfully invaded Ukraine and committed war crimes against Ukrainian citizens, America stood shoulder-to-shoulder with law-abiding nations around the world in condemnation of Russia. America and our Western European allies offered humanitarian, military, and moral support to help Ukraine defend and fight against Russia.

Before Trump became President again, standing up for Ukraine wasn’t a sticky wicket politically. Ukraine was not threatening Russia. Ukraine was simply next to Russia—there for the taking. The “right and wrong” of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was so clear that even our divided Congress came together almost immediately to support President Zelensky and the Ukrainian people.

I was proud of our government’s stance, but honestly, it was a no-brainer.

Right??

Now look at where we are today. Trump is working directly with Russia while excluding Ukraine from negotiations and labeling President Zelinsky a dictator.

What we need to remember about Donald Trump is that he’s purely transactional, has no moral compass, and has a penchant for revenge.

Why is this important regarding the war in Ukraine? Whether you curry favor or scorn Donald Trump, you can expect reciprocity—he’s a tit-for-tat president unfettered by morality or the rule of law.

Donald Trump dislikes President Zelensky because, in 2019, Zelensky didn’t agree to Trump’s request that he “do us a favor” and investigate Joe Biden, his political rival, and his son Hunter Biden.

Trump threatened to withhold military aid and a White House meeting as leverage to strong-arm Zelensky.

A House investigation found that Trump’s actions constituted an abuse of power (pressuring a foreign leader for personal political gain) and that he obstructed Congress by instructing his administration to ignore subpoenas for documents and testimony.

Donald Trump hates the fact that Zelensky would not be bullied and probably blames the Ukrainian President for his first impeachment.

Trump likes Vladimir Putin because Putin and Russia curried favor with Trump by interfering in the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election to undermine Hillary Clinton’s campaign and boost Donald Trump’s chances of winning.
Russian interference included hacking and releasing emails from the Democratic National Committee and Clinton’s campaign chairman, as well as spreading disinformation through social media.

The U.S. intelligence community, the Republican-led Senate Intelligence Committee, and Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s investigation all concluded that Russia engaged in an extensive campaign to influence the election in favor of Donald Trump.

The people who know Trump best – the ones who served in his administration and the high-ranking officers in the military that he commanded, spoke clearly before the 2024 election, telling Americans in no uncertain terms that Donald Trump was a fascist and a threat to our democracy and democracies around the world. However, the price of eggs was through the roof, a handful of trans athletes competed in events, and the local library hosted Drag Show Readings. And so millions of Americans turned a deaf ear to the warnings and voted for a convicted felon and serial sexual abuser. Today, the consequences of that decision are unfolding before our eyes.

It’s clear that Congress, which has the constitutional authority to check the President’s powers, lacks the courage to do so. And we can forget about the Judicial branch, which granted Trump immunity from criminal prosecution.

American citizens will have to right the ship. The longer Trump’s actions go on without protest or dissent from citizens, the more momentum Trump and the MAGA movement gain, and the more dangerous and difficult our task becomes.

With each passing day, more executive orders come, and Elon Musk swings the DOGE wrecking ball at federal institutions and agencies to weaken the government and solidify executive power and authority.

It’s up to American citizens to demand a moral, competent, and just government that supports democracy and works for the people instead of an autocratic, oligarchic government that demands fealty from the people.

The clock is ticking.

Neo-Fascist-Oligarchic-Expialidocious

Sing to the tune of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious from Mary Poppins

Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious
We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious

Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I

We cannot be afraid to speak at what is being done
Trump’s a bully and freak who wants to shock and stun
with fascists in our government, this isn’t a dry run
And so we have a song to sing, a song that must be sung

GO!

Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious
We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious

Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I

It seems a lesson wasn’t learned from Hitler’s evil days
when you lose democracy, your freedoms slip away
when oligarchs and fascist pigs try to steal away
everything you’ve worked hard for this is what to say

Hey!

Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious
We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious

Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I
Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I

Now’s not the time for sitting back or fretting in dismay
Be courageous in your deeds and learn to seize the day
Don’t go hiding in the weeds or worse just weep and pray,
take to the streets to fight misdeeds while singing all the way

Hey!

Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious
We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious

Spit and Gravel

Look at all the fabricated posts

from the father, son, and the wholly most

mother-Zucker serves a roast

and the saluting Nazi gives a toast

“All that matters is what we’ve grossed”

humility dies inside the boast

our nation’s veins become thrombosed

when hate and greed are double-dosed

We need a Dylan of our own

calling out the orange overgrown

fascist fuckwad on his throne

autocratic in his tone

his wind-filled ego overblown

a head that’s crammed with nothing known

as knives cut justice to the bone

he snaps her picture with his phone

he loves how she’s become so prone

to wickedness and testosterone

As lies unfurl and we unravel

As truth gets bashed by the Speaker’s gavel

The blood-soaked trail on which truth travels

gets paved with liar’s spit and gravel

Is This the End?

MAGA the psyop Vlad velvet confection, no missiles exploding, just bloodless dissection

Pitting and plotting while spinning a web, get rid of sad pols like low energy Jeb

Replace them with barkers who grift for a living, wrap Christ in the flag and become less forgiving

FOX propaganda a new-age religion, the bread of brain dead, blood suckers, and pigeons

Populist fodder, cultural crack, farmed in the foul breath of Trump’s loyalist hacks

News is now tribal, with no true reporting, FOX is the bible, a church for consorting

Where lies lead to lust for the ignorant masses, gaping and raping in their Eva Braun glasses

Troubadour tribesmen of white patriarchy, pied-piping pitchmen for the new oligarchy

Putin has puppets, Elon and Don, a triad of fuck-wads running a con

As we sit on the sidelines and watch it unfold, blind to the history and too dumb to be told

We’re becoming the fascists we used to despise, and the good becomes evil, right in front of our eyes.

The new Jackboots are black suits with boatloads of money, they carve up the landscape and horde all the honey

The rest will subsist on crackers and crumbs, treated like losers, vagrants and bums

The Jesus and Mary Stain

“I’ve washed this towel twice and still can’t remove the puke stain.”

His wife Mary stands at the top of the stairs, gently shaking the unfurled towel at her husband, who sits with his back to her, hunched over his “work-from-home desk,” even though he’s been out of work for 10 months.

The vet called it megaesophagus, a condition in which the esophagus is unable to move food into the stomach efficiently, causing their aging dog to vomit frequently. His wife displayed the artistic consequence of their dog’s medical condition for her husband to see.

Planting his bare feet on the protective matt under his office chair, he spins towards his wife, her pretty, puzzled face resting atop the puke-stained towel.

He studies the stain. “Let’s change Pepsi’s name to Pollock and sell her work online.” Then, in the next breath, he squints and quips, “Hold on a second… what the hell . . . I think I see Jesus’s face in that puke stain!”

“Ha-ha, very funny”, still, she turns the towel 180 degrees, tilts her head slightly, and studies the stain.

“Our lord savior, perpetually pictured in Pepsi’s puke! — or Pollock’s puke if we decide to move ahead with the name change,” her alliterative husband continues with a self-satisfying grin.

“This could be the financial windfall we’ve been waiting for!”

“It’s a laundry version of the miracle at Lourdes… the Tide Pod that Spied God!” He slips effortlessly into one of his riffs, wagging his finger enthusiastically above his head.

“I’ll call the Vatican and local paper; you work on logistics for backyard tours.”

She chuckles, turns on her heel, and heads down the stairs.

He’s unfazed by her absence.

Once he starts ranting, it’s got to run its course, “like diarrhea,” she would often say.

“We’ll need to erect a clothesline for the bath towel shroud of Jesus!”

“Maybe by the vegetable garden in the back, in front of the doubting toms and holy basil,” he shouts while spinning back to his work desk.

Halfway down the staircase, she responds sarcastically over her shoulder, “I’ll get on that right way,” tossing the rolled-up towel into the clothes hamper at the bottom of the stairs.

Fumble-Fucked and Broken

A loud quiet settles in the kitchen.

The morning sun finds its way through crowds of whispering pines and stoic oaks before crashing onto the skylight, splashing the inhabitants below in ghostly shadows of needles and oakleaf.

Peering over his coffee cup, he clears his throat – brushing aside the silence.

“We don’t fuck in the shower anymore.”

He takes a sip.

She raises an eyebrow, but not her eyes, working her butter knife methodically, like a skilled artisan, covering every nook and cranny of a slightly burnt English muffin.

A second passes.

“Fuck in the shower?” she scoffs incredulously, “Hell, I’d settle for a dry hump in the driveway.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” He takes another sip and studies his wife across the table. “Still pretty without makeup,” he thinks to himself.

Lifting her head, she takes a bite and shoots him a toothless smile, which he returns instantly (with a wink) before heading to the sink with his coffee cup.

“So,” he says, “What’s the plan today?”

She floats across the kitchen floor, meeting him at the sink, “I’m thinking of going to Mom’s to help in the yard.”

“After that, I’m free as a bird.”

“Maybe we can shower then?”

Standing directly behind him, she places her hand lightly on his lower back and slides her plate onto the kitchen counter before walking away.

He marvels at how she’s kept her figure. With his hand on his belly, he begins to second-guess his shower comment.

It’s their anniversary.

“By the way,” she says over her shoulder. “We’ve only done that like twice – maybe 3 times – in 30 years of marriage.”

He detects a hint of disappointment, and that famous quote from Cool Hand Luke, “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate,” plays on a loop in his head.

He wonders momentarily how many shower opportunities he’s missed out on.

The space between them has grown exponentially since the kids left, and lately, he wonders if it’s even navigable.

The kids were a bridge.

Now, the person he fell in love with is this spotty, blurry-edged figure on a distant shore, and he’s pretty sure that’s how he appears to her as well — spotty and distant, lost in his coffee, fantasizing about fucking in the shower.

In a strained and slightly desperate tone he pushes his words towards her “Strange how time clouds our perception of reality,” as if words can fix what feels irrevocably broken.

Missing You Immensely

After more than eleven years of love and devotion, we had to put our beloved Pepsi down on Sunday.

Over the next several weeks, I’ll miss the routine I had with Pepsi for the last eleven years – all the daily interactions – from when I woke to when I went to bed.

Our pets affect us in ways that the people in our lives do not. Our relationship with them isn’t complicated by ego, insecurities, or pettiness. There are no traps, tripwires, or pretentiousness because our pets love us unconditionally. More significantly, they allow us to love with no contingencies—something we’re incapable of doing with people—no matter the relationship.

So, when our pets die, that pure and unblemished love and devotion disappears from our lives. The grief is so profound that it wrecks us for a time.

How We Came to Know and Love Pepsi

In 2013, months after losing our lab, Walter, to Cancer, I found myself searching for shelter dogs. As I remember, it was just a whim; I had no intentions of adopting.

I have no recollection of what I typed for my Google search – but I ended up on this Facebook post:

The post included a link to this video, showing Pepsi and a shelter volunteer:

Pepsi – YouTube

Unfortunately, as often is the case with Pitbull and Pitbull mixes, a NYC animal shelter put this sweet girl on their kill list.

As I watched the video of Pepsi, I felt an immediate obligation to contact Second Chance Rescue to get her off “the list.” So, I corresponded with them through their Facebook page, which initiated a sequence of events (filling out an application, putting down a deposit, and having a consultant visit our home to ensure it was a suitable environment) and ended with the ASPCA transporting Pepsi from Brooklyn, NY, to the Mystic Aquarium parking lot in Mystic CT, where she went from a dog on a video to a cherished member of our family.

Second Chance Rescue of NYC rescues and rehabilitates critically injured and neglected dogs and cats and those at high risk of euthanasia.

The Reilly’s picking up Pepsi in Mystic, CT

Pepsi was our first experience with the pitbull breed. The consultant from Second Chance Rescue told us that Pepsi should be the only dog in the household. We quickly learned of her distrust of other dogs, but of people, her affection was undeniable. She developed a strong bond with our family almost instantly, especially with my wife, Meg.

Pepsi’s mood spanned the spectrum from stoic and intimidating to warm and loving.

Her smiling eyes could melt the coldest of hearts.

She was loving, observant, doting, and intelligent. She was also deaf and, thus, the quietest dog we’ve ever owned.

I work from home, so Pepsi was my constant companion for more than 11 years. She loved resting on the recliner next to my work desk, stretching out on our bed, sleeping and sunbathing on the patio, going for walks, lounging in the yard, and crunching on carrots.

She chased squirrels and bunny rabbits and killed a groundhog behind the shed one summer.

If Meg was outside, Pepsi wanted to be outside. She would dutifully follow Meg to her gardens and lie down in the shade while Meg weeded, planted, or watered. When Meg was done, she would follow her back into the house. Every time Meg went to the bathroom, Pepsi would follow her. If Meg locked the door, you could hear Pepsi knock her head into it from the living room. If Meg happened to leave the latch off, well, she had a visitor.

We will miss Pepsi deeply – we’ll miss seeing her navigate the swivel chair as she walks from the kitchen to the living room in search of hugs – we’ll miss the gentle snoring and weight of her in the bed – we’ll miss the sound of rhythmic hopping as she descends the staircase from the upstairs bedroom to the kitchen, ending with the slight sliding and clicking of her nails when she reaches the kitchen – we’ll miss watching her morning routine, slowly walking the perimeter of the yard, we’ll miss the thump of her tail on the bed or the recliner – we’ll miss how she helped connect us as a family – I think that’s the most magical thing a family dog does – they connect us because we all love them in the same way.

Dogs bring out our humanity and kindness in ways people don’t.

Even before putting Pepsi down, I said that she’d be my last dog. This time around, the slow decline was more challenging to deal with emotionally and physically. In her final months, Meg and I carried Pepsi from room to room, putting off the inevitable as long as we saw a spark of life or tiny moments of enjoyment—until the day they no longer came.

Maybe my feelings will change over time, and my longing for a dog’s love will outweigh the sadness I know I’ll feel when we part. For now, I’ll simply cherish what I had with this wonderful dog.

I’m so grateful for Pepsi’s love and companionship to our family, and I will never forget her.

Rest in Peace, Pep. You were the best!

I Sea You

I watched the tide roll in last night

perched on the jetty

from which you were taken

I listened to the nineties grunge playlist

on the iPod they found next to your

rusted tackle box, abandoned pole,

and dented cooler of ocean water and

discombobulated seabass

before heading back to my empty apartment

full of dusty photos of you and me

Bonjour, Borg

Machine learning Chatbots
And neural networking
Generative AI
Is that robot twerking?

Dystopian dice thrower
Orwellian wise
Miss Information and Mr. Disguise

Deep fakes and cupcakes
and fungible tokens
Can’t learn from mistakes
If nothing gets broken

Big data dildos
the tech market thrives
tech moguls huddle
to fuck with AI

A sprint to the finish
But where are we going?
Dimmed and diminished
We’ve no way of knowing

Autonomous AI
we’re lost in the loop
we bob in the broth
like bones in the soup

The question to ask is
where does this lead us?
Robot ranch farmers
to herd and to breed us?

Encrypted and scripted
We sharpen the knives
To give to AI
control of our lives

The Girlfriend

The reflection in the bathroom mirror isn’t his.

It’s not even a reflection.

He stares at it numbly while rubbing his thumb against the business end of his girlfriend’s disposable razor.

“Honey, are you ready? “

Startled, he breaks from the visage to the red droplets at the bottom of the sink and mumbles, “Blood and Porcelain. Good band name.” The man in the mirror nods and smirks approvingly. “Be down in a minute!”

“Reservations are for 8:30.”

“Yup, I’m coming.” He grabs the Windex from under the sink, runs the water, gives a few quick spritzes, and wipes away the evidence. Then, with a Band-aid on his thumb, he’s out the door and down the stairs.

“What happened?” his girlfriend gestures toward his thumb while applying lipstick.

“You know, man in the mirror.”

“Uh-huh – you all right – do you still want to go?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He flashes an exaggerated smile and gives her a sarcastic, blood-stained thumbs-up.

Silence fills the car’s passenger cabin on the drive to the restaurant. She clears her throat before speaking.

“So, when did it start up again?“

“A few weeks ago,” he checks the rearview and sees himself sitting in the middle of the back seat, head down, aggressively working a hand-held gaming device – click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

The sound reverberates with throbs of pain in his freshly wounded thumb.

“Do you see him now?“

“Yep. The little fucker hitched a ride with us.“

The vision, which never speaks, raises his head, and acknowledges the acknowledgment – giving a friendly “what’s up” nod before reengaging with the video game.

The girlfriend looks over her shoulder at the empty backseat and then back at her boyfriend. She’s still learning to balance her reality with his. “Here’s hoping he remains in the car,” she says earnestly.

“Here’s hoping.“

The dinner is a small gathering in an intimate setting. They purposely arrive fifteen minutes early to conduct restaurant reconnaissance, surveying for mirrors and other reflective surfaces. Weirdly, this type of collaborative exercise has strengthened their relationship, for now. Secretly, they both worry about the long-term effects and emotional fatigue from their uniquely strange threesome.

They sit at the reserved table with their backs to a mirrored wall and wait for others to arrive.

“You good?“

“Sane as salt,” he says with a jittery smile while flagging the waitress for a drink.

The evening goes well. There’s a lot of laughter and light conversation, with the boyfriend and girlfriend intermittently checking on one another through caring glances.

As the evening winds down, the boyfriend casually looks toward the swinging kitchen doors that allow the free flow of wait staff. As the door swings open, he briefly catches a glimpse of himself working the line with two other cooks – chopping vegetables and garlic – before the door swings shut.

He shoots a worried look at his girlfriend.

She knows “the look” and immediately starts surveilling the room for reflective surfaces, using her boyfriend as the epicenter, then fanning out from where they’re sitting.

The door swings open, and this time, he sees himself standing alone, smiling, holding a plucked chicken in one hand and a carving knife in the other.

He drops his wine glass and grabs his girlfriend’s arm.

The glass shatters on the floor, and everyone at their table (and surrounding tables) looks in their direction.

Without a hitch, the girlfriend says disarmingly, “Time to cut off Bill!”

Clearly, she’s rehearsed for this scenario. There’s a momentary lull before one of the guests chimes in, “Waitress, we need coffee, STAT!” and the table breaks into laughter, providing necessary cover for the girlfriend.

She rests her hand gently on his. “You’re hurting me.“

He loosens his grip.

“Look at me,” she whispers – his pupils dance in pools of panic. “Breathe, honey. breathe through it. We’re going to stand up in three seconds. Follow my lead. One, two, three. “

They stand, and she speaks, “Thanks so much for the lovely evening! We’ve got a sick cat at home that needs medication, so we’re heading out. It was so nice seeing everyone!“

“Just give the cat whatever Bill was drinking; that’ll do the trick.” More alcohol-fueled laughter. More cover for them.

“Good one, Jack!” She smiles and points at the table, and they head for the exit.

When they get to the car, she can see that he’s still visibly shaken.

‘What happened?” she says. “I didn’t see any mirrors. “

His voice shakes. “He wasn’t in a mirror. He was in the kitchen, holding a plucked chicken and a carving knife, smiling at me like a demented line cook.”

“Fuck,” she said.

“He’s broken through. Now he’s in our – or should I say my – world.” He was hyper-conscious not to drag his girlfriend into his nightmare.

He didn’t want to ruin her.

He looks at his girlfriend and rattles off a bunch of questions. “How long before he starts talking to me? How long before I start interacting with him? What does he want with me? I’m scared of where this is heading. I don’t want to end up like my father.“

The girlfriend turns her head sharply towards him. It’s the first time in years that he’s mentioned his father. “You’re not your father.“

The boyfriend responds immediately. “I’m not so sure about that.“

Her words were meant to stem the rising tide of fear in his voice – but they’re both aware of the dark footprint on the ladder of his family’s DNA. The fatalism of that biological history buries him in hopelessness.

When they enter their apartment, they immediately visage-proof the rooms—taking down mirrors, flipping framed pictures, and draping a dishcloth over the glass door on the microwave oven.

The boyfriend says, “Now that he’s broken through, I’m not sure what difference this is going to make.“

“Me neither. We’ll have to wait and see.” She smiles at him warmly as heading down the hallway to the bathroom.

A minute later, she returns with two Olanzapine tablets and a glass of water then hands them to her boyfriend.

“Thanks … for everything… for bearing with me… for seeing me through. I’d be gone without you.“

“Don’t say that. I love you. We’ll be OK —all three of us.“

He laughs, then starts to cry.