170

It is quite amazing how your priorities change when money has no importance any longer.  When property has no meaning.  When making sure you have food and water and a safe place to sleep are your main concern, that is, when Death is not standing right in front of you.  When Death blocks the sidewalk, even food, water and safe sleeping arrangements don't matter.

169

The fat kid's feet pounded down the hot sidewalk in their smooth-bottomed tennis shoes.  His breath came in hot gasps and he soon developed a hitched stride, though it didn't slow him much.  If he had the wherewithal, he would have been contemplating the past 24 hours and deciding where it all had gone so horribly wrong; however, it was taking all his concentration to keep his thighs bludgeoning each another and his arms swinging the momentum he needed to haul himself forward.

168

Cara couldn't believe that anyone would want to kill her secret friend, but she heard the travelers talking and knew from the description of the lanky boy they meant none other than Jon.  It was two hours before she could get away from the inn to warn him, and by then it was too late.

The strange trio of men were staying at Old Fell Inn where Cara's grandfather, Old Fell himself, ran the family business.  Cara was young and was only allowed menial chores, but her grandfather was adamant that all were done and inspected before allowing her leave.  Normally, this was an arrangement that suited Cara quite well because Old Fell did not concern himself with her once work was satisfactorily complete, but today, waiting for the inspection took too long.  "Why do you have worms in your shoes, Cara?" Old Fell asked, noticing her dancing feet.  She could not say because she was not supposed to have friends her grandfather did not yet meet.

When she was finally free, Cara ran for the oak tree under which she regularly found Jon, but her steps slowed and became weighted when she saw the three men approaching, mud and something darker than mud on their rich clothes and soft hands.

167

Many people, not just men, mind you, believe that PMS simply makes a woman bloated, bitchy and desirous of chocolate.  That is only partially true.  The symptoms suffered by premenstrual women, or by women suffering from any hormonal fluctuations, are often more subtle and much more psychologically harmful than indulging in extra chocolate.  The following example may help to demonstrate the transformation due to PMS.

Dreams become weird.  They are colorful and frightening.  Demons lurk in basements and the feeling of loss and personal error leading to loss lingers upon awakening.  Helping to magnify the dream state is poor sleep.  A sufferer finds herself weary during the day, but unable to fall asleep.  She may also wake frequently and have difficulty falling back to sleep.  Dreams haunt until morning.

The sufferer will find herself marked by zits and bruises.  Often, it is a sudden zit that will first alert her that something is awry.  The bruises come from carelessness with one's body.  The corner of a bookshelf will be closer than is realized, bruising an elbow.  She will take a corner too closely and bruise a hip.  She will crack a shin, a knee, her head.  She will close her finger in a drawer.  However it happens, there will be bruises.

These are, perhaps, first noticeable symptoms, and they may be understood by the woman and then used to acknowledge that the more harmful symptoms she has already been experiencing (unnoticed and unacknowledged) are due to hormones and not due to any suddenly revealed Truth about the world.  It will seem that Truths (with a capital T) have been revealed.  Motives behind others' actions will suddenly be realized.  Tone of voice will indicate volumes of hidden feelings.  Words unsaid will speak to the heart and be understood when once there was just a nice, quiet moment.  The world will show itself as it truly is.  HOWEVER: this is a lie.  It is a lie told by hormones that seems just like a revelation.  You must look back to the pimples, the bruises, the dreams, to remind yourself that these heart-wrenching revelations are untrue.

166

Sudden weakness drained her ability to stand and Carly felt her ankles and knees and hips fold as if from a distance.  She wanted to stop her descent, but could only manage a slightly slower collapse by brushing her arm against the wall.  Her stomach considered heaving out and her bowels considered opening up, but neither body rebellion took complete hold.  The movies always made swooning seem clean and glamorous, but the truth was sickening, hideous inevitability and enduring embarrassment.

165

"It takes money to make money," and ain't that the truth?  To save, buy in bulk.  (Unless you can't afford the big pack.)  Eliminate service fees by paying in full.  (Unless you can only afford the minimum installment.)  Get regular car maintenance, regular doctor and dentist check-ups, and buy organic.  (Umm... nope.)  Invest!  ($1,000 in a CD for one year will yield you $5, and too bad if you need your original thousand for an emergency.)  Mortgage is cheaper than rent.  (Unless you can't get a loan, and you don't even make enough to qualify for Habitat for Humanity and decent houses at the city tax auction are snatched up by flippers and landlords.)

What can you do to make money without money?

164

Nobody ever called him "Slow John" to his face, but that's what they called him every other time.  He was, after all, just a boy, and it hurts to be labeled.  Miranda was sure he knew about the nickname, though, and, further, that he wasn't nearly as slow as he seemed.  He was, as her friend Rachel whispered, mysterious.