The data sprawled before Patrick’s bespectacled eyes – graphs, charts, and a bevy of computational readouts. He had monitored numerous subjects – their vitals and responses all tracked thoroughly. Body temperature, blood pressure, EKG readings, spectrum analysis, and a series of more subjective data filled the pages before him. Patrick felt that he could recite his complex findings by heart, his conclusions were crystal clear. He leaned back in his chair and removed the wire rimmed glasses to rub his moist eyes, he hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. The gravity of his findings were not lost on him, this was huge to say the least. The laboratory was silent but for the hum of the many LCD monitors. Nearly one year had passed since Patrick left his congregation to resume his research on the behalf of Charles Ferguson.

Ferguson had kept true to his word, Patrick had everything he needed. He studied a variety of subjects using some of the most advanced hardware available. CT scanners, Magnetics Resonance Imaging, and Photo acoustic imaging were just some of the devices and methods at his disposal. Other tactics bordered on science fiction and fantasy, but all were objectively considered and thoroughly analyzed again and again.

Patrick believed in his theory, and he was confident in his ability to prove its veracity. But he didn’t expect to find what he had, the results went far beyond anything he had thought possible. He called Ferguson to the hidden laboratory, it was time to discuss the findings and decide a course of action. Patrick never considered where he would go after his research was complete. He also never fathomed what he would find. The implications were too big for him to contemplate alone…he needed to bring Ferguson in on this.

Footsteps roused him from his thoughts. Patrick looked up to see Ferguson walking across the laboratory. Sitting up, Patrick arranged the numerous papers on the table. Ferguson looked haggard, these past months had aged him.

“Are you alright, Charles?” the young priest asked.

Ferguson nodded wearily, “these past few weeks have been rough, Congress is on the verge of passing the birthing ban.”

“What?!” Patrick exclaimed, “there’s no way! How can anyone allow this. It smacks against everything we believe in! It’s just not human!”

“Patrick, there is no cure for the epidemic. Every woman who attempts traditional child birth risks her life, our population cannot afford to lose any more women. At what point does a human’s right succumb to the rights of humanity? Even your church has conceded the point.”

Patrick exhaled deeply as he shook his head. He had paid little attention to the news and politics, all that mattered was his research. Ferguson had related the story of his wife and her pregnancy. Patrick empathized with the man’s torment, if this bill was passed Ferguson’s wife would be required to abort their unborn child – no exceptions would be made. Patrick knew that, for Ferguson, this was not an option.

“Are they even looking for a cure?” Patrick asked.

“They claim to be but I am not involved with that division,” Ferguson replied. “Regardless, it’s a smoke screen. Since Eden Corp. has gotten into the baby making business, the need for natural births has diminished. The ‘birthing procedure’ is clean, easy, and there is no risk to the mother. It’s a PR win-win. It can even be subsidized by the government.”

“Not anymore,” Patrick growled as he pointed to his research. “Nobody is going to come out a winner in the long run, not after this.”

Ferguson’s eyes were like saucers, “you’ve completed your research!?”

“Yes, I could keep going but the results are becoming repetitive, and they are incontrovertible,” Patrick spoke with pride in his work.

“Get to it! Tell me,” Ferguson was nearly shouting as he leaned towards the priest.

This was the moment Patrick had been waiting for, he had worked for so long only to have his theories shut down by the church. He was made out to be a radical fanatic. Now, thanks to Ferguson, he would be vindicated. Patrick stood on the verge of history. His next words would revolutionize science, religion and politics. He swallowed as the magnitude of this reality crashed down on him. Patrick smiled nervously at Ferguson who was literally on the edge of his seat.

Clearing his throat Patrick spoke, “the human soul exists.”

Ferguson sat back in his chair, swallowing deeply, “you’re certain of this.”

Patrick nodded heavily, “My methods were unorthodox, and each discovery taken by itself wouldn’t be enough to establish that the sky is blue, let alone that the soul actually exists. But when taken together, when plotted out, charted and visualized,” he paused and shook his head, “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

“And these papers prove it? This is the culmination of your work?” Ferguson asked pointing the stack of papers on the table.

Standing, Patrick walked towards a bank of monitors,”yes, but that’s not how I intend to show you. That wouldn’t be convincing.” The young priest hit a few keys on a board in front of the main screen. The picture that appeared showed an elderly man sitting in a chair. He was in his late 70′s, Patrick had come to like him by the end of their interview. Over the next five minutes the gentleman was questioned abut his past, his opinions, his beliefs. Stimuli was presented to him – pictures showing his family, his time in the military, and scenes of graphic violence.

Ferguson cleared his throat, “Patrick, I am impressed by the thoroughness of your techniques, but this proves nothing.”

Raising an eyebrow Patrick smirked, “Do you really think I spent countless hours of research and more of your money than I care to consider just to show you this?”

Ferguson smiled skeptically and motioned for him to continue.

Patrick returned his fingers to the keyboard. The video of the old man faded away, a computer generated outline remained of him against a seemingly black screen. The outline moved as the old man continued to respond to questions. There was no sound. A nearly imperceptible light appeared around the outline, as Patrick worked the keyboard making minute adjustments. The light grew in strength, it changed colors from blue, to yellow to a shocking red. The colors seemed to correspond to the stimuli presented. It was as if a cloud of lights had enveloped the old man.

“What is this?” Ferguson asked, mesmerized by the sight. Patrick smiled at Ferguson’s reaction, it was the same he had the first time he watched this video.

“This, is the soul.”

Ferguson rose slowly from his chair, his mouth agape he walked towards the monitor. Pointing at the picture as if he could touch the amazing display, “It’s, it’s beautiful. So powerful.”

“I know, there are no words,” Patrick whispered. He then hit some more key and a new picture appeared. A pretty young woman with a sweet smile. “This woman is one of the first people birthed from Eden Corp.” He intently watched Ferguson who seemed to recognize the woman.

Again the picture faded to black, leaving only an eerie, CGI outline of the woman. The blackness lingered.

“Where is the light?” Ferguson asked, his brow furrowed quizzically.

Patrick turned to him, the dark monitor glowed mysteriously behind the priest, “There is none, there is no light on any of them.”

Ferguson ran his hands through his hair, breathing deeply, “but…”

Patrick cut him off, “Charles, they have no souls, we are breeding a population of soulless beings.”

Ferguson fell back into his chair, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. “I can’t believe this, I knew there was a consequence but I never imagined it would be this.”

Patrick knew how he felt, it seemed fantastical but it was true. The priest watched Ferguson struggle with this new reality then considered what he was about drop in him next, “there’s more.”

“More?” Ferguson had been staring at his hands but now looked up at Patrick. “What more?”

Patrick motioned towards the monitor. Ferguson watched as the outline of the women moved and responded to the interview. Nothing changed at first, but then Ferguson saw it. He gasped. From within the outline of the woman, where her body would have been, a darkness grew, darker and blacker than the rest of the already dark screen. It seemed to pulsate as the stimuli was presented, the darkness from within was responding to the interview in the same manner as the light around the old man.

“What is this?” Ferguson asked weakly, “I can’t stop looking at it and yet is sickens me. Something about it makes me feel cold…empty inside.”

Patrick nodded, “that’s how I felt the first time I saw it. I don’t know what it is. But we know that nature abhors a vacuum, and where there is empty space, something will fill it. We’ve created empty vessels, it seems that something has decided to take up residence within them. And what ever it is, it’s not good.”

Tic -tock. Tic-tock! I’m finding myself awake this early morning staring on my ceiling thinking where am I today? I knew I was on a jetblue flight (that I may favor taking again due to that wonderful first experience- no luggage fees on first bag, roomier leg room amidst my short legs, snacks on board  and most importantly, on time!). Ha! I’m home today. I have a couple if things to do and a guest from out of town to indulge in NYC experience. I better snap on my Timex Andros watch to keep me on time.

One of JCrew’s cool practices is to do joint projects with the best companies with similar “umph” and feature classic pieces that makes one a raving fan. One of my favorite pieces is my Timex Andros watch.

This time piece is a dive-style watch. Word from the brand ad geniuses is that this was inspired by one of the most breathtaking and extraordinary barrier reefs in the world, Andros. (I’ll keep you posted when I’ll be there). The watch is really a no-fuss nautical companion that’s just as dependable on land as it is exploring the seas. The water-resistant up to 100 meters toy has a lasting blend of functional design and modern crafting.

The different nylon straps made it more my staple weekend time piece this summer 2011. For most students in the US, summer ends this weekend. Because it’s such a style wingman, using this timepiece all throughout the year is inevitable.

Stop by your nearest jcrew spot or log on to www.jcrew.com to get your  time on!

New York Fashionistas flocked The Parlor on 286 Spring Street Tuesday night to rub elbows with Tom Stubbs, INC EDITOR-at-Large to launch the INC International Concepts Fall 2011 Campaign. The Brit stylist has styled celebrities including kevin Bacon, Michael Sheen, David Beckham, Mark Ronson, Rio Ferdinand nd Ray Winston to drop a few. The celebrity stylist and fashion editor dusted the event with six jasper-look-a-likes donning Macy’s INC International Concepts fall 2011 collection. Edgy, Laid-back, Cosmopolitan. Opulent fabrics sewn to a style that will upgrade your wardrobe this Fall season.

Glasses of reds, whites and proseccos were constantly poured at the bar while lip-smacking hors d’oeuvres were passed around. Some are just born with the eye of fashion. Tom picked up that I am a writer from the threads that I was sporting. I say, “those who can’t sew, writes!” Stubbs’ styling tips are hysterically funny and insightful. He pulls his creative opus from his culture, travels and the ‘feel of the moment”. For that moment, one feels gorgeous.

Visit the Macys near you for the Fall 2011 collection.

Dude, am I in the east village? Nah. Williamsburg- in Brooklyn, pare ko! Every day, New York surprises me with a little bit of this and a little bit of that. It’s absolutely a concrete jungle where dreams are happening.

Oberhofer & Porcelain Raft’s dreams were indeed happening in Williamsburg at last Wednesday’s event. Dropping songs like gulping a bottle of cold Budweiser after feasting on Fette Sau’s BBQ. Hot. Different. Garage.

The Brooklyn Denim Co on N3rd Street was packed with urbanistas donning unique cool spunk. A table full of nuts, various cheese & hors d’ouvres was served. Although Nudie Jeans were spread & on the denim wall, the chandelier definitely was such an unexpected topper. It was brilliant!

Lydia Kellam of the swede beat provided some cool vibe at the shindig while the main”playas” are hydrating with glaceau’s vitamin water. It was absolutely steaming with fun and excitement.

Williamsburg definitely a must stop if you’re in the big apple.

The night was Hot! Check out why…  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk9dTYy-VQw

Porcelain Raft 2011 Tour Dates

081911 . Brooklyn, NY @ the Camero Gallery with The War on Drugs

082011 . New York, NY @ the Mercury Lounge with The War on Drugs

082111 .  Boston, MA @the Brighton Music Hall with The War on Drugs

082311 . Montreal, QC @ the Casa del Popolo with The War on Drugs

082411 . Toronto, ON @ the Drake Hotel with The War on Drugs

Seems like Sunday nights are the new Saturday nights this summer!  Although I was in a preppy town for a week, I was absolutely looking forward to the weekend back in New York City. A rooftop party among NYC’s fashionistas could be overwhelming at times. Seriously? Who am I kidding?! It’s a Justin Timberlake’s William Rast & ENKNYC rooftop party… am I going to miss this? Absolutely not.

JT’s William Rast collection showcases effortless luxury. Something we can all sport even on a lazy sunday morning. Driving my beemer from the upper east side to the Dream Hotel in Chelsea was a tad challenging due to closed streets. Street fairs are fun but I was heading to a rooftop party; I guess my friends would not frown if I come fashionably late.

I spotted Evan as I walk near the roped entrance of the Dream hotel. The dude donning black just made me feel I am definitely back in NYC. He drops me a compliment as he reminds me that cocktails are waiting for me at the rooftop penthouse. I gazed at my friend who looked fantastic on her Chanel Asian inspired sandals, let the party begin!

A svelte woman greets us with our first cocktail as we entered the penthouse. It was the italian margarita. Gorgeous. Not only the interior of this penthouse but the rooftop gave an amazing view of NYC! djDEXTERLOVE spins the beat of the 80s putting us in a trance of a good vibe. The aperol spritz was refreshing.

As the sun sets, the fashionistas were indeed enjoying the fashion trade show opening night party. The 901 Dream Thyme kicked in. I found myself bumping into familiar pretty faces, making new friends, busting some 901 standard moves and of course, sporting that camera ready smile at all times. I must say, Miss G’s team pulled another successful event! Oh what a night!

Thanks to our Swipelife Team Director, Vito Spadea for clicking that nikon toy throughout the night. For more info on William Rast’s collection, log on to www.williamrast.com. To our readers, be ready to click… it’s a swipelife out there!

The July 4 weekend is in a few days and I’m looking forward to feel those sand in between my toes! Perhaps one could relate why a three-day weekend this summer should be spent on the beach. Your Ray Ban on, a glass of mojito on one hand, the sound of the waves whispering to your ears and the summer breeze brushes through your skin as the sun sets. Pause please. Let’s rewind!

Trendsetters around the globe will sport some bold colors on the beach this summer – orange, lime green, electric yellow, deep blue to name a few. Gone are the days of those long board shorts too. I stand 5’7” and absolutely ecstatic to find trunks in 5” inseams! Slim, updated, athletic fit. The modern man meets the ocean. This same sentence is the inspiration of Lorenz Korder Fort’s Surferwear brand, Olasul.

Born in San Francisco and raised in Peru, Lorenz Korder Fort designs his collection to his highest standards using both local and European quick-drying fabrics. The Peruvian coast- especially the love of the ocean is where this brand starts. Olasul (Ola, meaning “wave”, and “azul”, as in “ blue”) also features Pima cotton T shirts and reverse-knit sweatshirts for those chilly nights at the shore.

Whether you’re sipping some orange crush by the pool or surfing the waves in the ocean one thing for sure, an Olasul will be a core on the shore!

You can pick a trunk-ful of Olasuls at most of the Scoop stores in California, Florida, Illinois, Nevada, New York and Texas. If you want to ride the surfboard sooner, log on to http://olasul.com/shop and have fun in the sun!

He now sat in a small room with a mirrored wall and a metal table before him. Across the table was a very large, very angry man who was the source of Darryl’s pain. The big man was Detective Harker, he had introduced himself ad then proceeded to berate Darryl for the better part of ten minutes. Harker called Darryl things like “lunatic,” “scumbag,” and “Shit-wipe.” Darryl had never heard the last one but the detective said it with vigor.

Harker was a tall, heavily muscled man. His thick neck was stuffed into a dress shirt. Grey-brown stubble coated his hair and face. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal a series of military tattoos. At the moment Harker’s face was beat red with fury.

“I just wanted to feel happy,” Darryl reasoned. Why was this so hard for the cop to appreciate?

“So it made you fuckin happy to slap a poor, defenseless girl around?” Harker bellowed as he slammed his hammer-like fist into the metal table.

Darryl winced, was this ape mentally damaged? What didn’t he understand? Darryl struggled to discern why this was so offensive. He was sad, and empty, but for a few short moments he felt alive. Didn’t he deserve to feel that way?

The door to the interview room opened and the tall red-head walked in. Darryl smiled briefly until he caught her steely glare. Her brow furrowed when their eyes met, her jaw set tightly making the muscles in her face twitch, she quickly transformed from a beautiful goddess into a callous demon.

“This guy killed an old man and beat the shit out of a girl because it made him happy!” Harker said to the woman with a cold laugh. “Believe that one? Sicko was down in the dumps,” the detective said mockingly.

The woman shook her head. “Harker, we have visitors,” she said, motioning towards the door.

Both Darryl and Harker looked towards the entrance. Two tall men in dark suits entered the room. One had dark hair the other was blonde, but for that, the two could have been twins. Darryl immediately thought they were federal agents, he had seen enough movies to know how it worked.

“What the fuck is this?’ Harker groaned as he stood. The pair remained silent and the woman produced, what looked like, an official document. Harker grabbed it from her hand.

“A court order??” he shouted. Darryl smiled inwardly, this sounded good for him.

The blonde suit stepped forward, “We are relieving you of your problem.” he said motioning to Darryl who didn’t appreciate being referred to as a ‘problem.’

“You jokers aren’t relieving us of shit!” Harker barked as he threw the paper back at the two men. “This guy was picked up in our jurisdiction committing multiple violent crimes on our turf! Where the fuck are you from anyway??”

Blonde suit scowled but his partner remained stoic and spoke, “Judge Conrad seems to disagree. You can take the matter up with him but for now, we’re taking your suspect.” Darryl noticed that neither of the men in suits answered Harker’s question about where they were from.

Harker stepped aggressively towards blonde suit, but the man did not back down. “This shit-stain killed an old man and put a waitress so far into a coma that she may never recover, he’s not going anywhere!”, Harker barked.

“She wanted to be an actress,” Darryl wasn’t sure why he said that, but he felt compelled to correct the moronic cop.

Harker spun around like a panther on its prey. Darryl was shocked by the speed of the large cop. The detective shot his arm at Darryl’s grabbing him by the collar and dragged the smaller man across the metal table. Darryl choked as the cop got right in his face. Harker’s eyes were as wide with rage as Darryl’s were with fear.

“Don’t you DARE talk about her, you sick fuck!” spit showered Darryl face as Harker seethed. The cop’s face was now reddened with emotion and the two suits were lurching to Darryl’s defense. It took the two strangers and the lady detective to pry Darryl from Harker’s python-like grasp.

Darryl gasped for air as he fell back into the chair, Harker pushed the other’s away as he straightened his tie and regained his composure.  Although calmed, the darkness in Harker’s eye showed his already short fuse was down to a nub.

Rubbing his tender neck Darryl screamed, “this guy is a maniac! I have rights! He assaulted me and you all saw it!!!”

Harker shot him an ice-cold glance that made Darryl’s stomach turn. The female cop jumped between her partner and Darryl putting her hands against her partner’s broad chest, “He’s not worth it,” she said quietly.

Harker sneered, “no, no he’s not.”

Blonde suit cleared his throat, “, as we said, we’ll just take this little problem off your hands before anything else happens.”

With that, the other suit grabbed Darryl roughly and hauled him out of the chair.

“Hey! I thought you guys were here to protect me from these assholes,” Darryl shrieked pointing at Harker.

“Protect you? I’d let that monster tear you limb from limb if it were up to me,” the suit hissed as motioned back at Harker who twisted his neck making a popping sound. “Unfortunately it’s not up to me,” he said as he gave Darryl a hard shove.

Darryl knew that this was bad, the big ape was nuts, but at least he was a cop, Darryl didn’t even know who these suits were or what they wanted with him.

As they walked past Harker and the lady cop, Darryl heard Harker growl at the strangers, “You know this is bullshit.” Darryl finally agreed with the cop, this really was bullshit.

****

Patrick sat in his lab where he had spent nearly every hour of the past month. It was located in a warehouse that was rented by a corporate shell created by Ferguson. Patrick preferred to know as few details as possible. It really didn’t matter, all he cared about was his theory, his research and results.

Leaving his new congregation was easy. They were sad to see the notable young priest leave, but there was no love lost. Patrick promised he would be replaced by someone of equal celebrity.

He then moved into his warehouse-laboratory. Patrick’s files were all transported and made available to him. He spent the first week reviewing all of his past work. Patrick agonized every line.

Once he had combed through all the files and reorganized his thoughts it was time to meet with subjects. Patrick interviewed 25 individuals over the past month.  He got very little personal information and never asked where they came from, first names only. Patrick had developed a series of 50 standard questions and created a barrage of visual stimuli. All the results were tracked and recorded. Patrick was close, the conclusions the data foretold were nearly incontrovertible.

Patrick poured over the data and images covering his work space. Graphs and charts were strewn across the large, metal table. X-ray type images hung from the walls. Patrick leaned back in his chair and took in the environment he had created over his countless hours working. He was so close, his work was at a climax and he could taste success.

He heard the main door of the warehouse churn as it opened mechanically. A monitor on the wall showed a familiar black Suburban pulling into the bay. Three men exited the big vehicle, two he recognized and a new subject. Patrick had received notice that he would be meeting with another this evening. This one was of particular interest.

The door to Patrick’s lab swung open and two men in dark suits entered with the stranger between them. Patrick only knew their last names, the blonde was Wagner and the other was Stanley.  They both nodded to the priest, Wagner pushed the newcomer into a chair.

The man whined, “Hey, you guys aren’t cops, where the fuck am I?”

Patrick shook his head and rubbed his brow. “Have you fellas bothered to explain the rules to our friend here?”

Stanley’s usually calm demeanor waivered as he cleared his throat, “our friend here is a special case. We were told to stay here during the interview. There are some legal issues that still need to be resolved.”

“I don’t even want to know,” the young priest replied as he continued to rub his forehead.

Patrick turned his attention to the man in the chair as the Stanley and Wagner assumed positions by the door. “Sir, you are only here to answer some questions, then you can be on you way.”

Wagner coughed loudly, Patrick glared at him as Wagner shook his head vehemently. Shrugging Patrick continued, “would you like some water or coffee?”

The man looked sheepishly at the priest then glanced back at the two tall men by the door. He nodded hesitantly, “some coffee.” Patrick glanced at Stanley and nodded, the blonde man exited with a disgusted sigh.

“Now, what’s your name, just your first name?”  the priest finally asked.

The man suddenly stared up at Patrick, the visible fear in the stranger’s eyes dissolved, quickly replaced by a chilling disconnect. “I’m Darryl, and we’ll still be here long after you’re gone.”

A native New Yorker, Michael Andrew Saiger is creating such a buzz these days. Offering an eclectic and elegant line of vintage-inspired jewelry, which he proudly calls MIANSAI. His product tag goes Made in the USA and Inspired by American classics with Nautical undertones. Skillfully crafted using Age-old techniques. I am Michael Saiger, founder and designer. Quite an achievement for the twenty-three year old model.

The MIANSAI philosophy is the more worn, the better. “every piece has its own rich history,” says Michael. “All my designs, especially the more controversial ones are meant to get people talking. It’s almost like the pieces themselves have a secret or a story to tell. Keeping that in mind, I try to find each relic in its natural habitat. That way it maintains a raw integrity, a quality I hold high when i create my designs” – Michael Saiger.

From hooks, to leather bands to ropes they are truly a conversation starter. Log on to www.miansai.com for the complete line!

After leaving the old man’s apartment Darryl went back to the diner. He then followed Nicky home after her shift and took note of her address. Darryl returned to her apartment the next day while she was at work. Breaking into her small apartment proved even easier than Darryl had expected; he simply pushed open a small window and quietly shimmied through it and onto her living room rug.

Darryl stalked around Nicky’s apartment, finally sitting restlessly on her couch. He was anxious and but he wasn’t sure why. When the door finally cracked open he stood and faced the entryway with a nervous smile. Nicky’s response was not what he had expected; she yelled, and then threw a candle at him. Luckily, the candle missed Darryl and crashed against the wall behind him, leaving a spidery crack where it had struck the plaster. Nicky turned and began to run back towards her front door. Darryl moved faster and grabbed her by the wrist, hurling her into the couch.

He only wanted to talk, but she was making it so difficult. Darryl wanted to tell Nicky how he felt. He needed to smile like the old man did when Nicky clutched his wrinkled hand. But now, she was just screaming, and whimpering. It made no sense, but seeing her so upset did make him feel better, so he slapped her….hard. Blood dripped from her mouth as she fell to the ground with a yelp.

Suddenly, Darryl felt immeasurably better. Nicky was crying, and pleading, “Why, why?”

“Why?” Darryl thought. Why not?

****

The massive V8 roared as the serpentine ebony car charged over the pavement. Harker’s Camaro was his pride and joy, he pampered the vehicle like a child and drove it like a wild stallion. Ostrowski tried to settle into the deep bucketed seat but the force from the acceleration made it difficult to get comfortable. She looked at her hulking partner who was currently hunkered over the leather wrapped steering wheel directing the bullet-like vehicle as it flew down a backstreet. Massive tires squealed as Harker pulled a hard turn, the rubber fought to maintain traction until the power of the giant engine rocketed them forward.

“So the old guy spent some time with a waitress while he ate lunch,” Ostrowski yelled over the roaring motor. She was nauseas from Harker’s driving but she knew that he didn’t give a flying fuck.. The car made him happy and he was more pliable when he was content.

“According to our timeline, the waitress was the last person Mr. Phillips spoke to before returning to his apartment,” Harker’s growl was almost in tune with the muscle car’s beastly purr.

Ostrowski glanced at her pad, “Nicky Gracini worked at the diner for a few months. She was originally from the ‘burbs and had dreams of becoming a singer. If there is any bigger cliché, I can’t think of it.”

“Jesus, Ostrich, how did you become such a cynic?” Harker shook his head. “Can’t a kid have a dream?”

“A dream is fine, but reality TV has made every talentless kid think their moment for stardom is just around the corner. They need to be more realistic,” she rebutted.

“Realistic? What, and become a bitter cop who hates men in authority and lives with 16 cats?” Harker chuckled.

“It’s 5 cats and I listen to you…sometimes!” She snapped. Harker’s face broke into a grin,

The squak of their radios interrupted their repartee. Dispatch was reporting a domestic disturbance at an apartment complex not far from their location. Uniforms were responding but Harker and Ostrowski were closer. Ostrowski asked for the details.

“The apartment is rented by a Nicole Gracini,” dispatch reported.

The two stared at each other slack jawed. “No coincidence here,” Ostrowski whispered.

“Nope, not a god damn chance,” Harker replied as he depressed the accelerator. The Camaro bellowed as they thundered towards the apartment building.

****

Nicky lay on the ground, she stopped counting how many times he had hit her. It didn’t matter. Her right eye had nearly swollen shut and the left wasn’t far behind. She had stopped sobbing and pleading; it wasn’t doing her any good and he clearly didn’t care. In fact it seemed as if her sobbing it was only making the situation worse. He was empowered by her cries and the throbbing in her head made it hard to concentrate on crying. She began to wish for the sanctity of unconsciousness.

At first she couldn’t register who he was, the shock of a person being in her apartment had frozen her brain. After his first blow she realized he was the creepy guy from the diner. She had always noticed he was handsome, but the way he had looked at her chilled Nicky to the core…now she understood why. The man was clearly a maniac and he was going to kill her.

Currently the psycho was stalking around the apartment muttering to himself. Nicky couldn’t hear what he was saying and she really didn’t care. The taste of blood filled her mouth and her side was aching. She had broken her ribs once when playing field hockey in high school – this felt worse.

Suddenly Nicky felt a wrenching at her scalp. He was grabbing her by her hair. The man lifted her up by her pony tail and threw her across the room like a child tossing a doll. She crashed against a small table with a yelp. Still, the darkness did not come. Nicky realized it was the middle of the day and barely anyone was home in her small apartment building. Those currently in the building were seniors and probably couldn’t hear the racket – she was doomed.

She felt herself beginning to slip as though an exhausted sleep was overtaking her, she welcomed it. Suddenly a pounding roused her. At first, Nicky thought it was the throbbing in her head, but the noise became louder, suddenly, a shouting accompanied it. It was coming from the door!

Slowly, Nicky turned her aching head towards the doorway. Standing between Nicky and the entrance to her apartment, the lunatic shook a clenched fist and yelled towards the door. The shouting from outside came again, it sounded like a threat, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Suddenly the door exploded, splintering from its hinges and frame it fell to the ground. Her savior came charging through the opening. He was huge, and it looked as though a cape flowed around him. A superhero, maybe? None of this made sense but she now struggled to stay conscious.

The lunatic shouted something at her hero but it was too late. The giant grabbed him by his neck and threw him to the ground. The madman gasped as the impact drove the wind from his lungs; he then screamed in agony while his arm was wrenched behind his back, Nicky heard the snapping of bone, her attacker shrieked.

From behind her hero she saw an angel enter the apartment, an angel with blazing hair like fire. The angelic figure rushed over to Nicky and asked her a question, Nicky tried to respond but she couldn’t find her voice. It was as though she was falling down a deep hole and the beautiful angel was growing further away. Nicky tried to call to her but it was useless, the angel was too distant. The last thing Nicky heard was the maniac crying and then the loud thud of a fist on human meat. Her hero spoke but the words were unintelligible.  Nicky finally surrendered to the blissful darkness.

I’m a frequent visitor to Atlantic City. But before you start handing me the number to the gambler’s hotline, the tables you’d catch me at would be of the buffet variety. Either way, I was in town last weekend for a family birthday celebration and that Saturday night we were able to snag some comp tickets at the Borgata for the tour debut of “Larry King Standing Up.”

I won’t lie and tell you i’m a huge Larry King fan. As a matter of fact I never watched a full episode of his now defunct “Larry King Live” on CNN. But after sitting down next to my wife with beer in hand, I enjoyed every anecdote and timely quip that came from Larry’s repertoire. With stories of his youth in Brooklyn to his start as a radio host in Miami, “Larry King Standing Up” is not so much trying to make Larry the next George Carlin but continuing on what he does best – storytelling.

Certain references I didn’t catch and that can be attributed to my age but like a kid hovering around the adults table, I wanted to hear more while unintentionally learning something. Tales about legends like Frank Sinatra and Jackie Gleason were so more interesting when explained by King’s first person accounts. The bar room intimacy was a time machine and in realization the sheer act of going on the road and telling his story, his way – trumps any attempt on a bio doc planned for the future.

Without revealing too much about the rest of the show, the best story by far is King’s teenage escapade on route to get ice cream at the east coast chain Carvel. King’s comedic timing is so natural and the ability to carry my attention from start to end, especially as a casual fan of his work converted me to a full fledged supporter.

To find out where Larry King is performing next, check out his Facebook fan page.