Chapter 1: Sisu Sugo and the Whispering Light

By Sisu Sugo (Shish Mmm)

On a chilly winter afternoon, a six-year-old boy named Sisu Sugo sat shivering atop a small earthen mound. His fair skin glowed softly, his green eyes sparkled, and his black hair swayed gently in the breeze. He looked so beautiful that he seemed to have stepped out of a fairy tale. He wore a loose, slightly torn shirt, but he paid no mind to it. His thoughts were lost in play. Holding a bit of dirt and dry leaves, he was carefully crafting a small, round mud ball, rolling it on the ground with a sweet smile on his face.

Suddenly, a voice whispered from behind, “Boo!” Sisu jumped in fright, his mud ball slipping from his hands. He turned around quickly, heart pounding. Standing there was a girl his age—six years old—named Meera. Her gray hair fluttered in the wind, her fair face glowed, and her large black eyes sparkled with mischief. She was so beautiful that anyone who saw her would be enchanted. After startling Sisu, Meera burst into laughter, her giggles so loud they sent the birds in the trees flying. But in her playful teasing, she accidentally pushed Sisu, causing his carefully crafted mud ball to break. Tears welled up in Sisu’s eyes, and with a trembling voice, he said,

“Why can’t you come quietly? Why do you always play such pranks?”

Meera, still laughing, replied, “It’s so much fun to scare you! And when you talk while crying, your voice sounds so sweet!”

Meera was the only daughter of the village landlord. She was a bit naughty, always pulling pranks on everyone, but her heart was pure. She joined Sisu in his play. The two ran around the trees, throwing dry leaves at each other, their laughter filling the afternoon with joy.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of red, Meera suddenly stopped. She said, “Sisu Sugo, it’s getting late. I have to go home, or my parents will scold me.”

Sisu’s face fell. “I don’t want to go home. I want to keep playing with you.”

Meera smiled sweetly. “If I don’t go now, my father won’t let me play with you anymore. He’s already said I shouldn’t play with you because you’re poor. But I don’t care about that! We’ll play again tomorrow, okay?”

Sisu gave a small smile and nodded. “Okay. But you have to come tomorrow, promise?”

Meera laughed. “I promise, silly!”

They set off toward their homes. At a three-way junction, they parted ways. As they walked, Sisu noticed a few men staring at them, whispering. One said, “Boss, that’s the girl Lord Deck was talking about.”

Another replied, “Yes, that’s her. We need to take care of this.”

Sisu and Meera ignored them and continued walking. At the junction, Meera waved goodbye and headed toward her home, while Sisu took the path to his.

But Sisu’s heart grew heavy. He didn’t want to go home at all. His father was always drunk, beating his mother without reason. Staying out in the cold winter night would make him sick, so he had no choice. His house was small—just two rooms, one for sleeping and another serving as both a dining area and kitchen. He paused in front of the house, hesitating. Suddenly, a sweet voice called out, “Sisu Sugo!”

He turned to see his mother standing there, holding a piece of cloth. Her hands bore dark blue bruises—marks of abuse. In a worried tone, she asked, “Why are you so late?”

Sisu’s voice trembled. “I got a bit delayed, Ma.”

His mother noticed his torn shirt and said, “You’ve torn your shirt playing again, haven’t you?”

Sisu looked at his shirt and mumbled, “I don’t know when it tore. Maybe it got caught on a branch while climbing a tree.”

His mother smiled softly. “Alright. Come inside, I’ll stitch it up.”

They went inside, but Sisu froze. His father was sitting there, a bottle of liquor in hand, his eyes bloodshot. His mother quickly pulled Sisu into the inner room and began sewing the torn part of his shirt. Suddenly, his father shouted, “I don’t have money for more liquor! Give me money!”

His mother replied softly, “I don’t have any money.”

His father yelled, “What? You won’t give me money?”

She repeated calmly, “I told you, I don’t have anything. There’s no food or vegetables at home. What will we eat?”

His father’s anger flared. “Where’s the money you earned? Tell me!”

She replied quietly, “I don’t have anything.”

Unable to control himself, his father lunged at her and began beating her mercilessly. Sisu hid behind a wooden box, watching in terror. After a while, his father stopped and stormed out. Sisu ran to his mother, wiping her tears. She held him tightly, sobbing.

After some time, Sisu tried to act normal. His mother finished sewing his shirt and asked, “Are you hungry? Let me cook something for you.”

Sisu nodded. “Yes, Ma, I’m very hungry.”

She borrowed some grains and vegetables from a neighbor, lit the stove, and cooked a simple porridge with rice and vegetables. She served it in a bowl for Sisu. He ate heartily and fell asleep right there.

In the middle of the night, Sisu woke to his mother’s screams. Two men were trying to assault her, and she was fighting back. One man sneered, “You said she’d be good! She’s not cooperating—give us our money back!”

From behind, Sisu’s father appeared and began beating his mother again, shouting, “If you don’t do it right, I’ll kill you!” He punched her hard in the face, and she fell to the ground, blood dripping from her mouth. In her mind, she thought, “Why did I marry this monster? No love, no responsibility—I can’t take it anymore. I want to die.” But then she thought of Sisu. What would happen to her son if she died? She imagined him starving, stealing food, and getting caught and beaten by shopkeepers. “No,” she thought, “I have to live for my son.”

Against her will, she gave in. The two men raped her repeatedly. Sisu watched this horrific scene, rage burning inside him. Crying until he was exhausted, he fell back asleep, unaware of when his tears stopped.

The next morning, Sisu woke to the chirping of birds and soft sunlight. His head rested in his mother’s lap. Her hair was disheveled, her face and under-eyes marked with dark bruises. Yet she smiled and said, “My little boy is awake?”

Seeing her forced smile, Sisu understood how much pain she had endured the previous night. He said, “Ma, you’ll never leave me, right?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I’ll never leave my precious boy. Are you hungry?”

Sisu nodded. “Yes, very.”

She warmed the leftover porridge and gave it to him. After a few bites, Sisu pushed the bowl toward her. “Ma, you eat this. I’m full.”

She shook her head. “No, I won’t eat. You finish it.”

Sisu insisted, “No, you have to eat, or I’ll get angry!”

Giving in to his stubbornness, she ate. Then she said, “I need to finish sewing the clothes I got yesterday. Go play outside.”

Sisu ran to the spot where he and Meera always played, waiting for her under the big tree. But even after a long wait, Meera didn’t come. He decided to go to her house and call for her. At Meera’s house, he saw four guards at the gate. He tried to enter, but they stopped him and told him to leave. Sisu sneaked to the back of the house and stood by a window, overhearing a conversation inside.

Meera’s father was crying, saying, “Commander, please do something! My daughter hasn’t returned home since yesterday evening.”

Sisu’s heart stopped. “What? Meera didn’t make it home? But I saw her heading home from the junction yesterday!” Then he remembered the men’s whispers. Had they kidnapped her? Fear gripped him.

The commander said, “We’ve sent spies into the city. We’ll have news of your daughter soon.”

Meera’s father sobbed, “Please hurry. My little girl must be in danger.”

Sisu resolved, “I’ll save Meera. I’ll bring her back home.”

He ran to the spot where he’d seen those men, but no one was there. Spotting a nearby shop, he asked the shopkeeper, “Did you see some bad-looking men here yesterday?”

The old shopkeeper nodded. “Yes, they were here. They often come and scare people. If they’re not here now, they might be at their hideout in the north of the village.”

Sisu raced to the northern part of the village. There, he saw a few thugs talking outside an old house. One said, “If this plan works, we’ll get a lot of money from the girl’s father.”

Another replied, “Yes, but we need to be careful.”

They laughed cruelly. Sisu sneaked to the back of the house and spotted a high window with a drum nearby. He dragged the drum under the window, climbed onto it, and peered inside. Meera lay on the floor, hands and feet bound, unconscious.

Sisu quietly tried to open the window to climb in, but it was too high, and he fell with a thud. The noise alerted the men outside. Sisu hurried to Meera and began untying her ropes. Before he could finish, a thug burst in. Sisu quickly hid behind a box. When the man left, Sisu resumed untying Meera and removed the cloth from her mouth, trying to wake her. Meera opened her eyes, saw Sisu, and started crying. Her sobs brought the thug back, who spotted Sisu this time.

Sisu tried to run, but the man grabbed him and dragged him outside, throwing him in front of their leader, Lord Deck. The thug said, “Lord Deck, look who we found! This boy came to save the girl.”

Lord Deck roared, “What? You dared to ruin our plan? Beat him! Teach him a lesson!”

The thugs attacked Sisu—kicking, punching, beating him brutally. Blood dripped from his mouth. Lord Deck shouted, “Stop! Bring the girl out. Beat this boy in front of her. He came to save her—kill him in front of her!”

They laughed viciously and dragged Meera outside. Seeing Sisu’s condition, she screamed, “Let him go! He didn’t do anything!”

Sisu, bloodied, tried to stand on one hand. In a weak voice, he said, “Let Meera go…” But a thug kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing into a wall. His vision blurred. Through hazy eyes, he saw a thug pulling Meera’s hair as she cried, “Sisu Sugo! Sisu Sugo!”

Blood poured from Sisu’s body, his strength gone. With his last breath, he whispered, “Meera…” and collapsed, lifeless.

Everything went dark. After a moment, a tiny speck of light appeared, growing larger. A deep, melodious voice echoed, “Sisu Sugo, Sisu Sugo…”

Sisu opened his eyes. He was floating in a vast, white void—nothing around him, just infinite emptiness. Confused, he said, “Where am I? Who’s there?”

The voice spoke again, “Sisu Sugo, how are you?”

Sisu looked around. “Who are you? Why can’t I see you?”

The voice chuckled softly. “I am the one who created this world—the trees, the rivers, and all of you.”

Sisu’s eyes widened. “You’re… God?”

“Yes,” the voice said. “And I have chosen you for a special task.”

Still stunned, Sisu asked, “What task? Why me?”

God replied, “You will find all the answers in time. Now, you must go. But before you do, I will transform your physical form.”

As soon as the words were spoken, a white light enveloped Sisu’s body. His hair turned sky-blue, cat-like ears and a tail appeared, and he looked far more beautiful and adorable than before. In his hand, he held a thin rope with small black beads. Then, darkness engulfed him again.

The void turned black once more. Sisu heard the chirping of a bird. Slowly, he opened his eyes. A colorful bird flew past him. He was sitting in an unfamiliar place—a vast field of green grass, dotted with vibrant flowers, trees heavy with ripe fruit, and a clear river flowing nearby. The place was so enchanting that Sisu felt as if he had stepped into a dream. He stood up, looking around. Suddenly, he noticed the cat-like tail from his transformation still swaying behind him.

But where was this place? And how had he gotten here?

After humanity gained civilization, people learned to name things. Once named, each object gained a “Story-Command.”

Early schools of thought saw this ability as a kind of spell—believing that names and titles could control people and things, or give contracts their binding power.

Nowadays, as civilization has advanced, the Story-Commandsystem has grown ever more sophisticated—and ever more powerful...

—Excerpt from Introduction to Story-Command

Ever since she was a child, Yay Zhongxia has had a unique gift: she can see the narrative—the descriptive text—attached to any object she looks at. She thought only one other person in the world shared this ability, a mysterious girl she met once in her childhood.

That is, until high school, when she and her twin sister Yuni stumble into a strange “one-book school” called Marelin High. There, she discovers a whole community of people who can see narrative, and even finds clues about that girl from her past.

At Marelin, everyone creates magic through writing—this is called Story-Command.

Dueling, cooking, even shipping your favorite couples—all can be achieved with the power of Story-Command. Some even say that adding a good luck meme from your elders boosts the effect!

But there’s a catch—once a story is written, it must be finished, or disaster will follow...

So, freshmen, pick up your fountain pens and ink—get ready to experience the true power of words!

🌈 BL and ghost stories are magic. So are mysteries, crackfics, and even elder memes—they can all be used in battle!

In this book, you’ll find:

🖌️ Writing battles between all kinds of genres (e.g., “Overpowered Harem Protagonists VS Mary Sue Reverse Harems”): Chapters 6–9🖌️ Authors playfully (or ruthlessly) sabotaging each other: all chapters🖌️ Fujoshi and fudanshi (BL fans) joyfully shipping everyone: all chapters🖌️ Plot Hole Beasts and Cliffhanger Fillers: Chapters 3 & 5🖌️ The infamous “dark writing rooms”: Chapter 5🖌️ So many, many cats: Chapter 4🖌️ Vengeful unfinished works chasing after their authors: Chapters 3 & 4🖌️ The mystical anti-evil power of elder memes: Chapter 4🖌️ A sprinkle of temple culture and urban legends: Chapter 5

※ This novel is an original work by the author. The English translation was produced using ChatGPT, with creative input and editing by the author.

I will post links to my readings from the first few chapters of my recent novel, Hire Lernin’: An Idealist’s Quest Through the Realm of for-Profit Education. The novel involves the bittersweet journey of a young, idealistic, naïve attorney who takes on the role of academic dean at a for-profit business school in New York City in the late 1980s knowing very little about the industry. Unable to accept the way things are, he immediately launches into a personal quest to change lives for the better in an environment where only the bottom-line matters. Hard work and an entrepreneurial spirit quickly propel him to professional success, but at a deep personal cost in the process as he learns critical life-altering lessons about himself, about leadership, about for-profit and not-for-profit higher education, and about love.

The novel itself is available in eBook and paperback versions from most book sellers. And I recently released audiobook versions of both the original English version and my Spanish translation that are also widely available. These are cold, unedited readings and are not part of the actual audiobooks now available. I recorded these for fun and posted them to my YouTube channel in the past and am providing links here. They serve an interesting contrast to the actual audiobook version. (You can also listen to brief previews from my various audiobooks at the following link: Audible.)

I hope you will enjoy these simple chapter readings as much as I did recording them.

You can hear an unabridged reading of the first two chapters by clicking HERE.

"The Quotation Station" is my personal collection of quotes and thoughts that inspire me every day. Each page features a quote or reflection that has shaped my perspective and encourages me to think deeper. This book is a journey through the words that resonate with me, inviting you to find your own inspiration along the way. Dive in and explore the power of quotes and the ideas that influence a beautiful, thoughtful, and a meaningful life!

Hire Lernin’

An Idealist’s Quest Through the Realm of for-Profit Education

(C) 2021, 2025 Victor D. López, J.D., Esq.

This is a preview of the first two chapters of my published novel that involves the bittersweet journey of a young, idealistic, naïve attorney who takes on the role of academic dean at a for-profit business school in New York City in the late 1980s knowing very little about the industry. Unable to accept the way things are, he immediately launches into a personal quest to change lives for the better in an environment where only the bottom-line matters. Hard work and an entrepreneurial spirit quickly propel him to professional success, but at a deep personal cost.  In the process as he learns life-altering lessons about himself, about leadership, about for-profit and not-for-profit higher education, and about love.

PLEASE NOTE:  This novel is now available in its final edited form in ebook, paperback, hard-cover, and audiobook versions from your favorite local or international booksellers, including AMAZON, BARNES & NOBLE, GOOGLE PLAY, APPLE BOOKS, AUDIBLE, and other leading national and international booksellers. I hope you will sample these and enjoy them as much as I did writing them. And, as always, thank you for your support.

_________________

Chapter One: Dreamers Dream Until They are Awakened

Dan peered out of his Jackson Heights second story apartment window hoping to spy the letter carrier’s cart on the sidewalk below bearing good news. He had risen as usual at 8:00 a.m., showered, dressed and was at his desk by 9:00 a.m. ready to face the world, which these days largely meant waiting for the mail to arrive or the phone to ring with an interview offer while working on a book about public domain software that he had begun writing. A classic overachiever, Dan was undaunted by the fact that he had settled into this routine two months ago and was still waiting for a reasonable job offer that he could actually accept. No matter, he would persevere and everything would be fine.

Success had always come easily to Dan. He completed middle school in two years in a special progress class, graduated from one of the best High Schools in the country, Brooklyn Technical High School, with honors, and excelled not only in the traditional college-level math, science and technical courses that formed the foundation of his pre-engineering curriculum, but also in the humanities and social sciences. College had been more of the same. He looked forward to every class, never managed his GPA by dodging hard courses or dropping courses in which he was not maintaining an A average, never cut classes, and graduated with high honors. Both his I.Q. and LSAT scores qualified him for membership in Mensa, an organization he had absolutely no interest in joining. He coasted through law school, though his grades were only average as he was frustrated and bored by the emphasis on memorization and regurgitation of facts, issues, holdings and rationales for cases in the traditional case method employed by the law school he attended (and most others for that matter both then and now).

Dan had decided to go to law school to help people, to make a difference, and to promote justice—actually believing these clichés with the fervor and innocence possible only for recent arrivals from faraway galaxies and people whose only exposure to the law and lawyers is derived from romanticized Hollywood movies, novels, and television shows. His delusions did not survive the first week of law school. He knew almost immediately that he would not practice law as a career, at least not as his primary occupation, but stubbornly decided to stick it out for no better reason than he had always completed anything he started, and law school would not be the exception. So, instead of leaving law school after a week, a month or even a semester as any rational person faced with the clear evidence that he had made a terrible mistake would have done, he plodded onward. He could have pursued a Ph.D. in political science, English, philosophy or any of the half dozen other fields that were of real interest to him in the humanities and social sciences where he could have found a fulfilling career as an academic. Instead, he chose to stay in law school and use his law degree to obtain a non-legal corporate position in human resource management, government compliance or one of the many other areas in business in which knowledge of the law and the ability to give legal advice are essential.

After graduating from law school, he took and comfortably passed the grueling New York State bar exam, though he would not receive the results until December and would not be admitted to practice until the following spring, just like everyone else who passed the bar exam. In the meantime, he had worked on Wall Street for a year hating the experience. Once admitted to practice, he prepared his resume and sent out application letters, neatly typed and appropriately listing his educational experience and competencies seeking to find more satisfying work. With no relevant work experience, however, responses were not what he had hoped for that summer. He received perhaps one interview for every ten or fifteen application letters sent out. This was actually much better than average, especially since he was not applying for work as an attorney. He should have expected three to five interviews for every 100 letters sent out, but he did not know that. Accustomed to success and with an unrealistic notion of his marketability and value, he was disappointed at getting at best a couple of interviews a month and was even less enthusiastic about the salaries offered for the entry level administrative and consulting positions for which he interviewed and which he was offered.

But this week would be different. In researching positions for which he would qualify as someone with a law degree, he had learned an interesting fact: more college deans hold a Juris Doctor degree than degrees from any other discipline. This appealed to him, and he had instantly decided that rather than accept any of the unsatisfying offers like the ones he had recently received, he would concentrate on obtaining a dean’s position at an academic institution. The fact that most college deans are highly experienced academics or accomplished professionals before their ascension to administration is something that completely escaped Dan’s less than comprehensive research into the subject. Thus, his mind made up about a career choice that would after all vindicate his decision to obtain a law degree, he readjusted his resume, developed a new cover letter, and began to apply for deans’ positions from The Chronicle of Higher Education. And, not knowing any better, he also kept reading The New York Timesclassifieds hoping to find those types of positions listed there as well.

Within a few days of making this new life-altering decision, he had sent out a half dozen new application letters to community colleges in the New York, New Jersey, Connecticut tri-state area from the Chronicleand one to Practical Entrepreneurial Management Training Institute (PEMTI), a local business school Dan had never heard of. The cryptic ad in the classified section of The New York Timesread: Academic Dean. Leading business school with branches throughout the tri-state area is searching for an Academic Dean for its Queens campus. Competitive salary and benefits. Master’s Degree required; Doctorate preferred. The only other information was an address for PEMTI at Queens Boulevard in Kew Gardens, an area not too far from Dan’s apartment.  He then waited for a call he was sure would come, oblivious to the fact that the lag time between the submission of an application for a dean’s position and the search committee selection of candidates for preliminary phone interviews and, eventually, on-campus interviews take months at traditional academic institutions, even at lower-level community colleges and baccalaureate institutions. But ignorance is bliss, and Dan eagerly expected a call or letter inviting him to an on-campus interview within a week of having sent the application.

It is said that even broken clocks are right twice a day—well, at least that’s true for the old-fashioned analog ones. And this morning, just three days after mailing his application, his phone rang.

“This is PEMTI calling. May I speak to Daniel Amor?” The woman’s husky, southern accented voice gave Dan a sudden adrenaline surge as he quickly responded, “This is he.”

“Good morning, Mr. Amor. I’m calling with regard to your application for the dean’s position. Will you please hold for the director, Mr. Lantz?”

“Yes, thank you.” Dan tried to keep his voice calm as his heart rate sped up further. A click on the line was followed almost immediately by the mellow voice of a man exuding cheerfulness.

“Dr. Amor?” The voice queried.

“Yes sir, good morning” Dan answered.

“Good morning. I’m Marvin Lantz, the school director. We received your application for the dean’s position and would like to bring you in for an interview. Are you available this week?”

“Any time this week is fine with me, Dr. Lantz,” Dan retorted without the usual response he knew he should give about having to consult his schedule in order to not appear overeager and unattractively unoccupied.

“Call me Marvin, please. I’m an MBA, not a Ph.D. or Ed.D. Can you come in tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.? We’re on Queens Boulevard about two blocks from the courthouse on the fourth floor of the Wang Office Building. Our school is actually on the fourth and fifth floors.”

“I know the area and have your address. I’ll be there at 10:00 a.m. Thank you. I look forward to meeting you, Mr. Lantz.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting you as well. See you then,” Marvin replied and hung up the phone.

Dan smiled widely. Finally, he had an interview he could really look forward to. He called his girlfriend, Linda, as soon as he got off the phone, eager to give her the good news.

“Morning babe,” he said as soon as she picked on the phone. “I have some great news!”

“Hi Dan. What is it?”

“I just got called in for an interview at a local business school for a dean’s position.”

“Yeah, and I just got crowned Miss Universe,” she scoffed.

“I’m serious!”

“You told me you sent out applications for deans’ positions a few days ago. How can they possibly be interviewing already?”

“I guess they know quality when they see it,” he quipped.

“Joke all you want, but be careful. I see a huge red flag popping up here.”

“Gosh, Linda. You’re such a damned pessimist. Why are you perpetually raining on my parade?”

“Because I love you and someone has to protect you from yourself. You always see the glass as half full, and even if someone takes the time to make you see it’s actually completely empty, you’ll point to rain clouds in the horizon and argue it will soon be full again.”

“So, shoot me for always looking at the bright side, Ms. Perpetual Party Pooper! For me the glass is always half full, true; for you it is always completely empty, dusty, cracked and lying in the middle of the Sahara Desert under six feet of sand,” Dan said with a tone of exasperation, yet knowing full well that she was right.

“Just be careful, Dan. Congratulations on getting the interview, but be wary.”

“I will, Linda. Have some faith in me, won’t you?”

“I have always had complete faith in you—it’s your judgment that worries me.”

“I’ve gotta go,” Dan said. “I’m off to the library to do some research. We can talk tonight,” Dan said, giving the receiver a kiss and hanging up the phone.

He knew Linda was right—she almost always was. He could be impulsive and allow his enthusiasm to cloud his judgment. Nevertheless, he felt some annoyance at Linda’s harping on the negative rather than exploring the positive. She was a realist who looked at the positive and the negative in every situation and parked herself somewhere in the middle. Dan was an idealist who had a hard time accepting any reality he found unpleasant or unfair and would look for a rainbow in the middle of a hurricane, even if it killed him.

After getting off the phone, he did what he did best: turn to the task at hand and devote his full attention to it. He needed to get as much information as possible about PEMTI in preparation for the interview with little time to do so. In the days before the Internet, a library’s holdings were the only effective way to research a prospective employer, so he headed for his car to take a quick trip to the St. John’s University library to find out anything he could about PEMTI. Unfortunately, it was a trip that would prove fruitless. The same was true of his trip to his public library.  Returning home that evening, he avoided going to see Linda as he knew she would harp on his need for caution and make him miserable. Instead, he called her, and they chatted on the phone briefly. He also called his parents who were much more enthusiastic about his good news knowing nothing about the usual process involved in a dean’s search and, therefore, offered Dan only the encouragement he craved.

____________________

Chapter 2: The Interview (Part One)

The next morning, Dan got up early, put on his best suit and gathered his leather portfolio, placing extra copies of his resume and undergraduate and graduate transcripts in it along with three glowing letters of reference from professors who knew him well and could vouch for his intellectual acumen and skill set. Rather than take his car into an area where parking would likely pose a problem, he opted to take the subway, leaving his home at 9:00 a.m. for what should be at most a half hour trip door to door. Nothing beats the NYC subway system for getting around cheaply and quickly, especially during rush hour when bumper-to-bumper traffic moves at about the same rate as the average lethargic slug. Traffic flow is further impeded by traffic lights whose timing sequence seems to be set by particularly perverse, sadistic children during breaks from biting their baby siblings, torturing puppies and singeing the tail feathers of caged songbirds on sunny windowsills with magnifying glasses when their parents are not looking.

As he neared the ten-story office building that housed what might become his first academic home, he slowed his pace as he was nearly a half hour early and knew that he should not arrive earlier than fifteen minutes before his scheduled interview. He walked slowly past a variety of small shops, that included a Chinese restaurant with about a half dozen small tables visible through the front window, a pizzeria, a check cashing place sporting a prominent “Payday Loans” neon sign in its window, a bagel shop, a tattoo parlor and several bars. He continued past the office building towards the courthouse, enjoying the glorious early fall day. As he approached the courthouse, he could see dozens of lawyers going about their business, many of them accompanied by their clients chatting on their way to court or holding impromptu conferences. He smiled at the realization that it was often hard to distinguish criminal lawyers from their clients as they moved side by side on their way to and from the criminal courthouse. The lawyers, of course, could be discerned from their ubiquitous bulging leather briefcases, but seemed every bit as shabby, shifty and untrustworthy as their charges and wearing similarly rumpled off-the-rack suits and sports jackets. Even his criminal law professor in law school fit that mold—there was too much of the streets about them, a greater affinity to their clients than to the polish and eloquence that used to be associated with the legal profession in the days when lawyers were not free to hawk their services on commercials during television shows aimed at the terminally unemployable members of society with loud, obnoxious, misleading commercials. These echoed all the finesse and professionalism of local used car salespeople hawking their wares to individuals with toxic credit histories in the wee hours of the morning.

“Have you been injured by a slip and fall? Did the police find a kilo of heroin in your car after a traffic stop motivated by racial profiling?  Is the IRS hounding you because you’ve never paid taxes? Is your son doing poorly in school because he was slapped too hard on his fanny by the obstetrician at birth? Were you denied employment or a promotion because you are an unqualified drug user with a bad attitude, body odor and perpetual absenteeism caused by Chronic Lethargy Syndrome? You may be entitled to compensation. Call 1-800-SHEISTER and a lawyer will come to your home to discuss your case. No injury is too small or frivolous for us to pursue. The law firm of Sheister & Sheister is always on your side.” These commercials should come with the following rapidly-scrolling disclaimer in small print (but do not--a testament to the political clout bought by the very generous campaign contributions of trial lawyers in the United States):

“Disclaimer: we only take cases we know we can win with a minimum of effort, and then only on a 50-percent contingency fee basis. We routinely file cases with little or no merit knowing full well that judges will seldom throw them out on pretrial motions, and count on our ability to settle almost any claim for its nuisance value of $10,000 or less as the average litigation will cost defendants $25,000 in lawyer’s fees and it is cheaper for them to pay us $10,000 to go away than it is to win a Pyrrhic victory in court and have to pay their attorneys $25,000. After paying for court fees and some ancillary expenses off the top from the $10,000 nuisance judgment, we get about $4,500 for little or no work beyond basic motions filed by our underpaid paralegals, and you get $4,500 for any injury real or imagined that may have been caused by anyone you choose to sue. God Bless America, the only country on the planet in which lawyers have succeeded in maintaining the sanctity of the American Rule that prevents losing parties from having to pay the legal expenses of the prevailing party.”

After walking past the courthouse killing time and thinking these dangerous, subversive thoughts that would get him immediately voted off the island by his brothers and sisters of the bar, he turned around after a leisurely seven-minute stroll and slowly walked back. He made his way to the fourth floor at precisely 9:45 a.m.

“Dan Amor to see Mr. Lantz,” he told the smiling receptionist. “He’ll be with you in a moment.” She picked up the phone, punched a button and announced, “Mr. Amor is here to see you.” She then turned to Dan and said sweetly, “Please sit down. He’ll be right with you “

Before Dan had a chance to take a seat, a smiling, short, thin man in his late thirties with short hair in an almost perfect horseshoe pattern around a gleaming, bald head opened the inner door to the right of the reception area and offered Dan a broad smile. “Good morning, Dan. Please come in. I’m Marvin. It’s good to meet you.” Marvin extended his hand to Dan who shook it firmly, saying “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for seeing me.”

Marvin held the door open and asked Dan to pass through. Dan noted what appeared to be a metal detector as he walked through the threshold, while also noticing another metal detector on the wider door to the left of the reception area that must lead to the classrooms given the number of young people carrying books that he saw walking through it. Unlike today, metal detectors at a school in the 1980s was something Dan had never seen before and found curious. Marvin pointed to the end of the hallway and said, “My office is just down the hall, please follow me.” On the way to Marvin’s office, Dan saw several small offices with people busy at work at their desks, and a large office just before Marvin’s door that looked like a phone bank with a half dozen people working the phones in diminutive cubicles.

As he walked inside Marvin’s office, Dan noticed a short man with mid-length hair staring out the large picture window at the traffic below on Queens Boulevard. The man’s shirt, though clean and of apparent good quality, was rumpled and looked slept in. The man turned his attention to Marvin and to Dan when he heard them come in. Unlike Marvin’s conservative blue tie and a pressed shirt, the man’s tie sported a cacophony of discordant colors that could have been designed by a chimp of subpar intelligence on an acid trip supplied with finger paints in all the primary colors for its hands and feet. The man immediately walked towards Dan with his hand extended in the style of life insurance salesmen, car dealers and televangelists the world over.

“Good to meet you, Dan. I’m Jerry Mason, Vice President for Administration of PEMTI,” the man said, enthusiastically shaking Dan’s hand. “Marvin and I will be interviewing you today and appreciate your coming to see us on short notice.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Mason. Thank you for granting me this interview,” Dan replied meeting the man’s smile, though not quite matching it’s size or intensity.

“Call me Jerry. We Don’t stand on ceremony here, plus I don’t hold a doctorate, just an MS in Marketing. Please, sit down,” he added, pointing to one of two padded leather chairs in front of a massive mahogany desk. ”You too, Marvin. I’ll just stand if you don’t mind.” Marvin smiled and took the seat, but not before offering Dan a cup of coffee or tea, pointing to an elegant side table with freshly brewed coffee, china cups and saucers, a matching sugar bowl, and silver spoons. The office smelled pleasantly of vanilla and fresh brewed French roast coffee. Dan waved off the offer with thanks and sat down, opening his leather portfolio on his lap.

“Would either of you like a copy of my resume or letters of reference?” He asked, looking at both men. “No thank you,” Marvin replied. “We both have a copy and have reviewed it carefully,” he added. Jerry leaned back on the windowsill behind Marvin’s desk and studied Dan while Marvin spoke. “Why don’t you begin by telling us a little about yourself and why you want this job,” Marvin added with a pleasant smile.

Dan covered the basics about his education, training and commitment to higher education. He emphasized his ability to learn almost anything quickly, his legal training and adaptability. He touched on his academic credentials and eclectic competencies as well as his ability to work well both in groups and in self-directed projects.  He closed by explaining that he was a young attorney who did not wish to practice law but instead had chosen to pursue a career in higher education, preferring the intangible rewards and self-satisfaction that career offered over the pecuniary rewards available to a competent young lawyer, with native-language proficiency in Spanish in a city with an insufficient number of attorneys that could effectively serve the needs of a growing Latin American community.  Dan knew but did not mention the insultingly deficient “bilingual attorneys “ whose inability to effectively communicate orally or in writing in Spanish was at once amusing , dangerous and insulting to the clients they targeted through the Spanish-language media.

Dan did not try to address what he anticipated the interviewers would ask as his weakness—lack of experience—was obvious, and he preferred not to raise any negative issue until he was asked about it. The second question, however, he did not anticipate, and it came from Jerry.

“How do you feel about for-profit education?”

Dan answered honestly and immediately. “I really have not given the matter much thought. However, I believe that college is not for everyone, and that there is a very real gap in career training that community colleges are increasingly failing to meet. Most have turned away from their original job-training mission and become feeders for four-year schools. A majority of graduates with associate degrees lack any real marketable skills and are prepared almost exclusively to transfer to a four-year institution that too often will offer similar bachelor’s degrees of little use for those seeking employment.” Both Jerry and Marvin nodded, smiled, and looked at each other as Dan said this.

“I have an uncle who learned typing skills from one business institute or other in Manhattan that saved him from an infantry position when he volunteered to serve in Korea” Dan continued. “He served very near to the front lines, but in a clerical position that kept him out of the infantry because of his office skills. He is a writer now and a retired high school teacher. I envy him the touch-typing skill which served him well and could have earned him a living as a clerk in any number of companies if the G.I. Bill had not allowed him to pursue undergraduate and graduate degrees through the City University of New York and NYU. I also have two very good married friends who trained as beauticians and own their own salon. He is a construction worker who helps out during the winter off season, and she is someone who survived radical cancer surgery in her late teens that left her with physical disabilities that would have precluded her from holding many jobs for which she was otherwise qualified. Both are successful, productive and very happy in their work which would not have been possible other than by attending a proprietary school in NYC. I support for-profit education because I have seen it work, as long as it is offered at a reasonable cost and provides good practical training for individuals that for whatever reason cannot or choose not to go to college.” All of this was true, and it was very well received by both Jerry and Marvin.

“You would be surprised to learn how many people disagree with that point of view,” Jerry said, smiling broadly once again. “But of course we completely agree with you, and we do provide an excellent education at a fair price. We also provide graduates with job placement assistance when they graduate, free of charge and for as long as they need it, not just help in getting their first job after completing their training.”

“That sounds terrific,” Dan said, again meaning it.

A theater-short story about intellectual property being in the field of past and future in a reality filled with time machines.

When the inventor travels back, he FINDS OUT!

Sequel to College Chemistry

I have always felt a bit different. Ever since I could remember. My mother is normal, about as normal as anyone else's would be. My sister is about the same as any other. And my father is dead.

But his death is not to blame. I always seem a bit different. My sister calls it robotic, but last I checked, I am a human. I have the baby photos and everything to prove it.

Well, I suppose I am forgetful too. Another human trait. I forgot to state my name and business. I am Aura Ozone, 16 years old.

And this is my journal.

Dante and Gonzo are just a stereotypical pair of entrepreneurs trying to make it in a new business venture--except that their business idea, while groundbreaking, happens to be the unsavory notion of sensationalizing assisted suicide. Dante, a smooth talking Italian, works hard to keep them one step ahead of the feds. Meanwhile, they search for the perfect secretary, and outfox the ultimate nemesis--Michiko, Gonzo's ex, who will stop at nothing to see them burn.

Death, Inc, is a Dahlian, gallows humor workplace comedy that takes the reader on a wild ride through the acceptability of marketing death, and also how ludicrous everyday life can be when you operate outside the bounds of what's considered "permissable."

This is story of everyone dream to play role in particular gener or drama were we imagine ourselves as them .

A thirty something man seeks to get over his lifelong fear of heights and deep water by conquering them at an isolated resort.

A kobold, space marine and steampunk pirate walks into a bar...

Bartholomew "Bart" Thatcher's tavern has survived five years of interdimensional war when buildings twice its size were reduced to rubble. The clock keeps perfect time, the drinks still bstilpatron's throats, and "last call" remains a negotiable concept.

When three battle-worn soldiers from opposing factions arrive one night (a fire-breathing kobold, a space marine and a steampunk privateer), they bring news that make Bart reconsider closing for the night.

Not that anything matter much when reality itself is tearing apart at the seams.

As Bart serves drinks to former enemies, their shared stories reveal the cosmic joke of their five-year conflict. But when they step outside to a world where nothing worth fighting for remains, only one question lingers:

Who won?

Does it even matter?

A slice-of-life tale set in a bar at the end of everything, where the drinks are strong, the company is strange, and the counter is always clean. Clean-adjacent. Not dirty.

Rani's life is fine. Totally, heartbreak-free, thriving-on-ice-cream-and-denial fine.(She only cries sometimes.)

Now she's trading secrets and heartbreak stories with a guy who makes her laugh again-without realizing she's texting the one man she swore to forget.

Her ex.The one who knew her favorite flowers.The one who broke her heart at a dinner she still pretends didn't happen.

Rani's got rules:No second chances.No wondering if the universe is trying to be funny.

But fate has a twisted sense of humor.And falling for a stranger feels a lot like falling for him all over again.