Monday, December 8, 2008

Tross

“Albatross?”
“Yes, albatross.”
“The big flying bird?”
“Yes, the large flying one.”
“Are they native to this place?”
“No, but they will be soon, I feel it.”
“How can you feel the impending presen—”
“I just can. Something having to do with global—”
“Warming has nothing to do with the onslaught of large—”
“I disagree. I think it has everything to do with this marauding—”
“Marauding? Are albatross the new Mongols? What are they going to do?”
“Can you say ‘Mongols?’ Isn’t that racist? That seems the archaic equivalent of—”
“Blacks? Gays? An abbreviated shortening of a generalized term that is sometimes used?”
“Used disparagingly. But also used slangishly. Where do you stand on the issue of appropriation?”
“I stand nowhere, unless albatross appropriate their own generalized disparaged nickname for their own—”
“Ownership? How can you stand ‘nowhere?’ You have to have a stand. This is that type of nation.”
“To say this is ‘that type of nation’ implies that there is only one type; variety is refused.”
“Variety isn’t refused. It’s just not smiled on. Diversity. At least we look above—”
“Other countries? People? How many? Or do we just seem above a few?”
“A lot. Many. Some even are worse than us, more demanding—”
“Who’s more demanding? The people, or those in charge?”
“Both. While those in charge pretend to be noble—”
“Those below suffer? And they also preten—”
“To defend. They do not. Please, do sit.”
“I should get going. At this pace…”
“Stuck here forever. No fun.”
“That wasn’t the word—”
“Hey, you’re the boss.”
“Damned ‘tross.”
“Albatross?”
“Yes, albatross.”

What?

Interrogation room. A, B, C, are interrogating. F is blindfolded, back to audience. D, the stenographer, is in the corner. E and G are hidden in the audience, front row.


A:
A garden is no place for a man like you!

Pause

C:
We know you are the last one to have been with her. We know you talked to her.

B:
We have video of you walking into the club with her.

C:
We’ve seen your face.

B:
You see, clubs have video--

C:
and we know it was you.

B:
Videos see all. They see your hopes, your dreams, your sins!

A:
Videos are the windows into the souls of the doomed souls!

Pause

C:
What does that even mean? Honestly, it was even redundant.

Pause

C:
So why don’t you just stop lying and tell us what you did with her!

B:
What did you do with the innocent young woman?!?

C:
Not going to speak are you?

B:
Probably not.

C:
Rhetorical.

B:
Can we try it again?

C:
No, I was working the sinister angle, and then you go and do that. I swear, every damn time.

B:
Come on, just do it. We can start over. (Directing at F) He doesn’t care.

C:
No.

Silence

A:
I will tear your limbs from the places whence they came!

C:
Did you just say “whence”?

Pause

A:
I don’t know.

B:
“whence.”

A:
Huh.

Pause

C:
I kind of liked it.

A:
I don’t know what it means.

B:
It sounded damn good.

C:
“Whereupon” is another we should use.

B:
Oh check this out: “Whereupon we apprehended the criminal from whence he came, we found no evidence whatsoever of his countenance.”

C:
You should use that.

B:
Maybe I will. When is our next press conference?

C:
What do I look like? Your secretary?

B:
That’s not what I meant, come on. You’re always like this.

C:
What the hell does that mean?

B:
You know exactly what it means.

Silence

B:
If we don’t get this stuff out in the open, we’ll never get past it.

C:
I just don’t want to talk to you right now.

B:
Well, I am speaking to you right now. Listen or not. Ever since we kissed, things have been different. They have. That was completely natural, what don’t you get about that? Yeah, so we work together, but we need to work past it.



C:
You’re making a scene.

B:
No, I am not making a scene. I’m trying to have a conversation. We can have a conversation later. Would you like that?

C:
(Quietly)
Yeah.

Silence.

C:
What did you do with the body!?!

B:
I can feel your fear. Tell us what you did with the body and this can be over.

C:
Simple, it’s very simple.

B:
We all get afraid, you sick bastard.

C:
I can feel your fear.

He tries to adjust the interrogation light. Burns his hand. Fails.

B:
The fear is consuming you, isn’t it you bastard!

A:
Once I was afraid, I was petrified, and—

C:
(Interrupting)
Is that ABBA?

A:
What did I say?

C:
I think you quoted ABBA. (To D) Read me back that last part.

D:
“Growing to over 20 feet and rarely seen, the Greenland Shark is one of the few sharks known to live in arctic waters.”

B:
Really?

D:
Yes. It is.

C:
Huh. I wonder what the others are.

Pause

C:
Just tell us where you dumped the body and this can be over!

B:
You sonofabitch.

A:
Five minutes with me affirms the inevitability of life!

Pause

C:
Answer me or you will not be a happy man.

B:
Speak damn you!

C:
Alright, don’t talk, don’t talk you sonofabitch, now you see what happens.

C and B exit. A walks over, pushes him. Slaps him. Prods him. No response. Steps back.

A:
Oh you’re good.

Hits him some more.

A:
Come forward with your sins!
A tries a different approach. He hides in the corner, and he tries to sneak up on F. Sidles over. Screams in his face.

A:
Well-trained.
He hits him some more. Cautiously checks to see if he is breathing. Lifts the blindfold. Astonished. Pokes him. Nothing. Tries to give some weak CPR. In vain. Knocks on the door. C and B enter. A averts his gaze.


B:
Well that was quick.

A:
(Recovering)
Quickness is a product of my movements!

Pause

B:
Yeah!

C:
How did that feel you sonofabitch?!?! Now are you going to speak? Tell us what you did with her!

A walks over to the corner.

A:
He’s lost the life that flows in us that which makes us people of the heart!

B:
And the law!

C:
Stop that. Don’t encourage him.

B:
I always wanted to say that.

C:
Well now you did.

Pause

B:
I killed a girl last week.

Silence

C:
Wait, is that what you always wanted to say?

B:
No, the part about the law.

C:
Huh. (Tentatively) Would you read me back the last minute? (motioning toward D)

D:
“I once ran a 4:15 mile.”

A:
The greatest feat of human engineering is the mile!

Silence

C:
This play doesn’t make any sense.

B:
Drama is an impotent art form.

A:
Drama is the!—wait. You just said you killed a girl last week.

D:
Moss only grows on the north side of trees.

C:
OK, you know what, you be quiet. What are you even writing down?

D:
It makes about as much sense as this play does.

Silence

C:
I’ll disregard that comment.

B:
Why do you have to go and do that?

C:
Yeah, all you do is take us off topic. All the damn time. And quite frankly, it’s annoying.

B:
We’re in a murder investigation, and you’re just the stenographer, so why don’t you just mind your own damn business.

Pause

A:
Drama accomplishes nothing but an idealism of the soul!

C:
Good to see he’s back. Look, did you kill the girl or not?

B:
Did you?!?!

C:
No, you.

B:
Oh. Probably it was—

A:
Distractions hide the pain which burns inside the psyche of the individual!

C:
Fantastic.

B:
Me.

C:
You?

B:
Me.

C:
Then who is this?

A:
I’m on second.

B:
Who’s on first?

C:
Fucking magnificent.

Pause

C:
I thought we had something for a second.

A:
This man has had the force of living transformed into the sleep of the doomed!

C:
Poetic.

A:
That’s my purpose.

C:
Really, that’s it? You could have told me.

A:
Sorry.

Pause

C:
Who said he killed her?

B:
That would be me!

C:
So who is this guy?

B:
I thought he looked suspicious.

D:
“Light in August.”
Pause

B:
Oh, Faulkner. Well said, interesting novel.

A:
Greatest American author of our century!

B:
What is our century?

C:
We’re purposely timeless. Huge aid to the stage manager. Difficult job. Pressure is enormous.

B:
Truly amazing what they must do. Truly overlooked. Taken for granted.

C:
Night after night, out here, braving the ego and the technical.

B:
How so?

C:
Well, stage managing involves dealing with pretty much everything that goes on, from the technical aspects—i.e., lighting—to the artists themselves, and the egos they bring with them.

B:
I hope someone learns something here tonight.

Pause

A:
Suspicion breeds enmity!

Pause

C:
Oh, right. This guy. He “looked suspicious?”

B:
Well look at him!


C:
True, what a bastard.

B:
He has to have done something bad in his life.


C:
One just gets that feeling.

B:
Gives me the damn chills.

C:
(At F)
I hate your type.

E enters from audience, waving arms.

E:
Ok, ok.

C:
You didn’t like it?

B:
It was really flowing.

C:
I’m really living in this character.

E:
Well, you are doing tremendous but the writing—

D:
It’s miserable. It reeks of some aspiring playwright contest.

A:
You just have poor taste.

D:
What? Where’s the story? Such a fucking cliché. The use of “meta-theater” is novice at best. It seems forced and awkward. Either you stick to meta- or you don’t. You just don’t switch around. Where’s the exposition? Where’s the dramatic question? And, even more so, where’s the development of the story?

A:
We are developing.

D:
No you’re not.

B:
Yes he is! Just not in the usual way.

E:
Shut up, all of you.

C:
I do feel there is a lack of “something happening.” We are really riding on one thing here, and it starts to get old. Yeah, comedy is created in contrast, but does this contrast really have any substance?

D:
There is only so much absurdity the audience can take. It’s tiresome. Like getting kicked in the head over and over again. The author is self-indulgent in his “cleverness” and has no ear for dialog.

B:
Sorry if this isn’t Shakespeare or, or Pinter, or McDonagh, or, or that magical Beckett.

C:
You had to say it, didn’t—

D:
Now, Beckett is—

B:
(mocking) “true theatre. Theatre, like Calvino said of art, can either affirm the continuity of life or the inevitability of death…”

A:
“yet Beckett defied both. That, my friends, is theatre.”

D:
I’m quitting.

E:
No you aren’t. We are putting this production on, whether you like it or not. We have an obligation to the season planning committee. Someone—I am not naming names, but let’s just say he teaches a class all of you have taken—

B:
Professor Donnell.

E:
Thanks for that. He argued that this play possesses certain less weighty aspects which may work well for an opening production. So now we have to do it.


D:
Fine. Fine. But this dialog is horrible. Who the hell speaks in this staccato? It is so blatantly unrealistic. No substance.

C:
(Motioning toward F)
Did he fall asleep?

D:
It’s like we’re escalating toward something, but nothing is happening in this play. Even A’s “suspected homicide” doesn’t come to anything. Every one of us has read the damn play. You know I am right.

C:
That’s true. There really is no climax.

B is walking towards F.

B:
No fucking way. He totally fell asleep. Wait, no climax? Shouldn’t you love it then, Mr (s). Beckett-is-my-lover?

A is walking towards F. Laughs at the above comment.

A:
He fell asleep in rehearsal!

D:
I am better than all of this rubbish.

C:
Oh, yeah? Good to see you even used “rubbish.” You’re from New Jersey. You’re such an ass.



E:
Everyone just shut the hell up. We have a show to do—will somebody wake this moron up?

B walks over. A walks over. They blow on him, screwing with him. He does not respond. They giggle. Everyone’s laughing, improvising dialog. They continue. After awhile, F has not responded. Slowly they change from hilarity to nervousness. Slowly. F does not respond. B taps him hard. Nothing. They look around. C checks his breathing. He is dead.


A:
He’s dead.

Silence

B:
Isn’t it funny that this was in the play?

D:
This is funny? Are you fucking insane? We are acting a bullshit play and one of our fucking actors just died.

B:
At least coincidental.
D hits or tries to hit B.

D:
What the fuck is wrong with you? This man just died.

B:
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just, I don’t even know.

D:
No idea what the fuck is going on? That man is dead. He is dead. He was alive 15 minutes ago, and now he is dead. Does that clear things up?

E:
Shut up. Just shut up.

Pause


C:
What the fuck are we going to do?

B:
We have to do something.

E:
What does that mean? What are we going to do? And that we have to do “something?”

B:
It means exactly what I said, call the cops or something. He could still be alive.

A:
When did he die?

D:
Who the fuck knows?

C:
Why the fuck does that matter? We have to call 911.

B:
I can’t believe this. He was alive 15 minutes ago.

A:
Did anyone see him die?

E:
Who has their cell? Someone call. He may still be alive.

A:
He’s definitely dead.

C:
Who has their cell? Who has their damn cell?

A:
He’s dead.

B is sitting down. Visibly confused.

D:
Don’t fucking sit down. Where’s the nearest phone?

C:
All of the offices are locked. In the other building there’s one.

E:
No one has their cell? Holy shit, we have to call someone.

C:
I’m going.
C exits.
A:
I have mine.

D:
Why didn’t you fucking say so?

A:
I’m not calling.

E:
What the hell are you talking about?

A:
I’m not calling.

D:
What the hell is wrong with you? Fucking give me your phone you idiot!

A smashes phone.

Silence

B:
You.

Silence

E:
Holy shit. You killed him.

D:
No he didn’t, we have no idea, what the hell is wrong with you?

A:
I touched him last.

D:
Look, was he alive when you screwed with him back in the interrogation scene?

Silence

D:
He was alive, wasn’t he?

E:
You murdered him.

D:
He was alive when you hit him, wasn’t he?

B:
You killed him.

D:
Why aren’t you saying anything? Fucking say something! Say you didn’t kill him! Say it!

E:
This is insane. Stuff like this doesn’t fucking happen.

D:
Say you didn’t kill him!

Pause

A:
I can’t.

E:
This isn’t happening.

B:
You killed him.

D:
Just shut up, shut up!

E:
People just don’t die like this. This isn’t TV.

D:
What the hell are we gonna say?


B:
(Outburst)
What the hell does that mean? What are we going to say? We’re going to say that this fucking psychopath somehow killed him in rehearsal. That’s what I’m fucking saying. What do you think I would say? That he didn’t do anything? Look at this fucking situation: we are all in here, none of us touches him, fucking killer over here goes to town on him, he was alive, and now he is dead. That’s it. End of the fucking story. (At A) And end of your fucking life.

Silence

D:
How the hell do you know he did anything?

B:
Because I know none of us did anything. And he was alive. And then we left the room. And now he is dead. And because he won’t say anything. Will you?

Silence

E:
None of us were in the room. This is like some shitty sitcom.

D:
None of us were in the room. (To A )Are you going to say anything? Say something!

Silence

C enters.

C:
The police will be here soon. As soon as they could.

Silence

What the hell is going on?

B:
Our best actor over here took his part a little too far.

C:
What the hell does that mean?

E:
Murdered him.

C:
What are you all talking about?

B:
Murder.

C:
Are you all insane? What the hell is going on? No one killed him.

D:
He was alive. We left the room. Star actor is in the room alone beating him up. We come back in. He’s dead.

C:
This is ridiculous. All of you are fucking insane. The cops will be here soon. We don’t know how he died. You didn’t kill him, did you?

A:
I don’t know.

B:
You fucking know that you did. Plus I will be more than ready to tell them. I’m not going down for murder. I want no part of this. As soon as the cops get here, I will tell them what I know. And what I know is that I didn’t kill him, you didn’t, you didn’t, so that leaves you. And no one else can say anything else.

E:
So what do we do now?

B:
We wait.

Pause.

Everyone looks up, sort of stretches, visibly out of character.

F:
This blindfold is itchy as hell. I have to talk to costuming about this thing.

G enters from audience.

G:
That was alright, but it is nowhere near as good as we need to be for opening night. Let’s take it again from when you discover he is dead.

A:

From when I say, “He’s dead”?

G:
Yeah, and try to heighten the anger and emotion a little bit.

G walks back to his seat. Everyone goes back to their places.




THE END

Believe!

So every day at 2:12 I would wait for my mail, which would never come, this gang of African wild dogs would tree that incredibly wide Johnson kid. They would come barreling down Hill Street, hang a right onto Orchard Way, and just head right for him. And I mean right for him. They wouldn’t even get distracted by the squirrels. That’s dedication, and you know how I feel about dedication. But then again, I guess they really couldn’t avoid that Johnson kid. I mean, you have to see him. He is like three times as wide as a normal person. When he was being born his father was eager to see him and grabbed him by the arm and just yanked the shit out of him. Personally I didn’t know you could do that, but I hear they do it all the time in some Oriental place, Lord knows what they do over there, I think they even have some guy with a couple arms who rules the world.


But then again, who really does rule the world? We may never know. That’s what my friend Joseph said, and he is a chief of something. Either way he is more of a chief than I am. So the kid is like twice as wide as a normal person, and the Midwest mailman Captain said he had never seen anything like that. He said, “I have seen a lot of wide people, but never were they that wide.” That is exactly what he said; I had my professional transcriber do it while I sat there and asked him, “Captain, have you ever seen someone that wide? I mean, look at that kid! He is wide!”


But that was all before Thomas Jefferson killed Aaron Burr in that streetfight and Captain tried to intervene but Neptune used that trident, you know, I said I never liked him, to impale Captain and roast him on a spit so that Jefferson could indulge his bloodlust for human flesh and thus maintain a democracy. You know, that Jefferson, what an asshole. There, I said it. We were all thinking it. So now I can never go for a swim because Neptune just knows that I was intimately massaging Burr before the fight and giving him a motivational seminar on visualization, and I can’t live under this democracy, and I never get any mail anymore. Ouch, triple bogus! is what that wide kid said from his tree. I said I am going to get my string and spool, and then he said Oh aren’t you a big man. Instead of verbally retaliating, I am the bigger man—figuratively, I mean, that kid is wide!— I throw an Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle in no particular direction and it ends up hitting him in his tree.


That’s how it went: every day I sat on my porch waiting for my mail while the really wide Johnson kid played in his yard and then those African wild dogs launched their surprise (I know what you’re thinking, some surprise, you can hear them from a mile away!) attack, treed that wide bastard, who then taunted me, and then I throw an Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle away from him and it goes to him and hits him in the mid-section and then the package delivery guy, Mr. McFeely, a real asshole if there ever was one, delivers me a new Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle. But then I found Odin.

“You know, grab a hold of your life and make something of it!” He soothingly advised. “You can really be someone.”

“I can?”

“You can.”

“But how?” I said.


And then he launched into a medley of songs from “Monsters of Metal,” a greatest hits collection of the figurative monsters of metal. We were there for at least 4 days. That really got us nowhere, but then Odin finished and said, “That was just to show you how powerful I am; I know all the lyrics to every metal anthem from the late 70s to the early 90s.” And I cowered. I really, honestly, cowered, because he was air-riffing on his hammer and at one point things got really out of hand. Not even a little out of hand, but really out of hand, but then Thor came and said, “Odin, that’s my hammer,” and they bickered for so long.


When they finished, Odin said, “You know, grab a hold of your life and make something of it! You can really be someone.” And then I said, “I can?” and he said, “You can,” and then I realized—I know where this is going. Odin and I just stared at each for a really long time, all the while the dogs going “Get him Get him, today’s our day!” and that wide kid totally seeing it coming. We kept this up for awhile. I threw my Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle, the wide kid yelled “You asshole,” and then McFeely came, what a dick, and gave me my new one, and I could just see Odin waiting for me to say it. Let me tell you, if you ever find Odin, I suggest you just keep walking. That guy is p-e-r-s-i-s-t-e-n-t persistent! So I said, “Odin, tell me how without referencing “Monsters of Metal” and in one sentence.” He stood for awhile, Thor and I changed into jean cut-off shorts, took off our shirts, jumped, and high-fived, and then Odin said, “You must get your mail.”


Easier said than done. First of all, Neptune was totally hiding in the river. No way I could go by sea. Second of all, the land was covered by democracy, everywhere, and Jefferson was on that mountain just waiting for me to poke my head out from under my Spanish-tiled portico where the mail comes so he could throw a lightning bolt at me. Third of all, who even knows where mail comes from? Quite a conundrum, the dogs said, and then they ran away. I said you’re a conundrum, but all they did was run away in an elaborate and never-before-seen pattern of swirls and loops. I reflected, looked to Thor who just looked away like he didn’t hear Odin, and then asked Odin, “how?”


I won’t bore you with the details but you know what happened, only this time with power ballads.


While he was singing Poison, I reasoned that one, I better find out where the mail comes from and two, I better get there by air. I waited for him to finish so as to not be disrespectful, and then I excused myself, asked my transcriber for an erasable white-board and a marker, and said, “Everyone get their rain jackets on—a brainstorm’s coming on!” Thor laughed, I said, “Thor, this is no time to laugh,” and then he concentrated. I then called on the Minnesota North Stars to fill in. They did. And how! I shouted things, and they shouted back, and after about 4 throws of the Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle, we came to three possibilities:

1. The Yukon by Hot Air Balloon.

2. Where Words are Born by Hang Glider.

3. The Temple of Jefferson by Stilts.

I promptly thanked the Minnesota North Stars. They muttered something about the Bhagavad Gita, I said “What did you just say,” they said “Nothing,” and then I threw an Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle at them but it just hit you know who. I then meditated.


After a while I came to the conclusion that one, I don’t have a hot air balloon, two, I don’t have a hang glider, and three, I can’t stilt. But I could learn, I yelled to that wide kid. He yelled back, “Screw you!” Once again I was the bigger man. I assembled a Motivational Squad, and we began to cheer “Yeah, stilt it up, stilt it up!” Everything was awesome, and I totally nailed stilting after seeing McFeely, you know what I think about him, only three times!


But still I now needed to find out where the Temple of Jefferson was. To tell you the truth, I had no idea, and I mean that when I say it. I gave Burr a dial, but then realized he was eaten alive. I asked Thor for suggestions, but he still was acting like he didn’t hear anything and just hit things with his hammer, and all Odin would do is every now and then say, “You can,” and then knowingly look at me while flashing hand-signals to his chamber orchestra. But what do I look like? A giver-up? That wide Johnson kid? That piece of crap McFeely? The good-for-nothing Minnesota North Stars? You know what……. I don’t. I don’t at all.


I said to my Argentine friend, “Any ideas?” but all he said was something about mirrors and encyclopedias. Like that got me anywhere. Another one just said something about witches and secret orders. Another friend just said something about swimming. I said, I have got to get me some new friends! Ha ha. But seriously. We shot some dice, had a cockfight, and then it came to me—what does Jefferson love? Democracy. What do I hate? Democracy. Where is Democracy? Everywhere, but more specifically, downtown. Of course! I got a phone book, looked up “Temple of,” didn’t find anything, went to “Jefferson,” and then scanned down the page. Right there: “Jefferson, Temple of.” Bingo. I called them, a particularly charming young woman answered, she identified herself as Jefferson’s assistant, she told me there was free parking at the 2nd Street Garage or limited pay parking on East End Avenue. I said I don’t need to park, she said “Oh,” I asked her out, she said maybe, I giggled, she giggled, we giggled together, then we said, at the same time, “How about I call you?” I knew I must marry this woman.


A conflict of interest: I must claim my mail from my enemy Jefferson, and I must marry Jefferrson’s assistant. I figured I would leave that for later. First I had to get off this damned portico. The wild dogs just left, but I knew Jefferson was watching me, so I shined a mirror in the sunlight and blinded him. And then I stiltedly ran. A wicked witch puppeteer attacked me, but I confounded her with knowledge. Absolutely super move on my part, if I say so myself. I made it to the Temple of Jefferson in 12 minutes. It was 2:24 post-Meridian time—the favorite time of the swimmers. I shouted this and was promptly inducted into their ranks. And wouldn’t you just know, Jorge, Paulo, and John were right! Wow!


Anyway, the swimmers gave me two amulets: one to claim my mail, and one in the shape of a shark’s tooth that looks awesome. I still wear that one to this day. I entered the Temple of Jefferson, and she asked me if I had an appointment. I said I did… to sweep her off her feet! We hugged, I ripped off my jean cut-offs, we did it, and then I said, “You are now carrying my child.” She said, “No I am not.” I said, “We agree to disagree.” She said, “No, we just disagree.” There was a ficus in the office, so I asked how often do they water it.


Then she directed me to Jefferson’s assistant, and I threw the amulet at her. She sort of dodged it. I said, “I have come to claim my mail!” She said, “Oh you’re the guy,” as if Jefferson has been talking all sorts of shit about me and I totally knew he was. She shouted something incoherently, must have been some sort of code, and Jefferson appeared in a fiery blast of rage. Even though I am be-stilted, he is still much taller in person than you would think. I strained to make eye contact. He recognized me. The air was tense.


Then he said, “You know what, I gotta respect your pluck.” I said thank you. He gave me my mail. There was a lot of it. I put it in a box. Then I flipped him the bird, shouted “Burr rules!”, and stiltedly ran for it. Boy was he pissed.


Democracy rained down on me, but I made it. It came fast: free speech slashed my skin, the right to bear arms stung my eyes, but I kept persisting. It was like in that movie, “The Most Dangerous Game,” only it was more like “Running Man.” Eventually I made it. I really made it. When I reached my Spanish-tiled portico, Thor had left time-out and was hitting things again. I said, “No, Thor, you must stop.” Thor stared at me. I continued, “You must help me sort my mail.” He did. We sorted and sorted and sorted.