"Those stupid bastards," he half mumbled

"Those stupid bastards," he half mumbled to himself. "What are they thinking?" He grabbed and put on his jacket and headed outside into the cold morning air.

The winds were picking up and the hurricane was coming, yet his brothers were out trying to save the crops and the livestock. They weren't heroes. They were protecting the only

thing their uncle had properly stolen. He was one of the few executives who'd escaped blame for the Enron affair and masterminded moving LeBron to Miami. He kept his lucky

golden parachute in his office. Never know when you might need it. He looked over his bank account again, savoring the sight of all those commas and zeros. He had arrived!

But had he? The statement was actually was for a Mark with a "k" not a "c." Marc was out of luck after all. No money, no woman, no job. Marc opened his office window and took

a deep whiff of citified air. He choked. Would he have the guts to do it? He eased out onto the ledge, refusing to look down, and screwed up his mouth. The mating call only worked

When the moose were in rut. Otherwise it is a complete waste of time. Besides how would a moose find me on this ledge if he were to respond to a call. Maybe I should give this

moose whistle to my mate. If he ran with it, the rabid moose would chase him and I could get away. But then what? How do we solve

saw the way out. I called on the power of Plato's cave, on the spirits of Phenomena and of Numena. Wake up. Wake up. And so I did. Put on a pot of coffee. It would be a good day