A Onesy With Pink Lace
As a passenger Shirley Jones felt insecure.  Her son and that bitch wife of his had taken her independence away when they stole her car keys and told her she was no longer allowed to drive.  She, that Janice person, a real cunt in Shirley's honest opinion, was always telling her what was best.  Shirley honey, put your seat belt on she says when they got in the car. I don't need to.  Yes you do, dear.  I'm not your dear, I'm not wearing a seat belt.  I've been around long enough now, before seat belts were even invented, dear (she said snidely), and I am allowed, as a senior citizen not to wear one.  Oh please Shirley, Janice pleaded, the car will make an awful racket if you don't fasten the belt.  No more awful a racket that what comes out of your mouth every time you open it.  Janice, stung by that, relented.  The ding ding ding of the seatbelt alarm followed by a more rapid succession of dings, followed then by an automated voice stating the obvious, seatbelt not fastened, seatbelt not fastened, was the only thing that had made Shirley smile in a long time.  Eventually the alarms ceased, as did Shirley's smile, for in the silence she was left alone with her thoughts.  And those, she realized during her very brief moments of clarity, were becoming increasingly dark.  

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In the apartment of Abel Gardner, Warden asked if he could wear a mask while tearing down the wall.  Abel thought that was a great idea.  It would help further the symbolism.  Ward was mostly interested in not being recognizable to authorities.  Abel set up a camera on a tripod and told Ward to just go at it, we'll edit out the dull parts.  After about ten minutes when it became obvious that the dull parts might constitute a majority Abel asked Ward if there was any way he might use a hammer and sickle as the tools of his deconstruction.  Ward said he had a hammer but had not thought to bring a sickle.  Abel rooted around in a sock drawer and pulled out a rusty curved blade with a splintery wooden handle.  He gave it to Ward who in the very receiving of it got a splinter in his hand.  We can just use it for effect, at the end, Abel said, looking at Ward Ambler removing the sizable wooden sliver from his palm.

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Janice was stopped on the Parkway at the Clearview light.  At the crosswalk, a petite young mother in a floral print sun dress, with her baby in a carriage, was also waiting for the light to change.  Shirley Jones, blank faced and apparently harmless, stared out at the baby carriage.  Turning, the young mother softened at the sight of the frail woman and pivoted the carriage ninety degrees, ostensibly to show the woman her baby, dressed in a pink onesy with white lace and wearing on its head a matching pink sun hat.  Mrs. Jones could see the light controlling the Clearview traffic turning yellow and frantically rolled down her window as the mother smiled.  Just as the light stopping the Parkway turned green Shirley pointed a shriveled finger at the baby and shrieked, look at the cob-gobbler Janice, look at the goddamned cob-gobbler, would you?  Have  you ever seen such a thing?

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Jimmy was in his boat, the I.M.Fluked, with his charter, a trio of Pi Kappa Alpha boys whose names he had already forgotten but could be described easily by size as Skinny, Shorty, and Fatty.  Shorty was up on the starboard gunwale goofing around.  Hey guys, look, I'm fluked up.  His brothers giggled.  Jimmy turned starboard and goosed the engine a bit, causing Shorty to stumble back into the boat and grab on to his skinny pal.  You're gay.  No I'm not.  Then let go of me.  When they began to fish, drifting a bay channel near Moriches, the boys quieted down and Jimmy took the opportunity to call Janice.  Is this a good time?  There was a pause on the other end during which Jimmy could hear a bizarre combination of staticky high pitched breathing, and voices that seemed almost human, but every other syllable was an electronic distort and Jimmy stood hypnotized by this for he didn't know how long before finally trying again, Babe, are you there?  Yes Jimmy.  Are you OK?  Another long pause, with more distorted background voices (an army of intergalactic aliens smoldering under a layer of napalm), and then clear as if she were standing in front of him Janice said, OK?  Sure Jimmy, if driving your batshit mother around and being verbally abused all day and just now having her call a newborn baby a cocksucker is OK then yes, I would say I'm OK.  And you Jimmy, how is your day going?  I have three frat boys.  Oh you poor thing, do you want to talk about it?  Janice, I'm sorry, is there anything I can do?  There was more electronic feedback, the suffering aliens, and then he was sure the call had dropped, but after he had shut off his phone and was putting it in his pocket one clear word came through the tiny speaker, and it sounded like something from the garden section at Home Depot--Parenticide.  Jimmy frowned, removed the phone from his pocket and, after having Google help him with the spelling and meaning, put it back into his pocket.  He had done this last part with two fingers, as if he thought the phone might now be carrying some infectious disease.