power as high as 630 mW. The pump laser that produces these unique OPO characteristics is a 200-MHz, 2.5-W average power, diode-pumped Nd:YVO 4 laser emitting at 1064 nm and passively mode locked by a nonlinear mirror (NLM) technique. One can select the output pulse width from the vanadate laser to be either 16 or 6 ps simply by choosing the appropriate NLM configuration. Significantly enhanced performance of the mode-locked Nd:YVO 4 laser was obtained with a critically phase-matched type I LiB 3 O 5 crystal. A comparison of this crystal with type II KTiOPO 4 is reported.


Town and Concrete | Cyril Lancelin — theVisualVoices.
Cyril Lancelin (born 1975, Lyon, France) is a French architect and artist.
Graduated in 1999 with his architectural diploma, he collaborated for over fifteen years for internationally renowned Architects and Artists in Paris and Los Angeles, prior to launching his studio in 2016.
Cyril uses primitive forms in his drawings and installations, making them the pillar of his work.
Using parametric tools, he utilizes a vocabulary of classical shapes and volumetric spaces essential to creating unique structures. In his vision, shapes are used at the architectural scale to create experiential art.
Last November, he presented his most recent "Knot", an installation of monumental size 30m long and 8m high exposed in Hangzhou, China.
In April, he presented in a solo exhibition "spheres" at the Gallery MR80 in Paris, Half line and Cube sphere his two new immersive installations along with some new prints.
In June 2018, one of his new installation based on Giant Flamingos will be presented in New York City on governors Island.
Current new projects are underway in Lille, Moscow, Paris and California.
Installation Chain has been inspired by the traditions of labyrinths.
We begin with the most basic and profound form, a perfect torus - the circle in space. The artist Cyril Lancelin uses the torus to create a unique structural organization for contemplation & exploration. He mixed it with square shape. The plan is a simple grid. The design was made with parametric tools, to find the right scale.
The artwork is designed to draw the visitor in; it is more than an object to view, it is a place to be experienced. Classical design meets contemporary thinking in a work that invites Social Media and delights traditional media.
Installation Chain is created as both a work of fine art and as an attraction to transform public space and delight audiences of all types & ages.
Installation Mix has been inspired by still life paintings.
In his research and his work on the multiplication of primitive forms to establish partitions, the artist used here as basic element melons and other fruits. Those are part already of the pop culture, their skin is very graphic and has inspired lot of artists. In installation "Mix", they are used as a construction material, of course, they are fakes ones, their scale is a little bit larger to procure an immersive experience in an unreal space.
They are distributed on inverted pyramids, so as to create a labyrinth of different spaces. Visitors are invited to walk the installation, they are the spectators immersed in the still life.
Installation Mix is created as both a work of fine art for amazing images and as an installation for visitor's experiences.
This exhibition of those three primary volumes is a work about immersive sculptures.
It's not only the sculpture but also the relationship between the sculpture and the visitor. You can get inside the sculpture, you become part of it and interact with other visitors.
Those works as a cabin, little rest area, where the surrounding is unusual.
The show is inside, but outside too, visitors are spectators of the people getting inside the sculptures.
The light too is coming inside the artwork, playing with the volumes and the soft shadows of spheres.
The design was made with parametric tools, to find the right scale for the spheres, in order to make a compact volume. Primitives volumes such as Cube, Pyramid, and Spheres are made with other primitives, the spheres.
The spectator has to feel the volume, the empty and the full.
This installation fills a volume and compartmentalizes it into different spaces. It becomes a labyrinth with passages and places.
This installation is based on a knitting node, the trefoil knot, a primitive form on which the design of the 3-dimensional structure is modeled.
The trefoil can be obtained by joining together the two ends of a common overhand knot, resulting in a knotted loop. The trefoil is named after the three-leaf clover (or trefoil) plant.
Several nodes have been juxtaposed, and a continuous and closed line connects them. This immersive installation makes it possible to explore different spaces separated by unusual separating boundaries.
You have to bend down, step over, go around to get around.
The pink color very present will allow the work to be detached from its environment. Its general volume is very easily identifiable by the presence of this colored mass.
This architectural exploration, we learn about alternatives to simple partitions to delimit several spaces. This installation could be the partition and the structure of a building.
The variety of node loops allows the installation to have a variety of explorations. She visits herself, but she also looks at herself with an outside eye.
The experience is inside but also outside, and especially from all angles.
The node is an assembly, the installation is a node.
For more information, visit townandconcrete.com.


The perfect custom doormat for a PRIDE filled welcome to your home.
Our Pride Heart Outdoor Door Mat is the perfect way to create an inviting entry way! LOVE is LOVE Show your support and pride on your front porch! Our welcome mats are hand-painted and each design is available in a wide variety of colors. Customize yours by using the NOTES SECTION at checkout.


Common ways our customers use Planisware to support their drug development planning processes.
Explore how the numerous metrics of R&D, product development, innovation can be connected to build a comprehensive view of a company's Product Development Productivity and Performance.
Which are the most commonly used metrics for measuring product development performance? What role does R&D strategy play in selecting the appropriate metrics for a given company? What are the main characteristics of a good R&D metrics portfolio?
How do you find the best combination of projects to maximize the value of your product portfolio?


A leading global bank is seeking an experienced lawyer with experience across super and investments to join their experienced and established team. The opportunity has arisen due to growth and will be reporting into the Head of Legal. This is a key role within the legal team providing legal support to the business across a wide range of commercial matters.
In return, this role offers a collegiate and flexible environment with a competitive remuneration package.


I could tell, this morning, as I noted the drop in temperature, not to mention the snow, that something was a bit different. Instantly, I figured out what it was…you woke up wondering what was happening these days in the proceedings leading up to the federal murder trial of James "Whitey" Bulger (hereinafter, the "Defendant"). Well, let me bring you up to date on the latest debate.
The Defendant's lawyers are reacting to the prosecution's latest argument regarding the alleged immunity which the defense claims was given to the Defendant during his days as a government informant. The prosecution has argued that a judge should force the Defendant to show proof of the deal he says he had with the late United States Attorney Jeremiah O'Sullivan, who the Defendant says gave him immunity in the 1970's and 1980's. It would seem that the prosecution would like to prevent any mention of the immunity issue during the actual trial.
Attorney J.W. Carney, Jr., lead attorney for the defense is arguing that a jury – not a judge – should decide whether the immunity defense in this matter is legitimate. Carney argues further that the immunity pass "did not have an expiration date".
The Department of Justice acted as part of the executive branch of government when the deal was made with the Defendant.
Prosecutors have called Bulger's defense claims "frivolous" and "absurd." They also argue that the Defendant's FBI file makes no mention of the deal nor whether the Defendant and O'Sullivan ever met.
The battle still rages as to whether the judge assigned to the case will remain handling it. The Defendant has moved that Judge Stearns should be removed because of his previous employment as chief of the U.S. Attorney's Criminal Division. The court has ordered prosecutors to dig up and hand over any documentation they can find that references the immunity claim.
Several legal issues are clearly presented which the court must decide prior to, and during, trial in this case. They all come down to one basic category, however. That is the right of a criminal defendant to prepare and present his own defense at his own trial.
Many people think that such a right is unfettered. They are wrong.
You see, under the law, a defendant is not the only side of the case who is promised a fair trial. The prosecution is as well. This is why prosecutors can bring motions to curtail certain issues from being a part of a given trial.
We will go through these issues in my next blog and try to determine how if decided in the Defendant's favor, they could prevent the government of a fair trial.


A JSP page looks similar to an HTML page, but a JSP page also has Java code in it. We can put any regular Java Code in a JSP file using a scriplet tag which start with <%</code> and ends with %>. JSP pages are used to develop dynamic responses.
To learn HTML, go to HTML Interactive Course and learn HTML while practicing it side by side.
Give a name to your JSP file and click Finish.
Write something in your JSP file. The complete HTML and the JSP code, goes inside the <body> tag, just like HTML pages.
See the Output in your browser.


Here we are! We are super happy and proud to present you two new Preset Collections for Lightroom & Photoshop. We use the Wedding Collection 2019 for all of our wedding photos and the Portrait Collection mostly for indoor, city or beach photoshoots. Just click on "More Information" to see before /after photos and a video. All looks are soft, timeless and atmospheric. You will love them too. All photos on our website are edited with these looks. You can start right now! Immediately after ordering, you can download your presets and start editing.
These are the best presets we've ever build. This Set is designed to add soft colors and a little magic to your wedding photos. In addition you will get 14 tools for Lightroom so can easily create different looks with just a view clicks!
We are especially proud of these colors! This Set is the modern answer to creating that popular film look on your digital photos. It's designed to add soft colors and a little magic to your photos. Speed up your post processing in Lightroom and bring a unique look to all of your couple & portrait photos!
Mobile Presets for the free Lightroom App are an easy solution to give your photos an atmospheric, uniform and professional look! Editing photos on the phone should be easy and fun. Give your photos an atmospheric and professional look!
I'm just sitting at my wedding photos from last year. This time with your presets - and what can I say, a difference like day and night. I just wanted to give a praise and thanks. They are beautiful and give each picture again a special feature. Merci, you rock!
My image editing was very inconsistent for years because I jumped from one preset to the next and became increasingly dissatisfied in this process. My pictures somehow did not look like I was promised before. When I tried the presets of Julia & Gil for the first time, it somehow felt like it would fit. Not only because the colors and contrasts harmonize beautifully with my photos, but because the presets are so wonderfully suited to the many light situations that one inevitably has at a wedding. I also had a lot of fun playing around with it, shifting the controls and bends to create new variations and combinations in small steps. I've been using the presets for a few years now and have never worked on a photo with anything else since then and never had the urge to need something new.
I'm totally excited about your presets. I have my favorite and change it only minimally. I immediately bought and tested the Mobile Presets. Thanks for that!!!
I'm a huge fan of your presets since the first hour. I used to change twice a year and was not happy with it. Since the beginning of 2017, I use yours and never had the need to change! I love the colors, whether in spring, summer, fall or winter! In addition, it was never easier to get beautiful skin tones !! You are great, thank you for the great opportunity.
I love, love, love your presets, they just always fit. I use them not only for weddings and couple shootings but also for family and newborn shootings. I especially like the skin tones that magic up your presets and that the colors stay so beautiful naturally. I experimented a long time around and tested different presets but with your presets I get exactly the look I always wanted! Thank you so much!
I've been using the presets of Julia & Gil for a while now. I am completely satisfied, they are perfect in every situation. One big advantage that I see in these presets is that while they create a look, the colors still do stay natural. Just as with exposure / contrast, there are changes, but this is very marginal. For anyone who needs a base to edit his pictures, or just wants to pack a nice look about his photos, these presets are ideal and highly recommended.
The presets of Julia and Gil are the first presets that I have used as a wedding photographer and that I still use. I take pictures with a Nikon and had my problems with the presets of other photographers. But with Julia and Gil you do not have to worry that the settings do not fit the camera. The colors are incredibly beautiful and everyone admires my photos. Without the presets I would not be where I am now. Thank you.
Fast and uncomplicated editing, but still mega image looks and on the go - I can not do without. For all mobile and occasional photographers an absolute must. Whether mobile phone or photos from the camera and quickly processed on the go, with the presets, there are always beautiful looks and colors and only with the phone or tablet. For those who travel a lot and have little time to edit their pictures, the presets are perfect, fast and uncomplicated image looks anytime and anywhere.
The presets of Julia & Gil are not only a real time saver, but spice up every picture again enormously. Usually just one click is enough to get a really great result. If you love a timeless, analogue look and value beautiful skin tones, the Presets will do it all.
The Preset Collection 2018 is a true dream. They can be applied to almost any subject and give the pictures a very special look that makes not only me but also my customers happy. For me it was worth it to take some money and buy the presets. I would not have thought it before, but quality has its price here. No free preset can match the quality of the J & G presets. I just love them and they've quickly become an integral part of my workflow in image editing - not just in people photography, but also in nature photography and travel documentaries. Who likes Julia & Gil's pictures will love the presets!


Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 2:44 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
length are the same for all observers in all inertial reference frames.
directions and all inertial frames.
length of a rod is different in different frames of reference.
measuring rod is a maximum in the rest frame of the E-Matrix.
that's why SRT is a subset of IRT.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 3:42 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
light path length of the observer's rod.
and observations, including satellite based navigation systems.
been a prediction of SR that was contradicted by an observation.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 4:43 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
which I refute with my arguments above.
to sue me for using your idea on *time*.
questions. Either way, you cannot properly defend your theory.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 4:46 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
This simple assertion is the basis of all what's wrong with SR.
you for that over and over.
Either way, you cannot properly defend your theory.
And an unsupported opinion to boot!
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 4:55 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
I didn't snip this one because it is perfect for the Immortal Fumbles.
of your theory. Disgusting Imbecile!
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 5:54 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
moving frame contains a larger amount of absolute time.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 8:15 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 8:17 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 11:22 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 11:24 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 11:52 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
the purest forms of time dilation in his 1905 paper, m**********r!
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 11:58 pm Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.
Posted: Tue Jul 11, 2006 12:13 am Post subject: Re: Einstein said: Time is what the clock measure.


Download F2 World Of Football ebook PDF or Read Online books in PDF, EPUB, and Mobi Format. Click Download or Read Online button to F2 WORLD OF FOOTBALL book pdf for free now.
'The F2 are unbelievable - what they do is not possible!' - Pelé We're The F2 and this is our World of Football. Inside we give away the biggest secrets of the greatest footballers on the planet. Want tricks like Neymar? Or to hit free-kicks like Ronaldo? Or to dribble like Messi? We show you how. We've been travelling the world, meeting the biggest stars, like Gareth Bale, Ronaldinho, Mesut Özil, Pelé and Stevie G, and now we give you the lowdown on what they're really like, and how they got their edge. We'll also let you in on our journey from aspiring pros to YouTube superstars with over 10 million followers. Want to know how to become a social media star? That's inside too. There's a free app to download that will make these pages come to life with exclusive videos, tricks and games. So, what are you waiting for? Open, read, learn, download and get out on the pitch and practise. Love, peace and tekkers, Billy and Jez, aka The F2 Enter the F2 World of Football competition!! Submit your pre-order confirmation for a chance to win a selection of amazing prizes, including having your book delivered to your door by Billy and Jez and featuring on their Vlog! Go to www.F2playlikeapro.co.uk for all the details.
The F2 are unbelievable what they do is not possible!' - PELEWe're The F2 and this is our World of Football. Inside we give away the biggest secrets of the greatest footballers on the planet. Want tricks like Neymar? Or to hit freekicks like Ronaldo? Or to dribble like Messi? We show you how. We've been travelling the world, meeting the biggest stars, like Gareth Bale, Ronaldinho, Mesut �zil, Pel� and Stevie G, and now we give you the lowdown on what they're really like, and how they got their edge. We'll also let you in on our journey from aspiring pros to YouTube superstars with over 10 million followers. Want to know how to become a social media star? That's inside too.
Take your game to the next level with the new book from the world's biggest football YouTubers, the F2. We're the F2 and in our brand new book we're going to show you how to take your football skills to the next level. In these pages we turn the spotlight on the greatest players, the biggest teams, and most jaw-dropping moments from across the football world, and teach you the skills and the tekkers it takes to be the best! Want step-overs like Sánchez? Or a piledriver likeIbrahimovic? Or quick-feet like Messi? We show you how. Our book is filled with tips and hacks, as well as the inside track on your favourite stars: Pogba, Suárez, Agu ̈ero and the rest. There's even a free app that brings the book to life and shows you how to turbo-charge your tekkers! There's not a moment to lose - open, read, learn, download and get out on the pitch and practise. Love, peace and tekkers.
The ultimate football adventure story from the world's greatest football duo, The F2 When the evil Galaxico aliens steal the game of football from planet Earth, it's up to Jez and Billy (and the help of their trusty time machines) to assemble the greatest team to have ever played the beautiful game in the hope of stealing it back! From the 1958 World Cup Final, to the year 3000, The F2 travel through time and call upon some of heroes of footballs past, present and future to help in their quest to reinstate the joys of playing the game. With cameos from Pele, Steven Gerrard, Cristiano Ronaldo (and his granddaughter from the future, Julia Ronaldo!), this is a wonderful football story of good vs evil!
When the evil Galaxico aliens steal the game of football from planet Earth, it's up to Jez and Billy (with the help of their trusty time machine) to assemble the greatest team to have ever played the beautiful game in the hope of stealing it back! From the 1958 World Cup Final to the year 3000, the F2 travel through time and call upon some heroes of football's past, present and future to help in their quest to reinstate the joys of playing the game.
Take your football skills to the next level with the world's biggest football YouTubers, the F2.F2: Football Academy features the greatest players, the biggest teams, and most jaw-dropping moments from across the football world, and teaches the skills and the tekkers it takes to be the best!Want step-overs like Sanchez? Or a pile-driver like Ibrahimovic? Or quick-feet like Messi? Let the F2 show you how. Filled with tips and hacks, as well as the inside track on your favourite stars: Pogba, Suarez, Aguero and the rest. With a free app that brings the book to life and shows you how to turbo-charge your tekkers, there's not a moment to lose � open, read, learn, download and get out on the pitch and practice. Love, peace and tekkers.
Science and Football VI showcases the very latest scientific research into the variety of sports known as football. These include the games of association football, the rugby codes (union and league), and the national codes (American, Australian and Gaelic). The book aims to bridge the gap between theory and practice in football studies, and presents important new work in key areas such as: Biomechanics Sports medicine Paediatric exercise science Match analysis Environmental physiology Physiology of training Fitness assessment Psychology Social sciences Sports scientists, trainers, coaches, physiotherapists, medical doctors, psychologists, educational officers and professionals working in the range of football codes will find this in-depth, comprehensive text an essential and up-to-date resource of scientific information for their respective fields. The papers contained within this volume were first presented at The Sixth World Congress on Science and Football, held in January 2007 in Antalya, Turkey. The meeting was held under the auspices of the International Steering Group on Science and Football, a representative member of the World Commission of Science and Sports. Thomas Reilly is Director of the Research Institute for Sport and Exercise Sciences at Liverpool John Moores University. He is President of the World Commission of Science and Sports and Chair of the International Steering Group on Science and Football. Feza Korkusuz is Director of the Medical Centre and Chair of the Department of Physical Education and Sports at Middle East Technical University, Ankara, Turkey. He is corresponding editor for Clinical Orthopaedics and Related Research and is on the International Education Board of Technology and Health Care Journal.


text:
Stronger 2015 hurricane season predicts US Company
Almost six months ahead of the 2015 Hurricane Season, a Florida-based Hurricane Prediction Company is predicting a very active season.
Global Weather Oscillations (GWO), a hurricane cycle prediction company in Ocala, Florida, says "The 2015 Atlantic Basin hurricane season will be the most active and dangerous in at least 3 years, and the next 3 seasons will be the most dangerous in 10 years."
Chief Executive Officer David Dilley says GWO has issued "the most accurate predictions of any organization 6 years running, and GWO is the only organization to predict the correct number of hurricanes in 2014 and that an El Niño would not form."
GWO issues predictions based on its "patent pending" Climate Pulse Technology developed by Dilley. GWO currently has 11 U.S. prediction zones from New England to Texas, and the Philippine Islands in the western Pacific. He also issues accurate predictions for El Niño events and other climate cycles.
Dilley says that while the past two hurricane seasons (2013 and 2014) were dominated by hostile upper atmospheric winds that suppressed tropical activity, the next few years will enter a natural "Climate Pulse Enhancement Cycle" that will be favorable for more active and intense hurricane seasons.
The Atlantic Basin experiences on the average 11 to 12 named storms, six hurricanes and three major hurricanes. GWO predicts the 2015 hurricane season to be a little above average and more dangerous, with 14 named storms, eight hurricanes and three major hurricanes. In addition; GWO is predicting three Hurricane Hot Spots along the U.S. coastline that are at high risk for hurricane activity this year, with at least one major hurricane likely.
Interests in Hurricane and Storm activity will await other predictions from the Gray/Klotzback team from the Tropical Meteorology Projects Forecasts at Colorado State University and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) sometime in April.
It is however not too early to begin robust preparedness activities ahead of the 2015 Hurricane Season which begins on June 1. (Supplied by Disaster Management Consultant Cecil Shillingford)

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Life is like a box of chocolates...you never know what you're gonna get.
The presidencies of Kennedy and Johnson, the Vietnam War, the Watergate scandal and other historical events unfold from the perspective of an Alabama man with an IQ of 75, whose only desire is to be reunited with his childhood sweeth
It is a serious presentations, stories with settings and life situations that portray realistic characters in conflict with themselves. It shows us beings at their best, their worst, and everything in-between. Romantic story with the focus on passion, emotion, and the affectionate involvement, occasionally facing obstacles in the relationships.
A man with a low IQ has accomplished great things in his life and been present during significant historic events—in each case, far exceeding what anyone imagined he could do. But despite all he has achieved, his one true love eludes him.
Paramount, The Steve Tisch Company by Robert Zemeckis, Winston Groom, Eric Roth.
Stars: Tom Hanks, Robin Wright, Gary Sinise.
Keywords: vietnam veteran hippie washington dc, usa mentally disabled based on novel or book parent child relationship vietnam war friendship love family relationships military disability wounded soldier low iq false history
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Read review on "" (1992)


text:
London sights and attractions
Frith Street Gallery
Venue Hire near Frith Street Gallery
Frith Street Gallery, 17-18 Golden Square, Soho, London W1F 9JJ
Tue to Fri 10am-6pm, Sat 11am-5pm
All The Best Art Galleries Business Faculties Conference Facilities Event Organisers Exhibition Centres Historic Buildings New Hotels Pubs Venue Hire
195 Piccadilly (BAFTA)
London > Business > Venue Hire
195 Piccadilly, St James's, London W1J | 3 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
The home of the British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) is also available to hire for your own event. The iconic building at... More
The Vinyl Factory
London > Business > Art Galleries
16-18 Marshall Street, Soho, London W1F | 3 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
The Vinyl Factory event space in Soho comprises of a main gallery space and smaller studio area, both of which are available for hire. It... More
Burlington House, Piccadilly, Mayfair, London W1J | 3 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Lord Burlington's spectacular London palace is home to the Royal Academy of Arts, a set of galleries that houses the country's premier art school and... More
68 Dean Street
68 Dean Street, Soho, London W1D | 5 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
This stylish private house in Soho is suitable for photo shoots, meetings, press events, filming and for a limited range of social events such as... More
Dover Street Restaurant and Bar
8-10 Dover Street, Mayfair, Mayfair, London W1S | 6 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
This long established night spot in Mayfair's Dover Street has been providing Londoners with a sophisticated setting to enjoy food, drink and live entertainment for... More
Haymarket Hotel
1 Suffolk Place, St James's, London SW1Y | 6 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
A hip designer hotel by Tim and Kit Kemp in a grand building on the prestigious Haymarket, the broad boulevard street making for an impressive... More
World famous luxury hotel, right on Piccadilly, with a roof terrace looking across Green Park. The fine food (particularly the Afternoon Tea) at the Ritz... More
Odeon, Leicester Square
24-26 Leicester Square, Soho, London WC2H | 6 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
One of London's biggest cinemas, the Odeon Leicester Square regularly plays host to premieres and awards ceremonies as well as screening the week's big releases.... More
Institute of Directors - IOD
116 Pall Mall, St James's, London SW1Y | 7 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Six Storeys
London > Business
11 Soho Square, W1D | 7 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
A stylish, towering building overlooking Soho Square, Six Storeys is a bar, restaurant and events space in an 18th... More
The May Fair
Stratton Street, Mayfair, London W1J | 7 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
27 St James's Place, St James's, London SW1A | 8 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Spencer family's 18th London residence. The ancestral home of Diana, Princess of Wales, the Spencer family hasn't lived in this, their London residence, since 1926.... More
The Sanderson Hotel
50 Berners Street, Fitzrovia, London W1T | 8 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
St Martins Lane Hotel
45 St. Martin's Lane, Covent Garden, London WC2N | 9 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
To enter the stunning St Martins Lane Hotel in the heart of London's Theatreland you pass through the tallest revolving door in London, a luminescent... More
Claridge's
Brook Street, Mayfair, Mayfair, London W1K | 9 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Dartmouth House (English-Speaking Union)
37 Charles Street, The English-Speaking Union - Dartmouth House, Mayfair, Mayfair, London W1J | 9 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
The Rathbone Hotel
30 Rathbone Street, Fitzrovia, London W1T | 10 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Centrally located in Fitzrovia, it's a short walk from The Rathbone to Oxford Street, Soho and London's theatre district. With high speed wireless broadband available... More
The Congress Centre
23-28 Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, London WC1B | 11 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Based at Congress House, the headquarters of the Trades Union Congress, the Congress Centre offers several meeting and conference rooms for hire within an architecturally-renowned... More
Banqueting House
Whitehall, Westminster, London SW1A | 12 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
The only surviving section of Whitehall Palace. In its heyday the largest royal palace in Europe, this historic venue is the only surviving section of Whitehall... More
14 Bedford Square, WC1B | 12 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Set within a Victorian house, The Collective are a collection of beautifully designed and finished spaces centrally located but nestled away on... More
Royal Society Of Arts
8 John Adam Street, Covent Garden, London WC2N | 13 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
28 Portland Place
28 Portland Place, Fitzrovia, London W1B | 13 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, Bloomsbury, London WC1B | 14 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
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One Mayfair
13A North Audley Street, W1K | 14 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
Built in 1825, One Mayfair opened in 2009 and quickly became one of London's hottest venue hire destinations. The Grade I listed building... More
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54 Park Lane, Mayfair, London W1K | 14 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
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Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms
King Charles Street, Westminster, London SW1A | 14 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
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The Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre
London > Business > Conference Facilities
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Central Hall Westminster
London > Business > Exhibition Centres
Storey's Gate, Westminster, London SW1H | 16 minutes walk from Frith Street Gallery
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Наталья Андриановна Лисенко (10 августа 1884 или 1886, Николаев — 7 октября (7 января) 1969, Париж) — русская и французская актриса, звезда немого кино.

Племянница украинского композитора и пианиста Н. В. Лисенко (Лысенко).

Биография
В 1904 году Наталья Лисенко окончила студию МХТ, после чего вместе с первым мужем Николаем Радиным работала в провинциальных русских театрах. Затем — в Москве, в Театре Корша.

В 1909—1912 — актриса Киевского театра Соловцова.

К этому времени распался короткий брак с актёром Николаем Радиным: вскоре он становится мужем актрисы Елены Шатровой, с которой прожил до конца жизни, а она — женой звезды немого кино Ивана Мозжухина. Хотя на сценической и киносъёмочной площадке Лисенко и Радину ещё доводилось встречаться.

С 1915 года начала активно сниматься в кино, первая кинороль — Катюша Маслова в одноимённом фильме режиссёра П. И. Чардынина по роману Л. Н. Толстого «Воскресение».

В феврале 1920 года на греческом товарном судне «Пантера» вместе с мужем Иваном Мозжухиным и ещё несколькими артистами и работниками студии «Товарищество И. Ермольева» покинула Россию. С 1920 года жила в Париже, продолжая кинокарьеру за рубежом. Российская кинокомпания «Товарищество Иосифа Ермольева», прибыв во Францию, вскоре поменяла название на «Альбатрос» и стала французской, а Иван Мозжухин по-прежнему оставался в ней основным актёром, партнёршей которого часто была его жена Наталья Лисенко.

Ушла из жизни 7 октября (или 7 января) 1969 года в Париже. Похоронена на кладбище Сент-Женевьев-де-Буа.

Роли в кино
  — Катюша Маслова — Катюша Маслова
  — Леон Дрей — Берта
  — На окраинах Москвы — Василиса, кухарка
  — Наташа Проскурова — Наташа, модистка
  — Николай Ставрогин
  — Тайна нижегородской ярмарки
 1916 — Без вины виноватые — Кручинина
 1916 — Грех — Елена
 1916 — Жизнь — миг, искусство — вечно
 1916 — И песнь осталась недопетой — графиня Валишевская
 1916 — Любовь сильна не страстью поцелуя — кафешантанская певица
 1916 — На бойком месте — Евгения
 1916 — Не пожелай жены ближнего твоего — графиня Валишевская 1916 — Нищая — актриса 1916 — Суд божий — Рыбцова 1916 — Сын гадалки — гадалка 1916 — Ястребиное гнездо — Глаша, любовница Осоргина 1917 — Во власти греха — Елена 1917 — Горькая доля — Катерина 1917 — Кулисы экрана — актриса Лисенко 1917 — Не говорите мне, он умер — Жанна, жена художника 1917 — Отец Сергий — вдова купчиха Маковкина 1917 — Прокурор — актриса Бетти Клай 1917 — Сатана ликующий — Эсфирь, мать Сандро 1918 — Богатырь духа — Иза, невеста Лео 1918 — Малютка Элли — Клара Кларсон 1918 — Немой страж — любовница графа 1918 — Черная стая
 1918 — Член парламента
 1919 — Голгофа женщины
 1919 — Наследник по заказу
 1919 — Ответный удар
 1919 — Тайна королевы — незнакомка, королева Силистрии 1920 — Страшное приключение / L'angoissante aventure — Ивонн / Yvonne 1921 — Бури / Tempêtes (Франция) — Соня // Sonia 1921 — Дитя карнавала (Франция)
 1921 — Закон и любовь
 1921 — Правосудие превыше всего / Justice d'abord (Франция) — Ивонна 1921 — Слуга слепого долга
 1922 — Голос совести
 1922 — Дикарка / La Fille sauvage (Франция) — Жанклин Жервуаз // Jacqueline Gervoise 1922 — Ночь карнавала / Nuit de Carnaval (Франция)
 1922 — Ответ / La Riposte
 1923 — Гримасы Парижа (Костёр пылающий) / Le Brasier Ardent (Франция) — Женщина 1923 — Когда дьявол спит
 1923 — Муки любви // Calvaire d'amour (Франция) — Элен Бремон / Hélène Brémond 1923 — Проходящие тени
 1923 — Страшное приключение (Германия, Франция) — Кларисса 1923 — Ужасное приключение / L'Angoissante aventure (Франция)
 1924 — Кин, или Гений и беспутство / Kean ou Desordre et Genie (Франция)
 1924 — Лев Моголов / Le Lion de Mogols — Анна // Anna 1924 — Мимолетные тени / Les Ombres qui passent (Франция)
 1925 — Афиша / L'Affiche (Франция)
 1926 — Савур-могила (СССР)
 1927 — Казанова / Casanova (Франция)
 1927 — На рейде / En rade (Франция)
 1928 — Любовные похождения Распутина / Rasputins Liebesabenteuer (Германия) — госпожа Татаринова / Frau Tatarinoff 1928 — Пять страшных дней (Германия)
 1928 — Ура! Я живу! / Hurrah! Ich lebe! (Германия)
 1930 — Княжеские ночи / Nuits de princes (Франция)
 1932 — Парижские миражи / Mirages de Paris
 1932 — Этот негодяй Морен / Ce cochon de Morin (Франция)
 1933 — La mille et deuxième nuit — Фатима // Fatima 1937 — Пиковая дама / La Dame de pique (Франция) — эпизод
 1939 — Le veau gras — дама / La dame de compagnie

Примечания

Русские эмигранты первой волны во Франции
Похороненные на кладбище Сент-Женевьев-де-Буа

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


text:
Plugging In/ Energy/ News Analysis
Who's in charge of Mass. offshore wind procurements?
Recent decision shows utilities are calling the shots
By Bruce Mohl	Electricity, Energy	0 Comments Nov 6, 2019
THE MOST RECENT offshore wind procurement exposed a major flaw in the selection process, as the state's three utilities – and not elected officials and their staffers – were charged with making policy decisions about the direction of the Massachusetts offshore wind industry.
The procurement, the state's second, attracted three bidders – Mayflower Wind, Vineyard Wind, and Bay State Wind. All of the companies stepped up their onshore investments with this procurement, but only Mayflower Wind spelled out its general strategy in the bid documents it released publicly.
The Mayflower strategy could have been taken right out of the children's story Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Mayflower offered the state three options. The first bid offered the absolute lowest price for power and relatively little in the way of onshore investment. The second bid offered a slightly higher price for power and significantly more onshore investment – according to one source, as much as $20 million in port infrastructure, another $15 million in innovation and technology programs, and money for workforce training programs at Bristol Community College. The third bid offered a slightly higher price, all of the investments contained in the second bid, plus a new offshore wind tower manufacturing facility.
In each of Mayflower's bids, the price was expected to be lower than what Vineyard Wind offered on the state's initial offshore wind procurement. That price of 8.4 cents per kilowatt hour was hailed as a landmark low price.
When the Baker administration announced that Mayflower Wind's low-cost option was selected as the winning bid last week, CommonWealth and other news outlets reported it was a Baker administration decision. Indeed, the announcement was made by Baker administration officials who seemed knowledgeable about all aspects of the decision, even though much of the pricing and other information is being withheld until the utilities negotiate an actual contract and it goes to the Department of Public Utilities for approval.
But Baker officials responded to the stories by demanding corrections because they said the decision was made by the state's three utilities, not them.
According to Massachusetts law, state officials can participate in the drafting of the request for proposals and sit in on the selection process, but they cannot intervene in decision-making as long as the three utilities – Eversource Energy, National Grid, and Unitil – are in agreement on the winning bid. The selection of Mayflower Wind's low-cost option was the first time in the state's short history of procuring hydroelectric and offshore wind power that the utilities had been in agreement.
What all that means is that the policy choice between a lower price or more onshore investment was left to utility executives, and not the governor.
It's unclear whether the decision would have been any different had the governor had a say. Baker has long favored going for the lowest price possible, on the reasoning that the rest of Massachusetts should not be asked to pay higher electricity prices to subsidize investment along the South Coast.
Advocates for the South Coast don't buy the Baker administration's claim that the decision was made by the utilities. Given the power dynamic between the Baker administration and the utilities, the advocates say privately that the utilities wouldn't be voting for the lowest-price option if the governor and his staff didn't want them to vote that way.
Asked for an explanation of the Mayflower Wind decision, a spokesman for Eversource Energy declined comment and referred all questions to Baker's Department of Energy Resources.
In interviews last week, Baker administration officials offered no specific reason for choosing the low-cost option, other than the fact that it offered the best deal overall.
Rep. Patricia Haddad of Somerset, the third highest-ranking official in the House, said it's starting to dawn on lawmakers that it was a mistake to put the state's utilities in charge of the procurement process. She and many others on the South Coast have written letters to the Baker administration imploring officials to take onshore investment seriously. But now she finds out the Baker administration wasn't making the decision, the utilities were.
Concerns have been raised in the past about the utilities evaluating project proposals from business ventures in which their own company is a partner. That happened on this second offshore wind procurement, as one of the bidders, Bay State Wind, is a partnership of Orsted Wind Power North America and Eversource Energy.
Editor, CommonWealth
E-mail @BruceMohl
About Bruce Mohl
Bruce Mohl is the editor of CommonWealth magazine. Bruce came to CommonWealth from the Boston Globe, where he spent nearly 30 years in a wide variety of positions covering business and politics. He covered the Massachusetts State House and served as the Globe's State House bureau chief in the late 1980s. He also reported for the Globe's Spotlight Team, winning a Loeb award in 1992 for coverage of conflicts of interest in the state's pension system. He served as the Globe's political editor in 1994 and went on to cover consumer issues for the newspaper. At CommonWealth, Bruce helped launch the magazine's website and has written about a wide range of issues with a special focus on politics, tax policy, energy, and gambling. Bruce is a graduate of Ohio Wesleyan University and the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University. He lives in Dorchester.
Haddad filed legislation in January to oust the utilities from the selection process and turn it over to a committee consisting of the secretary of energy and environmental affairs, the attorney general, the secretary of housing and economic development, and the House and Senate chairs of the Legislature's joint Committee on Telecommunications, Utilities, and Energy.
Haddad is frustrated that the utilities and the Baker administration are fixated on price and ignore the long view of building an industry in Massachusetts. "For them, it's just the lowest price," she said. "That's all [the governor] cares about. New Jersey or some other state is going to say, 'Yeah, you got the lowest price and we've got all the jobs.'"
Tagged in: Electricity/ Energy
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Plugging In
Mayflower Wind, without contract, moving ahead
By CommonWealth StaffSee all »
By Peter Rothstein, Emily Reichert, Robert Rio and Elizabeth Turnbull HenrySee all »
Fishermen, wind farm developers at odds
By Bruce MohlSee all »
Offshore wind tax credit doesn't make cut
By Colin A. YoungSee all »
Healey seeks DPU crackdown on electricity sellers


text:
Divinity (2021 – Vol 1)
2020 Anthology
Dark Blood (2020 – Vol 3)
Dark Matter (2020 – Vol 2)
Darkout (2020 – Vol 1)
2021 Horror And Fantasy
2020 Sci-Fi Short Story Contest
2020 Horror And Fantasy Artwork Contest
Pressfuls
Browsing Category Dark Blood (2020 – Vol 3)
in	2020 Anthology Dark Blood (2020 - Vol 3) Horror
by	Eva Liukineviciute
( No Rating Yet )
I watch carefully as it rests on my chaise lounge. Sat myself with hands sheathed to the elbows in claret, I have poured generously into his trembling glass, provided grapes with only slight hints of rough cutting. Its eyes settle somewhere between the top of my head and the oil painting of my parents. I have lived lonely in my castle for so long that the colour has all turned stale; the silk has turned to cobwebs. The velvet is so drenched with blood that we can no longer tell what is dye and what is death; how many gallons have been shed and soaked up. Sharp corners follow you always and catch echoes. There are a hundred long corridors fit for racing down, if one ever had a child or friend. Rocks have long shot out the ornate windows, and I have long ceased replacing the wood boards when they rot. Old visitors would complain of the dust and dim light, the china plates and furniture left to fall into ruin; the clock always oscillating between midday and midnight. The cracking paper, grown grotesque with points and curls that were once purple, shrinks from corners, like dewy lettuce leaves folding back. Remembering to smile with no teeth, my voice lilts to grow musical and warm – to soft-speak the shivering thing with tones of saffron into a haze of almost-sleep.
On moon days, when melancholy has held me in bed for weeks upon months, I rouse myself with force. I float along upturned soil, chin held up as though pulled by elastic threads and a heart that I batter with threats. At my best I need only the barest of weapons to convince my prey to come hither. Sometimes just a smile will do. You have never seen such unsettling perfection that will not age and derelict with her home: eyes and canines that bicker so silently over which will pierce you first. My hair rushes for the ground like cascades of worm silk; my face, so unfairly proportioned the religious villagers cursed me and would not look in my eyes.
And I have nothing to do these days but catch strays. Invite them in and serve cold duck; bewitch them rotten and take out each eye. These eyes, most nights, become ornament: crystalline bluebells for lonely corners, that whisper to the sparkling sea. I hang up their shirts to replace the curtains long nibbled at by moths, spend endless nights sewing pocket squares into bunting. And I butcher, and I ravage, and I sing myself to sleep.
Do not look in her eyes, do not look in her eyes, chant the old hags. Eyes are the mirror of your wanting: eyes are the black pits of lost light wherein flesh is soaked in and gobbled up.
Picking my claws and brittle teeth, I sit for days in front of my mirrors, tripping into ever so slightly distorted reflections till I cannot be sure who I am. I talk and pretend they talk back. Whole floors are filled with them, by now – huge and small things that reflect each other and myself. Of course, it is easy to get lost, in this maze of distillations. Sometimes they do all the work for me – disorientating the poor rabbit until days have gone by and you are just full of imploration to be eaten: to be devastated and annihilated by the most delicate set of ivory hands.
Raised to be appreciative of beautiful things, I display my prey as I have seen others do in huge mansions. I have stared many a decapitated fox in the glassy eye, conversing with its master over red wine and soft cheeses that were always poked through with little bulbs of garlic. They hoped to catch me out, I suppose, the superstitious people who were once my neighbours, and spat over their left shoulders whenever we talked of blood.
Revolted, however, by the thought of decapitation, I hang up my dead bodies by the neck. Marionette threads pass through small holes in each hand and foot, before my tall babies are suspended from the ceilings and walls. And they dance! Oh, do they dance – they jerk in beautiful harmony with me; spin and entangle themselves in their strings, so they can never be freed to run away. When I tangle in with them, stay pressed to the skin as it cools – oh, you have not known such loveliness. I rub my cheek against their chests, smiling at a stillness of heart alike my own. Mais je suis désolé, jeune fils –désolé, désolé – we ballet. I bewitch more men to help manage the strings, sometimes; when there are over twenty marionettes and I cannot coordinate the dance myself. They spiral, they pirouette – they flit like the velveteen bats blending impeccably into our sharp, melancholy-spangled nights of red and rich blue. Our days are only pale lavender for countable hours a year; they dissolve, clandestine, into dusk-ridden nights that sit witness to endless slaughter.
But not yet, not yet, my new-born men. First, I will cradle your infantine bodies. Depleted, you shall dance through cobwebs and pools of sinking vermillion, learning the most ancient of this family's footsteps. Dust rouses, blushing chests splice open and deluge: cataclysms follow each other with no breathing space, in these withering turrets of derelict that home a once tender, young mellow of a girl. She comes back up for air, at brief moments, when I lower my cocoons into safe-spaces under the floorboards, to rest for long hours and recoup.
in	Dark Blood (2020 - Vol 3) Horror
by	Tatum Ozment
( 5 stars · 2 reviews )
The eyes were staring at me through the window, colder than the breeze that caresses a lake in the winter.
They were intimidating, but they didn't scare me. In fact, they were interesting. Something within them was enough to whet the appetite of anyone that peered into them, and it was the only thing that was present in them. No feeling, no liveliness. Just the incomprehensible, captivating, tempting…
The year was 1985, and I was standing outside the front window of Schroeder's Antiques, a quaint, unimpeachable store that stood on the edge of the street of Maple Lane. It was surrounded by a handful of other businesses and stores, so it was typically overlooked. Not by me, though. I had always loved that store. The smell of the old wood filling my nostrils always relaxed me, eased my nerves. Besides, it was a nice distraction from all of hullabaloo rummaging through the town.
It wasn't everyday that something like this happened in a small town like mine. Four children murdered in a span of three weeks? It was almost too much to handle. The town was still trying to wrap its head around it, but I didn't want to. I just tried to ignore it. I had to ignore it. Dark things had no business being in such a bright place. And I guess you could surmise that my mind was on the list of bright places. You know what thoughts like that could do to you.
But I couldn't ignore the doll in the window. Those eyes. The way it stood in the window like he was waving at everyone on the other side. He had been there since the first murder. I could remember him so vividly, yet I don't remember why. I had never stood outside the window of the store before, I had always gone in. But yet it still lingered in my mind that I had seen this particular doll before, felt it before. And though I couldn't recall every exact detail of it, it appeared to me like garden variety on that day on Maple Lane. Some part of me could only place one singular plastic balloon in his hand when I had first seen him, but somehow he had four as I watched him that day.
The eyes that were gazing at me were queerly human-like. Mere yellow orbs with their own life inside of them, like they each had their own heart. And though they were plastic you could almost see the breath rising behind them. I knew it wasn't the case, though. There was no way that a doll could be even remotely human-like. That was stuff that only happened in movies.
Even if the doll was a clown, and it resembled something so alive, like it did there in the front display of the store.
In the reflection on the window in front of the clown's face, I could see Jax. My son with chocolate brown hair like mine whose eyes would light up when the sun glinted against them just right. My pride and joy, the one that made it seem like everything that was good in the world was thriving inside of him like glorious caged heat. Jax was seven-years-old, and he had the liveliest attitude I had ever seen. How thrilled would he be to see a doll like the clown in the window.
One of Jax's favorite things was to go see the circus with his father whenever it came to town. I never came along — the circus had always creeped me out — but Jax would always come home cheering of all the remarkable things he had seen. The music, the acrobats, the animals. But he had always loved the clowns; those seemed to be his favorite.
So of course, when his dad left and never returned, it was hard to see something like that stolen from him. To Jax, the clowns were his father, and when his was father was gone, so were the memories. The saying goes to let the dead dog lie, but when the dog was something that Jax needed, then I couldn't just turn my head and walk away. It was medicine that he lurched for.
I scrutinized the doll a little closer. His demeanor seemed to send chills backflipping down my spine. His skin was a pallid, porcelain white, a scarlet painted-on smile hung over his face like Christmas lights. Those eyes that were staring so intently at me were a bright hazel, narrowed almost to slits, like a cat's. He was dressed in a rainbow jumpsuit, with red pom-poms running down his front, finished with oversized, orange shoes. Tufts of vivid, sunset-orange hair protruded from his hairline, rays of the sun circling his head.
With my hair tickling the nape of my neck, tugging my sweater closer around my body, I made a decision. Swinging the door open to the store, I strolled in, the familiar smell of the ancient oak overwhelming my senses, giving me a similar feeling of strong vellichor. It seemed like I was the only customer. There was only one other person in the store besides me: a short, stout man with a thick mass of curly, brown hair on his head, dressed in a red floral Hawaiian shirt tucked into worn jeans. He was standing behind the counter of the checkout desk, and he flashed me an amiable smile upon entering. Anything to keep a customer, I guess. Any other reason couldn't service the forced smile on his face, and it wasn't like this place was Disneyworld.
The House At St. Joseph's
by	Barry Shaw
It was a hot late summer's day, and as the sun's rays were reflected on the glass of the estate agent's window, it was difficult to see the houses they were advertising. James, a town guide who worked for the council, and Rosie, a newly qualified schoolteacher, were linking arms and looking at the descriptions. Their eyes suddenly latched on to one of the photographs.
The Old School House
Period property in need of modernisation. This is believed to date from the 16th Century, and was a former school.
Lounge / diner with large dormer window
Rosie gave James a squeeze. "Huns, this looks lovely. It's just perfect. Can't we go in now and make an offer? Please?"
James gave a nervous frown. "Look at the price. Can we afford it?"
"Darling, you've got a good job at the council. You could be a museum curator in ten years. By that time I could be a Head of Department. We can do it! Please say yes!"
Moments later they were through the door.
Rosie stood in the centre of her new house. A fresh maroon carpet had been laid, a sofa nestled by the bay window, and many unpacked boxes littered the floor. She looked up.
"Don't you love the smell of an old house? You can smell history, past loves, past conquests and romances and arguments!" James stood still. The smell reminded him of his time as a guide at Hatfield House, where he would take wide-eyed tourists to the room where the lives of kings were made and broken. "This is ours now", he mused. "The panelling over the old beams will have to go though.
Rosie turned and smiled. "You know what? I'm knackered. We've still got all these boxes to unpack, but I just can't face it right now. How about we get some fish and chips and get an early night?"
James gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. "Good idea! I'll just pop down now. Have we unpacked the kitchen stuff yet?
"Yes – that's one box I have done. See you in fifteen. I'll be ready for you!" She gave him a broad smile.
It was just after Midnight when Rosie woke up with a start. She was sure she had heard something. She slipped on her kimono dressing gown and tiptoed down to investigate. A wine glass was lying shattered on the stone floor of the kitchen, its stem, still intact, pointing accusingly at her. She stood for a moment. She was sure she had unpacked all of the glasses, laid them in the cupboard above the sink in neat rows, and closed the door. She wasn't so sure now. Maybe she had left the door open. Her memory was beginning to blur. She'd ask James in the morning. Determined to make no sound, she sidled gingerly up the stairs, opened the bedroom door, and very slowly and quietly eased it shut behind her.
The Easter Sun was streaming in through the bedroom window when James rolled over in bed and gave Rosie a kiss. "So how was your first night in our new bed?"
"Beautiful, slept like a baby", Rosie lied
Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe it didn't happen. Rosie slipped on her dressing gown again and crept downstairs. She always liked to have breakfast before she got dressed, something that often annoyed James, who stepped out of his side of the bed, slipped on a T shirt and shorts and followed her down, as Rosie turned towards him in the kitchen.
"Did you leave the cupboard door open last night?"
in	Dark Blood (2020 - Vol 3)
by	Rania Higgs
The anticipation was the best part.
Lily gave herself a treat that evening, outside one of the more expensive gyms where the rich worked off their calories and their guilt. She watched from the shadows as the light waned, waiting for the right meal. She was vaguely aware of time passing, but had only taken note of the passing people.
The summer air tasted like rain and sweat. The sky was dull, black and gun-metal grey clouds, the city cast in monochrome save for the occasional ray that had struggled through to light the depraved city below.
She disliked picking on the city's undernourished. There was an aftertaste, like the bit of a cheese that you waited a little too long to eat. Or the leftovers that look alright but smells slightly off. At least, that's what she had assumed. It'd been a while—some hundred years or so since she'd truly enjoyed a more conventional meal.
Finally, the male walked out. He was still in his sweat-soaked gym clothes, his bag slung over his shoulder. Keys to an expensive car flashed in his hands. The same car she had seen him park a couple of hours ago. Her senses narrowed to his movements and the sound of his blood whooshing through his veins. The dark sky above rumbled ominously.
Lily stalked him crouched on all fours, allowing her body to take full control. It guided her along the edges of the car park to where the flashy car was parked by a copse of trees and a conveniently recently-broken street lamp. She grinned. It was lovely when a plan came together.
The meat was a little tough, but that was a fact easily ignored. After exercise, the blood is a gorgeous, oxygen-rich ruby-red loaded with delicious hormones, with its own sweaty seasoning like the salt rim on a margarita. Enough for her to get completely blissed out.
Her very own, personal catnip flavour.
She had a pro-wrestler once. Got him in his dressing room immediately after a fight. He was the most delicious meal she'd ever had and absolutely worth the hasty escape plan.
She was two cars away, close enough to taste him on the air when the man dropped his keys. She inhaled deeply as time slowed. His lemon-and-salt flavour saturated her brain. Her mouth flooded with venom.
She leapt over the cars and landed in a crouch beside him. He started and fell back against the car, knocked off balance.
"Oh," she said, her voice dropping into a mocking tone as she stood. "Did I scare you?"
He blinked. "I didn't see you there."
"I know," she said. "I don't like having to chase my dinner. All that stress ruins the flavour."
"Er…" His eyebrows rose. "I don't quite follow?" He looked her up and down, taking in the dark, nondescript clothing. Lily had average features, and looked about twenty—ish. Mousy brown hair, dark brown eyes. Utterly forgettable. He dismissed her with a roll of his eyes and a wave. "Listen, sweetheart," he said. "I have no idea what kind of crazy you are, but I don't want a part of it."
Lily giggled and ran her tongue over her teeth. He was perfect. She could barely hold herself back any longer, giddy with bloodlust as she was. "Don't worry about it, it won't matter in a moment anyway." She stepped towards him. "You look absolutely delicious." She put her hands on his chest and ran one hand up and around his neck. Her right hand stayed above his heart. "Come here, handsome." She tugged him down gently.
He leaned down at the first flash of lightning. The crack of thunder drowned out his scream.
The clouds succumbed to their weight and opened as she made her way back to the business district. The few people left wandering outside ran for cover. Rain washed away the grit-and-ash taste of exhaust fumes from her palate as it wiped the air and the streets clean, giving way to the sweet aroma of the city's other delights—rotting refuse and the revolting creatures in the dark places of the world.
Rats. She'd always been rather fond of the entrepreneurial little beings. They climbed up telephone poles and then along the swaying criss-cross of wire that spanned the width of the street, tails wrapped around cables, tightrope walking in single file.
The rats go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah…
The hammering rain drowned out a lot of her hearing but Lily picked up a disturbance some distance up the street. The rain and fog obscured figures into shadows. The working girls were getting excited. A few of the window shoppers got a little handsy sometimes and she would have to interfere. She cocked her head to get a better listen. The sound was muted, as if it had travelled under water. It didn't seem like they were being bothered. All Lily could hear was cooing. A high, quiet voice answered—a child?
Either way, she didn't have to get involved. Again. She sighed and settled back under the awning of the shopfront that was providing meagre shelter from the torrential rain.
That night, Floret's Perennials was her office. Tropical plants spilled out of terracotta pots and bright greenhouse flowers stood in tall vases, their unnatural presence even more unlikely in this rotten neighbourhood.
The smell helped drown out the tastes of human filth rising in steamy tendrils from the storm drains.
The Day She Became The Storm
by	Yuliia Vereta
Skylar Lawrence was a very quiet little girl. When she was a baby she lost her parents in a car accident and was raised by her grandmother in the small town in Vermont. Those few things she knew about her parents were mainly the memories she built from the photos and some of their belongings. She never actually missed them; she did not feel she was ever familiar with the people she saw on the photos.
She spent her childhood and youth years in that same town she left after having entered the college. That time she left, she left it forever except that week she came to her grandma's funeral in the middle of spring term. That day has changed her, made her feel totally alone in the big brave world, made her hate her solitude, which lasted until she met Hayden Foster – the love of her life, her future husband that cured her from her superstitions, prejudice, preconceptions, paranoia and what's the most important – loneliness. She was looking for him for a very long time before she found the person she pictured in her head as a perfect idea, like the shining star that would light up her way.
She was dreaming about someone, who would come to her life not to visit, but to stay; someone, who would love the chocolate cake and hate the olives, just like she did; someone, who would see, understand and accept the monsters she was holding in her drawers and her wardrobe, and let her keep them; someone, who would see the beauty and the ugliness in every single human being; someone, who would be able to see the world not the way it was, but in the way she saw it, so gorgeous and so monstrous, so innocent and so filthy, full of the amazing things that are easy to create and easy to destroy. Eventually she met that person, he came out of her. She met him long time after she was meant to, in the most uncomfortable time, but she met him. Moreover, she made him.
Skylar Lawrence was special. Everybody said that – her grandma, her teachers, her neighbors, her friends. But it turned out to be a problem, when she became too special. Her grandmother was taking a very good care of her, at times even being too strict. Skylar had dark blond hair always braided or scraped into the ponytail. Her clothes were always ironed and neat. Her manners were just fine, her posture was perfect and she never sat with her knees apart. She was not very social, but had several school friends, who immediately stopped talking to her after everybody discovered what she was capable of.
One of those days when she was a child, she was playing outside with her ball and it rolled into the neighbor's rosebush. When she finally got it from there, having scratched her forearms to blood she saw two patent-leather shoes standing on the grass. She raised her gaze and stood up. 'Who wears leather shoes in summer?' she thought.
'I do', answered the boy standing opposite her. 'These are my favorite shoes, I wear them every day'.
Skylar gasped, her eyes widened. 'That was so rude. I did not want to say that aloud. Did I say that aloud?' the thoughts were rapidly rushing in her confused mind.
'No, you didn't. You did not say that. But I heard it', the boy was slightly smiling, 'You don't have to say it for me to hear it'.
'Liar!' said Skylar impatiently. She knew it was rude to say that word as well and she was not allowed to use it, but lying was also bad and having measured those using the scale of bad things she just invented in her head, she came to conclusion that pronouncing the word 'Liar' was not as bad as actually being a liar.
'I am not lying', said the boy shaking his head.
'Yes, you are. Nobody can hear what I think if I don't say it out loud.'
'I can' said the boy shrugging his shoulders.
'I guess' Skylar started 'you can prove it, if you really can read my mind'. Then she tightly shut her eyes and covered her mouth with both hands.
'Pizza, pony, twelve', said the boy rolling his eyes up. 'Anything else?' he seemed upset because of Skylar checking him.
She peered out at him and tried to understand how he was doing that, but did not find any reasonable explanation.
'I want to try again', she said and rapidly closed her eyes and covered the mouth.
'Hopscotch, Christmas tree, Barbie', the boy seemed to get bored.
'How are you doing that? Is that some magic trick?' Skylar did not know how it was actually possible for a person to read someone else's mind. It was that time when she did not yet figure out how far from being the person was that boy standing in front of her.
'Kind of. I can do many things', answered the boy. He could clearly see that Skylar was curious and not scared a bit, unlike the rest of the kids he was trying to make friends with. He liked her. She was different.
'Many things?' Skylar widened her eyes. 'Like what?'
'Like this' said the boy touching Skylar's forearm that got scratched when she was trying to release the ball from the rosebush. When he moved his hand away there was nothing else but smooth perfect skin with no marks. Skylar stood motionless with her mouth opened.
'The priest was telling us about people like you, who can do miracles', she finally constrained herself to speak.
There are only a few people who can do such things. So I can't tell others about it. Only to those who can do something special too. Can you promise that you will keep this in secret?' he asked.
'I will. I promise', said Skylar nodding her head 'But why did you tell me? I can't do anything like it'.
'I think you can. You just need to recall it. You are very special, Skylar. I hope you will soon have the power to do amazing things just like I do. And if so we could make great things together.'
Skylar's face widened in a smile. 'Wow! Can you teach me how to do it?' She was excited.
'Sure. We can begin right away. I can show you more and you will learn something of what I can do'
'Do you want to go to the park and show me more there? It's just around the corner.'
'Sounds like a good plan to me', the boy smiled.
'You didn't tell me your name by the way', said Skylar.
'Dylan' he answered and together they went along the road, deeper and deeper to what had to be hidden from Skylar and all the other living beings, having left the Mrs. Lowell's rosebush behind.
by	Ella Dean
"Tik-Tok". "Tik-Tok". "Tik-Tok".
The clocks on the wall ticked violently. They just wouldn't stop. The clocks made the noise every second of every day. Every clock was in sync. Every tick was in perfect harmony. The clocks never made any other noises. There was no concept of time anymore. They only ticked and tocked. The wall they rested on was just big enough for one hundred and one clock. Glistening white wallpaper peered out from the small spaces behind the clocks.
The cat clock, which was black and white and from the early 1900's, had eyes. With every second the eyes ticked back and forth. This is the clock she hated the most. The eyes always watched her every move. The big, goofy grin on the stupid cats face, taunted her. Everything about the clock was evil. The biggest clock was hung dead center of the wall. The old roman numerals were a dirty gold color. The same color as her locket, which she never let go of. She always rubbed her little heart locket, which laid close to her heart. She never let go of the small locket. Her long, bony fingers always had to touch the locket. The locket was her only source of company.
"Tik-ToK", "Tik-Tok", "Tik-Tok".
Surrounding the big clock were little clocks. Gold, midnight black, mocha brown, even fire red. Each clock was unique. Every one had its own shape. From circles, to squares, to even different color and shaped hands.
On the wall of a hundred and one clocks there was only one that said a date. The biggest clock had a small space near the center that said 10/31/99 in bright gold numbers. "99", "99, "99", she whispered. She rocked back and forth. She rocked to the beat of the clock. "Tick", she would rock backwards. "Tock", she rocked forwards.Her lavender sweater, filled with holes and that was 3 sizes too big, rocked with her. The old boots she wore, black with pointed toes, made a slight "thump" every time the clock said "tock". Her tangled, unbrushed, dirty grey hair swayed in the slight breeze coming from the cracks in the old house. This house was made 100 years ago. It only has 1 floor, ranch style. The wood that makes up the house was from the tallest oak trees in the forest, where the house is located. The wood is now decaying, the windows are boarded shut, the oak tree door is always locked. As for the interior, little to nothing. In the kitchen, the cabinets are falling off. The bedroom has only 3 things. A bed, which the frame is broken,a nightstand, the old birchwood nightstands drawers contain nothing but dead bugs and cobwebs, and a single picture. This picture was of her and her daughter. Both had the biggest smiles plastered on their faces. The sun was shining and she was holding her daughter. This was all before… before it happened. Throughout the house there are scattered broken chairs or random pieces of wood. Cobwebs line every part of the house and bugs and other critters make themselves at home.
by	Chad Lehrmann
"We the jury find the defendant guilty of six counts of murder in the first degree."
With those words, three long months of sequestration was ended, and the twelve individuals who held the fate of Jonas Slab in their hands could go back to their lives. The trial had been intense- Slab was accused of murdering at least six people over the course of three years. The evidence was vile and nightmarish- more than one of the jurors had begun to have nightmares, and several talked frequently of needing the number of a good therapist.
It was not all bad. The jurors bonded. Tess- mother of three- and Abigail- grandmother of eight- had formed an almost mother/daughter bond. Reggie, Clive, and Zed had all decided it would be fun to go together to see their mutual favorite football team- the Houston Texans- play during the upcoming season. Sam and Liz had been flirting a lot during the time, and several jurors had actually placed bets on whether or not he would ask her out before the trial ended. Alexis and Ted won when after the previous night's deliberation ended, Sam caught Liz in the hall and asked her to coffee after the verdict. Luis, Jeb, and Olga were just glad to be done.
Jonas Slab waived his right to appeal, and declared- "I just want it over with." His execution was set for one year to the day after the trial concluded.
They all received the notice about a week before the execution.
A jury summons.
They all had the same reaction- not surprising considering that they had just given three months of their lives the year before.
But a summons is law, so begrudgingly, they all showed up. Even though the location was at the old courthouse (Which they paid no attention to), and the summons was for eight in the morning (Which they did pay attention to).
When Reggie saw Alexis, he thought it odd that both of them would get called again. Olga, Liz, and Clive arrived next, then soon after all the rest were in the dark courtroom, in a vacant building. Ted was a contractor, and he noticed right away that the building was altered. But he couldn't tell why.
Abigail noticed Liz and Sam were on opposite sides of the room. "Sam, did you not come with Liz?" Liz averted her eyes, and Sam gritted his teeth and mumbled, "We're not together anymore."
"Guys, something isn't right," Ted began. "This room has pipes it shouldn't."
Luis grunted. "It also has people it shouldn't."
As if on cue, a fine mist filled the room. "I don't feel so good," said Tess, just before passing out. The others followed in rapid succession.
When Zed and Clive woke, they made eye contact. They both immediately displayed expressions of shock and terror. What they saw was the rest of their fellow jurors in a circle around the room. Each was strapped to a rudimentary wooden chair and each had a variety of devices behind them. Some looked like surgical instruments- needles and scalpels and knives. Some were more electrical in nature. Some were tools. And a few had large blades- like guillotines laying on their side.
Olga was the first to scream, then Sam, then a chorus of terrified voices cried out- some tearful, some angry, some pleading.
Ted was still looking around the room- the same they had entered into. But the furniture was different before- more like the courtroom. Now, it looked eerily similar to their deliberation room. Where the judges seat was, there was a large television. The lights were fluorescent, stark, and flickery. Below the television, on the wood panel was a clock. It read 6:00 in digital red numbers.
The television flickered on.
There was a shape- a dark, hooded shape not unlike a grim reaper. But where the face should be, there was only blackness. When it spoke, its voice was mechanical. Altered by some device to mask the true voice. There must have been speakers spread around the room, for when the shape spoke, it seemed to be right behind everyone at the same time.
"Welcome jurors. Today, we are holding court to judge crimes so heinous, so cruel that should a guilty verdict be rendered, then death will be swift and equally cruel. You are judge, jury…and defendant."
It took a moment for that to sink in. Sam began to weep, as did Liz and Tess. Abigail, a woman who had been through much in her life, steeled herself. Jeb began to struggle with his restraints.
Ted- who had been foreman- fell back into his leadership role. He was a man of medium build, but large forearms that strained against the restraints told a story of a life wielding heavy hammers and tools. "What do you want from us?" he demanded, his stubbled jaw tense.
by	Nicole Thu
The clock struck four. It was 14th April 1992; the day my first child, Jessica was born.
My husband was away for a medical emergency in Naypyidaw, and would not be back home for three more days. I laid in bed with extreme discomfort in a blue plastic gown, with IV drips painfully piercing through both my hands.
Out of the blue, a loud scream perforated through my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my heart skipped a beat. I sat up in my bed and confusingly looked at the other patients in my ward. Over the next few seconds, the screams got even louder; it felt as if someone was yelling into the speakers. My eardrums started hurting and being the nosy person that I was, I got up from my bed to investigate the noise.
Following the sounds of the screams, I landed outside Room 103. I took a peek inside and saw a young woman screaming at the top of her lungs like a baby and vomiting out unrecognisable words in a deep manly voice. Her legs were vigorously kicking the air as swift as lightning, but her upper body was completely paralysed.
"Wh-wh-what is ha-happening?" I muttered to myself, under my breath.
"O-oh-m-my God! It-it-iiss t-tr-true.." a voice shockingly whispered into my right ear. I turned around and saw May, another patient from my ward. May's hands were trembling from fear and her face was as pale as ghost.
"What? What are you talking about May?" I asked, curiously.
"Sister, y-you-re-rea-really don't kn-know?" May asked, wearing a shocked look on her face.
"No, I don't. Come on, tell me." I said, tugging on May's left sleeves.
"L-look in front. Y-you will k-know.." May said, avoiding eye contact.
I took another look into the room and shivers went down my spine. Five nurses were holding down a young woman, who was so strong like an ox that she kicked a nurse away. I looked closer at the woman's facial expression and was extremely disturbed; one moment she was smiling innocently like a child and the next, her face became distorted.
I stood rooted to the ground, with my mouth agape from shock. My heart dropped and I too, started trembling.
"Y-yo-you g-get it?" May asked, placing her hands on my shoulders.
"This is not n-nor-normal…" I said, "Is she poss…"
Before I could finish my sentence, May leaned close to my ear and whispered, "They died. The nurse and the ward boy…" before pointing towards an elevator, with tears welling up in her eyes.
"Why-what?" I asked, "Wh-why are you…"
Just then, I was interrupted by a team of doctors and Head Nurse Thu running towards Room 103 while shouting, "ALL OF YOU, PLEASE GO BACK TO YOUR WARDS!"
The crowd immediately dispersed. May hastily walked towards Nurse Li, hugged her tightly and started balling her eyes out. Nurse Li slowly caressed May's hair and whispered in her ear. I wanted to comfort May, but a nurse tugged me back to my ward as it was time for my surgery.
My beautiful baby, Jessica, was born at 4.30 am and I spent the whole day attending to her alone. I was so exhausted that it seemed I had forgotten everything about Room 103. At 11pm, one of the nurses took my baby to the nursery and I prepared to tuck myself in for bed.
My back was aching horribly as though someone was punching me profusely. I tossed and turned in bed, adjusting myself for the perfect position. As I laid on my right, a sudden loud "BANG" on the walls scared me out of my wits.
The Painter, the Wife and the Critic
by	Ian Mabb
The painter threw down his brushes in disgust. He stepped back to examine the canvas. Everyone said his talent was self-evident. So what was missing? His latest work was a portrait of an old family friend who was also his agent. Stefan had commissioned the work himself as he found it hard to see the artist struggle to make a living.
From a young age it was clear this painter was brilliant. Art school had confirmed this. A bright future was forecast. When they met, his wife had expressed her utter belief in him. Three years on and even she was beginning to lose faith.
His paintings exuded class and know-how… and yet. They simply would not sell. At least not for the price he needed to earn a crust. All who knew him were baffled. Artists who were far inferior had become internationally famous. He, however, was faced with penury or giving up on his life's goal. In his heart, the painter sensed his work needed that elusive spark, but he could never discern what it was.
'Darling,' said his wife, 'Stefan will love it.'
She rubbed his back reassuringly as he bent to pick up the brushes.
'I hope so,' he sighed. 'But I can't charge him what I need to.'
'He can afford it.'
'No. Look at how he has helped us. He's lent us so much money. And he's yet to see a penny back. I'm going to let him have it for free. Darling, could you fix me a drink?'
His wife placed his gin and tonic behind him on the table with his paints and left the room.
A minute later she heard glass shattering and her husband curse.
Months passed and it seemed he would have to give up on his dream. He began looking for a job, though the thought of actually taking one was tantamount to suicide in his mind.
He was typing out his C.V. when an email arrived from Stefan.
'Hi Guys, I hope you're well. I feel most embarrassed, but at the same time elated for you. I had this collector over for supper and he was so taken with the portrait! He wants to stop it going to auction. Would you be offended if I sold it to him? I know it was really a gift for me, but if I can get a good price…'
'That's great news,' the painter typed back. 'I must admit, I only ever intended it for you, but it's your property. You can do as you wish with it.'
A week later an ecstatic Stefan arrived at the artist's door. He announced that not only could the painter repay his debt, but there was a tidy sum on top, which he insisted on paying the artist.
'Perhaps our luck is changing,' said his wife later as they enjoyed a meal in celebration.
'Yes, but I cannot understand why that particular painting attracted such a price. It's no better than those before or since.'
'I guess it just struck a chord with that buyer,' said his wife.
'Well, it's a mystery to me.'
'Just enjoy it,' she replied.
As time passed it became clear this might be a one-off. Whatever he did, the painter could not repeat his success. He produced what he considered far superior works, some of which his agent friend was convinced would sell for more. Each one struggled to meet their reserve at auction, and he was once more faced with ruin.
One day, as the artist was shaving, his wife kissed him on the cheek.
'Ow! Darling! Good morning. Much as I love your kisses, I've nicked myself.'
'You know you maybe a wonderful artist, but you are so clumsy sometimes.'
'I think I will take that as a compliment. I wish the buyers agreed with you though.'
She smiled and said: 'I've a feeling things will begin to look up soon.'
Weeks passed, and the artist returned to tinkering with his C.V. Then an upbeat email arrived.
'Fabulous News!' the title read. 'The study of the swans you asked me to put to auction in Geneva has far exceeded our expectations. An American dealer has bought it for twenty thousand dollars!'
by	Judy Upton
In a quiet road leading off of Brighton's Trafalgar Street, Scott Kingdom was putting the finishing touches to a graffiti masterpiece – a giant multi-coloured tag, depicting the word 'Scare'. Designed to appear as a 3D image, it featured a flock of giant bats flying out of an 'S' shaped crack in the brick wall. A student at the local art college by day, he was responsible for many of the area's most skillfully composed murals. He specialised in anamorphic perspective, a technique used by artists to trick the eye since the Renaissance. Influenced by pavement chalk illusionist Kurt Wenner, Scott hoped soon to be recognised for his work in the way someone like Banksy, Paul Insect or Darren Cullen was. He had already earned a little money, receiving commissions to brighten up a wall in Kemp Town and a warehouse in Hollingbury among others. Still he could not still resist the thrill of going out at night to illegally spray his designs in the graffiti hotspots of the city, wanting them to be viewed and compared with the best of the local street art.
Scott grew up in Horsham, West Sussex and had moved to Brighton six months previously, to take a degree at the art college, encouraged by its vibrant street art scene, and reputation as a haven for members of the counter-culture. He also wanted to escape the ever-watchful gaze of his narrow-minded, overly aspirant parents. Brighton was a cosmopolitan place with a dark, sleazy underbelly that appealed to the rebel within him. It was a place where it was easy to slip under the radar of officialdom, and where individual self-expression was celebrated, or so he had imagined. While Scott had expected to find himself at the centre of a group of like-minded souls in Brighton, instead still felt like an outsider looking in. Brighton already had its graffiti heroes and was, as he was discovering, a very tough place to make an impression.
The major graffiti sites of Brighton were dominated by a shady and secretive cliché of 'Old Masters' as they were referred to in hushed tones. Several of them had alleged links to the criminal underworld. They only let an artist into their group, when they felt that person has paid their dues, and they judged the work of others with a critical and informed eye. Scott was doing everything to win their approval, but so far, the mysterious Old Masters had completely ignored his efforts. This was something he had to change, and the only way to do that, was to leave his dramatic mark on the city.
Scott's part-time job in a supermarket paid towards the rent of his student room and allowed him to buy the best quality spray paints available. He also volunteered his time teaching school kids how to paint street art as part of community projects, and this year intended to take part in the city's world famous B Festival. Scott's best friend, Calum, was a lanky and slightly less cool teenager at the same college. Calum was on the photography course and dreamt of being a photojournalist on a top magazine. He was nerdily obsessed with graffiti, knowing the names of all the legends of London, Paris, New York, Rio and beyond. Calum regularly photographed Scott's work for various magazines and websites. The escaping bat design has already taken Scott the best part of the night to create, and Calum had now arrived to photograph it. "Sweet" was his only comment as his shutter began to whirr.
The local police patrol car passed by, cruising down Trafalgar Street towards London Road. The guys hid in the shadows until it had gone. Upon returning to the wall however, Scott and Calum could not believe what now faced them. Black paint had been sprayed over Scott's artwork, and painted upon it, in luminous white, was a realistic-looking cracked gravestone with 'RIP Scott' written on it.
"Were there any tags on the wall when you started, man?" Calum asked, looking worried.
Scott admitted there were. Calum freaked out, his voice suddenly high and shrill, "You must never spray over old graffs, man!" Calum explained that the art Scott had replaced might have been by one of the feared Old Masters. He looked around for a tag or some clue to the earlier painter's identity, but Scott had obscured not only the design, but also the tag. There was the small possibility that the artist who has made the gravestone threat was bluffing, but in Brighton, there had been violent deaths attributed to feuds over graffiti – a fact Scott, as an outsider, was not until this moment aware of.
The black paint on his wall was too thick and wet to paint over for the time being, so Scott called it a night. Heading for his student room, in a house conversion off Stanford Avenue, he heard a low hiss as he passed beneath the viaduct. It was not the hiss of a spray can, he knew that much. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the spitting cobra in the centre of a graffiti design, coil and lunge towards him. Scott leapt back, a car's hooter blared as it clipped him, knocking him to the ground.
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Report: Manchester United star join premier league rival club
June 26, 2022 admin 0 Comments Man United done deal, Man United Transfer News Today, Manchester United transfer news now, Old Trafford
Latest Manchester United transfer news today, Manchester United transfer news now, Man United done deal news now, breaking news from Old Trafford, latest transfer window update from Man United.
According to Sky Sports, Manchester United forward player, Jesse Lingard is set to leave Man United and joined West Ham as a free agent. And, it is understood the Hammers have made an offer to the player's representatives. The forward is officially out of contract on July 1.
Lingard had a successful loan spell at West Ham in the second half of the 2020/2021 season when he scored nine goals in 16 Premier League starts.
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Last season, Lingard managed just 355 minutes of Premier League football for Manchester United and scored twice. Newcastle United have also been linked with the 29-year-old, but the Hammers are believed to be the frontrunners for his signature.
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Betty Beatrice Warren Eagleton, 91, passed away Friday, November 23, 2018.
Memorial Service: 2 p.m. Thursday in Biggers Funeral Chapel.
Betty Eagleton was born June 17, 1927 near Wichita Falls. She moved to Fort Worth during high school and was a long time resident. Betty worked for Pangburn's Candy, Leonard Brothers, General Dynamics, and A. Davis Men's Clothing. She also owned and operated Camera Repair Center in Fort Worth with her husband. Betty enjoyed raising four sons, cooking homemade meals, hosting family dinners, spending time on the lake, and planting and gardening.
She was preceded in death by her husband of 64 years, Phil Eagleton.
Survivors: Sons, Randy Eagleton and wife, Lori, Russell Eagleton and wife, Paula, Ed Eagleton, and Kenneth Eagleton and wife, Kathy; nine grandchildren; and 11 great-grandchildren.