Unintended Consequences: A 9/11 Inspired Collection of Short Stories (Fictional) Series, Part I, Story 2

 PART I: THE GOOD 
Story 2

Hal Griffith, a once happily married man, sits in the shoe store his father began in 1970, now the proud owner, but worried about the decline in business and in his marriage. Gloria sits in their modest home in the Asylum Hill neighborhood, completely unaware of her husband’s plans to leave her.

It’s a beautiful, unseasonably warm and cloud-free day in Hartford, Connecticut, but Hal barely notices the sun streaming in through storefront windows in this musty, century-old building. His father’s health had been in decline when he handed over the keys almost 20 years earlier, but Main Street was hardly the bustling shopping district it had once been in it’s heyday and this morning it was more pronounced.

Little did Hal know that people were gathered around televisions in nearby cafes and the big box electronics store around the corner. They were glued to coverage out of New York City of the attacks on the buildings at One World Trade Center. And little did Gloria know back home that the world-renown address was Hal’s destination that evening. He’d simply told her he had business to conduct in Manhattan “for a few days.” She thought it was so unlike him to be so vague about his affairs. Of course, he’d been shut off and keeping a lot of things from her in recent months. She’d begged him to go on a summer vacation, but he always complained of their financial struggles tied to the declining store traffic.

That evening, he was to take the three-hour train ride from Hartford Union Station to Manhattan’s Financial District. From there, he’d arranged transportation to Marriott World Trade Center Hotel, where his mistress, Angela Prater had already checked in and was anxiously awaiting his arrival. As he was daydreaming about their clandestine adventure–two nights in lower Manhattan, followed by an escape to Spain–he was unaware that within minutes the South Tower was about to fall trapping Angela inside the hotel.

He was mulling over the letter he’d intended to leave at the store for Gloria. This hadn’t been an impulse decision, like the night he’d began his flirtation with Angela online. It had been building for years. He’d simply lost interest in his marriage and started visiting internet chat rooms in hopes of finding and making connection. His conversation with his mistress progressed from flirting online to late night phone conversations in his workshop. She’d been divorced for two years and worked in the Big Apple, but lived in the outskirts of New Jersey. He’d built up this fantasy of their future life together, starting with this trip to Spain. She was certainly up for the adventure. Angela had no idea that her check-in day at the Marriott would be her last.

By 10:30, when the North Tower reigned down over the hotel, breaking it in two, Hal was watching it unfold on live television from his cramped office. He looked on in horror as his destination was turned to rubble in an instant. He wondered if there’s any chance Angela could have survived it.

When she couldn’t be reached by cell phone, as there was no service anywhere in the city, he grew more anxious as the minutes turned to hours. The president had been briefed and was aboard Air Force One the last time he tried her by phone.

That evening, as the grim reality sank in and he sulked home, he carried with him the ill-fated letter he’d written to his wife. It explained everything. All the silence when she suspected he was depressed and detached would be explained to Gloria’s shock and horror. As he drove up the tree-lined hills of his neighborhood, past the Asylum Avenue Baptist Church where they were married two decades ago, the pit in his stomach began to heave. He thought he might have to pull to the curb and wretch stomach bile, since he had not eaten lunch.

Gloria, to her honor, took the news as well as could be expected. Not that it came as a complete surprise to her, the greatest shock was that he was taking time off work to travel internationally. She had to suspend reality like watching a movie to hear that the man who’d hardly left Hartford was going to board a jet to Barcelona the following day. She actually felt a pang of sorrow for the mistress who’d lost her life that day in the most unexpected way. Muslim extremists had actually flown two jets into the World Trade Center, toppling them onto the hotel that was to be her husband’s rendezvous point and escape. She just held her face in her hands for close to an hour before getting up from the table to draw a bath. Ted left her alone with her tears and scented candles. They went to bed that night without speaking a word.

It would take several years and loads of counseling and monthly dating for him to regain the trust of his first love. He’d begun to feel quite foolish in the aftermath of his failed escape attempt. He was deeply moved by her grace and mercy towards him, and even her sympathy for Angela. By the end of the decade, they would return to the Baptist church to renew their vows.

Unintended Consequences: A 9/11 Inspired Collection of Short Stories (Fictional)

(EDITOR’S NOTE: Facebook followers can skip to the end of this section and start below the image. I sectioned these stories-The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly-so we’ll start with The Good.)

FB POST: This Friday, unbelievably, marks the 25th Anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on our soil. I got the idea early last year to begin writing a collection of short stories (fictional, but based in reality) to commemorate the somber memorial. Then I got cold feet. Whether it was my self-consciousness about publishing my work or sensitivity toward the survivors and those who perished 9/11/2001, I quit writing. Only last month did I run the idea by my daughters who tend to be more sensitive on social issues than I. They both told me to trust my gut. And even though I’d feel ok had I published, the deadline is long past.

The title is Unintended Consequences.

My idea, and this just struck me today, is to publish the stories as a series on my blog and share them here for a few days around the anniversary. This timeline was going to be page one and sort of a reference for the stories to follow. (End of post, clipped).

PART I: THE GOOD 

Amanda Boudreaux heads East down Park Avenue, her favorite Zydeco CD in the Ford Focus’ stereo, pumping out music. It’s just another Tuesday and she’s about to make her weekly stop at Krispy Kreme, just ahead on the right. The toe-tapping music from her childhood home on the bayou makes her morning mood bright. The traffic is better on Park than the bottle neck near the mall on Apalachee Parkway and she’s happy as she swings through the Bojangles’ parking lot and into the drive-thru next door.

Across town, her boss folds down the sports page of the Tallahassee Democrat as his wife bends to kiss him goodbye. Ted Williams is taking time to savor his last bit of coffee before he leaves their northside home. He’ll take the backway into town today. He’s in no hurry, as his first stop is his daughter’s private school on Meridian, then a quick jaunt to his dentist’s office.

“You sure you don’t mind dropping Lorelei this morning,” she asks. He assures Madeline that he’s got plenty of time and he’s happy to do it. As he hears her Mercedes back out of the garage, he also savors her image. For a woman of 42, she has certainly kept her feminine curves intact. He smiles, then looks down at his garish weight hanging over the dining room chair he occupies at the moment. He can’t remember when the scales finally topped 300, but he’s been determined to exercise and lose some weight.

Miss Boudreaux rounds her station in the plush lobby of the Williams Insurance Agency, balancing her coffee mug on top of the box of donuts, as her oversized purse slides down her right arm. The pulse of the Zydeco music echoing in her ears seems to match the rhythm and pace of her heart. She sets the donuts and coffee on the receptionist counter and eases down into her ergonomic office chair, ready to greet her coworkers as they file in. Her typical Tuesday greeting at the ready–”At least it’s not Monday. Here, have a donut.”

Meanwhile, Ted is maneuvering his vehicle to the front of the drop-off line at North Florida Christian School. He brushes back a ribbon of his daughter’s golden locks to plant a kiss firmly on her forehead before wishing her a good day in school. She blushes, sure that her friends have seen this fatherly gesture, and steps down from the SUV without looking up. There’s minimal traffic taking the back route to Dr. White’s office and he pulls in behind her building at 7:50 a.m.

Williams Insurance Agency is a business he built from the ground up and Ted is proud of it. Growing up poor with a father in road construction, he worked hard selling insurance policies for big corporations until he was ready, nearly a decade before, to open his own business. He specializes in life and property insurance and his clientele includes most of the blue bloods in North Florida. He grew up amidst the tall, whispering pines north of town and is well-known in the community. Aside from his prospering business, he serves as head deacon at First Baptist downtown and as third basemen for the church’s softball team. His smoked brisket is the favorite at church picnics and he spins quite a yarn as he serves up the tender, succulent slices.

At 8:05, Frank Byers, the president of the Tallahassee Area Chamber of Commerce walks in late for a dental cleaning. “Late as usual,” Ted thinks to himself. He doesn’t think too highly of the lawyer and womanizer who puts on a righteous front from the second row of the church every Sunday and Wednesday night. “How goes it, Theodore?” And there it is, the name that only his mother ever used to address him when he had misstepped. “Fine, Frank. Still feeding the fishes out at Talquin?”

“You know it. Can’t say how many crickets I downed out by the dam last weekend…or how many Coors Light,” he chuckles. “Say, you’ve been sober going on how long is it?”

“Twelve years, since Lorelei was born,” Ted replies.

“Speaking of, how are the wife and daughter? Give Madeline my regards, will ya?” And he’s into the exam area before Ted can respond. The hygienist has been impatiently waiting for him, rolling her eyes as he enters.

Ted checks his watch, 8:12, and knows that he’ll be called back any minute. At his office on Duval Street, Amanda also notes the time, as she’s just answered their first call. She picks at a donut she doesn’t really want and sips what’s left of her coffee.

His cleaning finished, Ted reaches the reception desk to schedule an appointment six months out, but the staff is hovering around the receptionist’s computer monitor. She seems to be streaming a live feed from Manhattan on MSNBC. Over their gasps of horror, he hears what he believes is a low-flying jet screaming over the streets and exploding on impact. It’s 9:03 and the second tower has just been hit.

As he gets his bearings down Monroe Street, he receives a call from Amanda at work. “Sir, I don’t know if you’ve seen or heard the news this morning, but it’s awful,” her voice breaks. “There’s been some kind of attack on the World Trade Center,” but he cuts her off, veering to avoid a slow turner into the Publix parking lot. “I’m listening to what’s happened on the radio. I’m about 10 minutes from you,” he says.

“Well, don’t bother coming in, sir. The Governor has declared a state of emergency and all offices within a mile of the State Capital and his residence are shut down and being evacuated. That means we could be in danger. Do you want us to close or…” He’s not sure what to think. It stands to reason with Governor Bush being the president’s brother that the Capital City could be a target. No one seems to know what’s going on or who is behind it. All he knows is hijacked planes, buildings aflame, possible jumpers and missing jetliners. Now that the state is taking precautionary measures, he decides to do likewise.

“I think in an abundance of caution, let’s send everyone home, Mandy, and close the office for the day. If you’ll print my appointments and make the necessary calls from home, I’ll pay you your full days’ wages.”

“Yes, sir,” she says and hangs up quickly.

Ted’s a little rattled, but his dental checkup went well and he doesn’t mind working from home. What he doesn’t know is that his physical health is teetering on the brink. With clogged arteries to near blockage and undiagnosed diabetes, the three donuts he would’ve had at the office that day would have toppled him, just like the towers that were about to fall.

As fate would have it, Madeline will not become a widow on September 11, 2001, and Lorelei will not face junior high, high school or the rest of her life without her loving father.

(Next short story tomorrow. Check back or follow the link from Facebook).

Did Moses Exist? What of The Exodus?

I was taught my first year of high school in Old Testament class that the Pentateuch was penned by none other than Moses, a legend of the Torah. And of the stories he told, none was more central to the faith than the story of the Exodus.

IT IS ALL BULLSHIT!

First of all, he didn’t write it and second of all it never happened.

For such a central figure in history, there is not one shred of evidence that this man ever existed. There’s no hieroglyphic mention of him, there’s no historical references to him nor any archaeological evidence that he led some revolt of Jewish slaves out of Pharoah’s control.

And what of the confrontation where supposed plagues were brought upon the land, the last and most severe of which was the death of all firstborn sons. You would think such a devastating loss in Egyptian history would’ve been captured in the hieroglyphic record. Likewise, you would expect the total annihilation of pharaoh’s army in the Red Sea to have also been captured. But none of it exists in their comprehensive record.

Millions of freed peoples wandering the Sinai desert for 40 years would’ve surely left some archaeological record, but none of that exists either—not one pottery shard, bone fragment, signs of dwelling, cooking utensils or tools. How did they leave no trace?

What scholars believe is that the whole narrative was concocted by King Josiah’s scribes during the Babylonian captivity in the sixth century BCE. At a time went enslaved peoples needed hope and a rallying cry for returning to their homeland, what better story than the Exodus story? God was going to restore Israel.

It blows out of the water everything I was taught since Sunday School and the notion I believed that ancient scrolls once held the laws of Moses. I assumed those scrolls were the basis of the Torah, not some nation-building king trying to bolster the morale of his enslaved subjects.

I covered this in a video on my channel in Fall 2024. (Correction: Dr. Richard Carrier is someone I follow. I called him James in the video.)

https://youtu.be/FOmRNGtXGKg?is=Wl6oxUKExlyepkHJ (link)

What Went Wrong: A Reflection on America at 250

 

Global climate change science predicts we will be underwater due to rising seas. Metaphorically, is America already underwater???

With the nation’s deficit growing with each insane presidential edict—be it Netanyahu’s war or Reflecting Pool algae—to nearly 40 TRILLION DOLLARS, it would seem we are already neck deep.

When these brave men took up arms against their British overlords, do you think they had gilded, golden towers, unfettered consumerism or trillions owed to foreign creditors in mind? These simple farmers, blacksmiths and coopers just wanted a representative government that would allow them to continue to ply their respective crafts without undue government interference or burdensome taxes. “No taxation without representation,” was the rallying cry during our nation’s birth 250 years ago.

I don’t believe they could have foreseen where we are in the 21st Century—families drowning in debt, corporate greed overtaking our representative government or the malaise that’s overtaken most Americans. Our national attitude has gone from “Give me liberty or give me death,” to pass me the bag of overpriced chips and the remote. Real political change is the next person’s problem. We can’t be bothered. Meanwhile, we’ve willingly (or ignorantly, unknowingly) given over our vote to corporations. Where is our revolutionary zeal?!?! Who is ready to throw some tea into the harbor???

My daughter cries that we live in a fascist state. I understand her frustration. With real live Nazi cosplayers like Stephen Miller shaping national policy, it can certainly feel that way. DJT is merely a puppet of his Christian Nationalists handlers. But I believe his election is the result of our national malaise, the greed we’ve let soil the American fabric and our simply giving up on The Dream.

I really don’t think most of my neighbors care. That’s why they blindly celebrated 250 years of American “freedom” yesterday with flags, good and fireworks. But our freedom seems to be faltering, when women can’t get access to reproductive healthcare, children can’t get free, hot meals at school or disabled vets are denied their basic needs and end up on the streets. The dream of home ownership is just a pipe dream for many hardworking Americans. And the Epstein class seems content to tell the rest of us, “eat cake.” 

The freedom our nation was built upon was a notion to begin with, the signers of both the Declaration and Constitution held men in shackles. The notion of ALL “created by the Creator” being on equal footing was hogwash even as the ink was drying on these defunct documents. The very land comprising the original colonies was taken from original Americans. Was The Dream doomed from the beginning??

I have personally participated in protests over the last six years, but do I see any real change resulting from posters and rallying cries over bullhorns? Do I even believe our system of voting is fair, accurate or effective? Not really. What does one vote mean when elections are decided in corporate boardrooms. This is the same place we started, isn't it? Taxation without representation. Only the tax burden falls mainly on the backs of those struggling the most. The 99% are barely above water.

America, Land of the Free? Are we?

Palisades Promising This A.M.

Before and after photos of a commercial building, a historic one no less, that sits gutted in the heart of Palisades. This is the side that faces Antioch. It was one of the most gut-wrenching sites that I saw this morning on my bus ride. These are not my photos, but screen captures from Google Earth comparing pre-Palisades Fire to it's aftermath, some 15 months after the fires were extinguished by Mother Nature.

I'd been wanting to take the Big Blue Bus 9-Line up to Sunset Blvd, which runs through the middle of Pacific Palisades, but until students returned to the high school near this site (about a block away) in late January, I wasn't sure that the bus served the heart of town. Today, with time on my hands and a free bus pass, I decided to take the bus tour through town.

The post-apocalyptic videos I watched last January just showed block after block of residential homes burnt to their foundations, sometimes only a chimney left standing. And while I did see a slice of that this morning, it wasn't the hellscape that sat smoldering with burnt out vehicles everywhere like in the 2025 videos. No, the cars are long removed, fencing has gone up around most properties and signs of life were popping up over the tops of them everywhere I looked. Rebuilt homes in every phase of completion now dot the landscape, a promising sign. For this reason, I did not get off the bus and take photos or videos. I had recently looked at satellite images that still showed block after block of foundational remains. That's not all that is there today, thankfully.

I'd heard horror stories about the impossibilities of rebuilding due to bureaucratic and insurance hurdles, and that a lot of former homeowners decided to sell and relocate, but that wasn't the story Palisades told today. It was heartening to see.

The photos below are of the Sunset Blvd. side of the building, which is the perspective I had today. I was so curious what the stately old building once housed, that I had to look it up on Google Maps satellite view, then street view.

Here's to hoping they reach some sort of new normal before the decade is out, unlike my old haunt, Fort Myers Beach, which is still a long way from there.

 

So Long SoCal...Never found my pack

 

Book page:
https://www.bookpage.com/reviews/wired-for-love/

MY CURRENT READ (above) which I found at the Santa Monica Library. I'm just getting started and I already love it! Here's what she's said so far that resonated deeply...

(p.21) "People who report feelings of social isolation--what is typically called loneliness--have been shown to have less gray and white matter in key social areas of their brain. If they remain lonely, they are susceptible to a cascade of neurological events that echo throughout their bodies, leading to so many poor health outcomes that some public health experts now consider chronic loneliness on par with smoking as a grave risk to your health." WOW!

MY TENDENCY

I tend to be a pack animal. I grew up in a family of seven. I had lots of cousins my age that I saw semi-regularly, at least when I was a pre-teen. I was sort of a lone ranger in school, though, having trouble fitting in with all the kids who were bigger (as in more physically mature) and more athletic than me. The first couple years of high school were the WORST! Until midway through Junior year, after I had hit my growth spurt and my stride, I found my posse. These are the core group of friends I spent my last 1.5 years of high school hanging out with, going to parties, going to prom, etc. I had my pack. Then I moved to Florida.

Becoming involved musically and socially at a large church, I quickly found my pack in Tallahassee. Some of those friends remain dear to me today, some 40 years later.

I moved across country in the midst of the pandemic, to remain near to my daughters, who had moved with their mother to Colorado. It was a big leap to a much colder, higher altitude, high desert climate. Beyond my ex and my girls, I knew no one. It didn't take long, though, to assimilate. Even without the music scene, I found it easy to win friends and gain their trust. For almost 11 months, I had my pack.

After I left there, I lived with family in Indiana before returning to Florida. At the beach, I re-engaged with old friends, some dear ones, even an old girlfriend and the music scene, joining a local cover band. I had my pack of misfits, again.

I operate better in a pack.

MY PRESENT REALITY

In the book, I'm learning how evolutionarily beneficial it is for the brain to be a pack animal (socially connected). New brain science is proving how neural connections are multiplied with regular social interaction. No wonder I gravitate naturally towards others and finding connection.

That has been extremely hard in Los Angeles, where I've been living the last 14 months. I have no pack, no posse, and only a few regular contacts out here. I am lonely. I do not want to damage my mental or physical health when I've come so far.

With the help of my therapist, I've decided I need to be back in Florida. This SoCal experience, which was totally impulsive, has been a major flop. And while I've enjoyed the adventure of somewhere new, and I can mark dipping my toes in the Pacific Ocean off my bucket list, I am not thriving nor happy here. I've maintained my peace for the most part, moreso here lately since coming to this decision.

This summer, before I make the cross-country backtrack, I plan to visit my daughters who I haven't seen in nearly five years. They are grown and in college now, still living near the Rockies in Colorado. If all goes right, I'll have the whole summer with them and leave for Florida once fall is about to set-in. I loathe the cold.

My final destination, I believe, is Key West (or somewhere in The Florida Keys). I have friends down there. I belong at sea level in a warmer climate on "island time." That suits this pack animal just fine.

Exploring Epstein’s Cult

 

In my video, I react to @kallmekris (YouTuber Kris Collins) video, The HORRIFYING Cult of Epstein Exposed. I mistitled it in the above reaction video.

To say I’m repulsed and disgusted by the alleged crimes already exposed is a vast understatement. The salacious details of child sex trafficking and repeated abuse and YES even murder TURNS MY STOMACH!

Everyone involved from current and former presidents — BOTH PARTIES so don’t get it twisted — should be tried, convicted and gutted, as far as I’m concerned! I have absolute zero tolerance for this. But as we all know, the law does not apply equally to all. The color of justice is green! That sickens me just as much.

As a nation, HELL as a society, we need to keep the pressure on, demand a full release of the UNREDACTED FILES and swift justice for all involved. Talk about the disgusting underbelly of human society! These people knew no bounds. THEY SHOULD NOT BE ABOVE THE LAW!!!

Kris’ video at last check had 120k views in just five hours. It’s well worth your time. Again the link is in the description of my video, above.

In closing, FUCK THESE SICK FUCKING FUCKS!!!!

#EpsteinFiles