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MILANI presents to you the â Tracky Bsâ Now at The Mens Stadium âŒïž @tmsevent
ð GIVE AWAY TIME ð Like, Share , and Comment your avatar name for a chance to win the â Tracky Bs â release now at TMS.
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/themensstadium/230/133/2009
Compatibility : Legacy / Jake / Gianni
Gender : Male
- 20+ Sweats
Event release with many more to come in the near future. In âMilaniâ youâre always going to drip with the drop. This cannot be found anywhere except exclusively through Us. ð
PACIFIC OCEAN (Apr. 19, 2021) â An MV-22B Osprey assigned to Air Test and Evaluation (HX) Squadron 21 of Naval Air Station (NAS) Patuxent River, Md., lands aboard Military Sealift Command hospital ship USNS Mercyâs (T-AH 19) flight deck Apr. 19. Mercy is underway off the coast of Southern California completing Dynamic Interface Testing, where the shipâs aviation facilities will be evaluated for compatibility with the V-22 Osprey and MH-60 Seahawk, and establish launch and recovery windows in adverse weather conditions. Mercy recently returned to its homeport in San Diego from a regular overhaul in Portland, Ore., where improvements were made to its flight deck to support multiple aircraft platforms. Mercy must be in a five-day-activation status in order to support missions over the horizon, and be ready, reliable and resilient to support mission commanders. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Jake Greenberg)
Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
â For K9 Weekend Sale â Gwyneth â Zayan â
â Gwyneth Rigged For â Reborn â Legacy Female â Kupra â Lara â MaitreyaX â
â Zayan Rigged For â Reborn â Legacy F/M â Kupra â Lara â MaitreyaX â Jake â Gianni â Kario â
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/33
â Cult's Social Media Links â
The Polaroid SLR 680, released in 1982, is a folding single-lens reflex (SLR) instant camera known for its advanced features like sonar autofocus, built-in flash, and compatibility with 600 film. It built upon the foundation of the earlier SX-70 camera by incorporating these new technologies and offering a more professional-grade experience for instant photography.
â Hot New Release for Reborn Event - opens April 22nd, 2024 â The Yadria heels are sleek and sexy, and they also lace up, and these would look amazing with almost any outfit!
â Rigged For â Legacy F â Reborn â Maitreya â Gen-X â Kupra â Lara â
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options â
â Remember to always try the DEMOS! â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Reborn LM: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/eBody/64/251/22
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
â Item â The Charmed heels for tied up for any little witch at heart!
â Rigged For â Reborn â Legacy Female â Maitreya â Kupra â GEN-X â
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Lore - The Game Room:
Single room
24 LI, 8x12m Skybox Game Room
Includes Game Over Neon and RGB Hex Light Rig
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lore - Gamer Neons:
⢠1-2LI each
⢠4 signs
⢠Tintable neon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lore - Classic Gamer Signs:
⢠1-3LI each
⢠4 signs
⢠Tintable neon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lore - Game On Chair:
⢠5LI
⢠22 single sits including gaming for M & F, 30 cuddles in PG, Adult has 47 anims + INM integration & clean up, P & V compatibility, and Lovebridge
⢠21 colors for cushion & base + tintable neon
~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lore - D20 Lamp:
⢠Punch Pass Prize
⢠1LI each
⢠Freestanding & with base included
⢠4 colors
⢠MadPea's PlayXpo Has Closed, This Item Was Likely Limited Only To Event <3 Check Main Store For Similar Items and Styles.
Lore Mainstore: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Lore/198/77/954
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Blog: spilledgutsblogs.blogspot.com/2025/07/cat-cafe-manager.html
Check the compatibility of the product before making your purchase, because it will not have any kind of refund.
Shape bento shape, for body MAITREYA, can be used with other catwa heads, but will not have the same shape as the picture above, so I recommend using the head compatible with the photo.
Photos of the vendor did not undergo any kind of alteration when being placed in photoshop.
Do not hesitate to contact us.
thanks
ðhttps://marketplace.secondlife.com/pt-BR/stores/184860
ð
Title.
In front of Grand Central Terminal.
Bâ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
æ¥æ¬èªã®ããããçã¯äžã®æ¹ã«ãããŸãð
âSynopsisâ
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Koreaâs cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not moneyâbut to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinationsâmirroring one anotherâignite a nationâs deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidateâs life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New Yorkâembedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) liveâsymbols of âthe order America built.â
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: âWe will never bow to terror.â
Among the crowd, Rafiâs operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasserâonce Rafiâs comrade, haunted by the memory of his sisterâs death in Gazaâtries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafiâs conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the cityâs fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
âCharactersâ
Anaya Patel â 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh â 26, Anayaâs boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato â 25, Anayaâs friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford â 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake â 26, Justinâs fiancée
President Grant M. Langford â 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles âChuckâ Baines â 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett â 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett â 30, Ryanâs wife
Owen Reed â 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance â 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway â 30, Jackâs colleague
Darryl Ross â 29, Jackâs colleague
Elijah Kane â 28, Jackâs colleague
Marcus Dane â 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett â 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell â 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcusâs subordinate
Veronica Reeves â 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris â 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen â 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe â 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad â 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser â 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam â 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah â 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza â 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad â 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari â 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser â 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi â 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Bâ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan â the man who challenges Netflix. ð
(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)
Manhattan, New York, U.S.A. 2017 ⊠10 / 16
(Todayâs photo. It has not been published before, but Iâve recently re-edited it from the original.)
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
English lyrics and Japanese translation
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
Volume 19ð
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Twilight sank over the harbor town, dimming the air as the rusted girders along the pier turned a burnished red.
The park in Red Hook was nearly empty; the chains of the swings stirred in the wind, clinking faintly.
Childrenâs laughter drifted from afar, only deepening the stillness that hung over the place.
Amir stood outside the wire fence, gazing at the scene, and something half-forgotten stirred within him.
There had been evenings, too, in the rubble of Gaza.
Out from the ruins of broken houses, his mother would appearâ
breathless, dust clinging to her clothes, coming to find him, to hold him close.
He could still recall the scent of her hair, the warmth of her arms.
âLetâs go home,â she had said.
Even if âhomeâ was nothing more than a collapsing shell of stone and dust, her voice alone had led him back.
A mattress laid atop debris.
A room with no walls, only wind.
Yet each time his motherâs hand brushed his forehead, that place became, undeniably, home.
Amirâs gaze returned to the New York children swaying on the swings.
The innocent rhythm between mothers and sons was repeating itself again, bathed in the soft light of dusk.
It was a world untouched by weapons or blood.
âRafi,â he murmured, barely louder than the wind,
âmaybe⊠we donât have to go on.â
Rafi didnât look away.
His eyes were clouded with the sediment of Gazaâblood and dust, the memory of ruin.
His fatherâs body fallen in shadow.
Walls blackened with fire.
Dreams torn apart.
What filled him was not tenderness, but a cold and merciless anger.
âDonât forget, Amir,â he said, his voice hard as stone.
âIn the same place where your mother held you, our fathers were slaughtered.
Those ruins are not just ruins.â
Amir fell silent.
The riverâs surface rippled red in the twilight; across the East River, the towers of Manhattan shimmered faintly, blurred at the edges.
Peace and destruction, memory and hatredâ
they mingled together in the same wind.
Behind the wire fence, childrenâs laughter still rang out.
But to the two men, it sounded only like an echo from another world.
The setting sun sank quietly, staining the bridgeâs iron joints red as the heat beneath it trembled in the air.
Rainwater pooled in the cracks of the concrete, reflecting a thin sheet of gold.
A faint steam rose from the damp air, and the salt from the harbor clung to Amirâs nose.
The boarded door of an abandoned factory hung loose,
the wind pushing in old newspapers and leaves, swirling them into tiny spirals.
From afar came the cry of cicadas, and a city bus exhaled a sigh through its brakes.
Beneath the bridge stood Amir, Rafi, and several others scattered in silence.
Some wiped sweat from their brows, eyes lowered to the ground;
others rested hands upon the girders, gazing out toward the distant light.
At intervals, the shadow of a parent waiting for a child passed by,
a white-roofed van gliding through the heat.
Amir rubbed his back, the sweat clinging to his shirt, and sat down in the shadow of the bridge pier.
Rafi stood a short distance away.
Their shadows stretched long, wavering under the harsh westering sun.
No one among their comrades moved; their stillness was a kind of breathless waiting.
âCanât we stop here?â Amirâs voice wavered into the humid air.
In his mind, he saw again his motherâs hand reaching through a crack in the stone wallâ
that small, dirt-stained hand that once touched his cheek.
The desire to return to that warmth still flickered faintly in his chest, like an ember refusing to die.
Rafi clenched his jaw, and spoke through his teeth, his words as brief and cold as a stone cast into the sea.
âDonât forget, Amir.
If you forget that night, weâll betray the dead.â
His voice merged with the creak of metal underfoot, irreconcilable with the laughter of children or the cry of cicadas drifting in the distance.
Amir narrowed his eyes, watching the flow of light beyond the railing.
Across the river, windows shimmered in layersâ
places where life went on, where dinners were being served,
where childrenâs laughter and footsteps would echo softly through the gardens.
A deep shadow cut across Rafiâs face.
His fists were clenched, the veins on his hands taut and bright.
âThat wish of yours,â he said quietly,
âdo you know it might become someoneâs gravestone?â
Amirâs gaze fell to a small white rabbit doll at his feet.
It was caked with dust, one eye missing.
Perhaps it belonged to a child who once played beneath this bridgeâ
or perhaps it had simply wandered here by chance.
Either way, to Amir, that single missing eye seemed like a fleeting glimpse of a world quietly disappearing.
Silence spread between them.
The wind hummed low through the iron beams.
Around them, the world went on moving.
A van door shut.
A parent touched a childâs shoulder.
A bus turned the corner.
Their comrades drew shallow breaths, eyes fixed on the ground or the far horizon.
Without looking back, Amir began walking toward the city beyond the bridgeâs shadow.
Behind him came a single breath from Rafiâ
a sound that carried the stillness of a corpse.
The summer dusk slowly swallowed the bridge.
The men beneath it remained as faint silhouettes,
poised between the red of sunset and the cold gleam of steel.
Rafi quietly unzipped his bag and drew out a tablet.
His fingers trembled slightly,
but he took a slow breath to steady himself,
and aimed the camera at the mark of âBââ at the bottom of mellow-echo.net.
A dark screen flickered to life, revealing a deep-layer QR code.
Without hesitation, his finger slid along the words:
âC4-ID: Vanta+Core / Ready.â
That movement sent a faint tremor through the tension of the men beneath the bridge,
blending with the dry scent of rust and the damp summer air.
From the far side of the East River, under another bridge,
sparks began to riseâone, then anotherâ
tiny flashes glowing red in the dark.
The light quivered across the shadows,
and the sound of metal striking metal echoed low.
Rafiâs eyes followed the fading silhouette of Amirâs back.
The others stepped silently away,
drawing a little farther from the bridge.
Moist air clung to Rafiâs skin,
and the mingled red of dusk and chill of steel filled the space around him.
In the hush beneath the bridge,
each flash and creak formed a strange rhythm in his chest.
A cicada cried once in the distance.
The cityâs murmur faded to a far-off haze.
Pressed beneath that wave of tension,
the men held their breath,
confirming each otherâs presence only through glances and the rhythm of their breathing.
The summer dusk slowlyâyet surelyâ
swallowed the bridge, the city,
and the shadows that remained.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title.
ã°ã©ã³ãã»ã³ãã©ã«ã¿ãŒããã«åã
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
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3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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There's a joy to hearing the sequence of the main landing gear taking up the weight of the aircraft and the trust reversers going through their cycle. For me, there's no joy in flying anymore. It's all about getting on to the next thing.
...On a flight from New York's La Guardia airport to Chicago's O'Hare, the captain observed interference on the navigational equipment during take off. When the flight crew checked the cabin, they found a passenger using a lap top computer and asked him to turn it off. Some time later, when the same navigational problems recurred, the flight attendants discovered the same man had again turned on his lap top. On arrival at O'Hare, as the plane was descending after a long delay amid severe weather, VORs again had problems. Once more the passenger had turned his computer on. He refused repeatedly to turn it off until the captain finally took it away and had the pig headed passenger arrested for disorderly conduct when the aircraft landed.
â Linda Geppert
Source: "Faults and Failures: EMI in the Sky," EMC Test and Design, March 1994, pp. 47.
In 1995, [Boeing] bought a laptop computer from a passenger on a 737 flight after the crew suspected it of causing the autopilot to disconnect while cruising. Although the machine emitted [electromagnetic] interference above the limits âŠat the time, subsequent tests could not reproduce the problem.â
â Chris Edwards
Source: âScreaming Circuits: Design Teams are Trying to Find Ways to Overcome the Apparently Random Nature of Electronic Interference,â Engineering and Technology, February 2014, pp. 69.
Hint: it's not random.
Journalism grade image.
Source: 4200x2800 16-bit TIF file.
Please do not copy this image for any purpose.
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Hi Spookies & Culties, Here is your "must have these Cult Items" Weekend Shopping List!!
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â Cult's Social Media Links â
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â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
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Title.
Beyond the Glass.
Bâ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
æ¥æ¬èªã®ããããçã¯äžã®æ¹ã«ãããŸãð
âSynopsisâ
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Koreaâs cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not moneyâbut to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinationsâmirroring one anotherâignite a nationâs deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidateâs life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New Yorkâembedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) liveâsymbols of âthe order America built.â
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: âWe will never bow to terror.â
Among the crowd, Rafiâs operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasserâonce Rafiâs comrade, haunted by the memory of his sisterâs death in Gazaâtries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafiâs conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the cityâs fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
âCharactersâ
Anaya Patel â 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh â 26, Anayaâs boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato â 25, Anayaâs friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford â 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake â 26, Justinâs fiancée
President Grant M. Langford â 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles âChuckâ Baines â 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett â 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett â 30, Ryanâs wife
Owen Reed â 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance â 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway â 30, Jackâs colleague
Darryl Ross â 29, Jackâs colleague
Elijah Kane â 28, Jackâs colleague
Marcus Dane â 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett â 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell â 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcusâs subordinate
Veronica Reeves â 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris â 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen â 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe â 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad â 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser â 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam â 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah â 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza â 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad â 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari â 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser â 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi â 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Bâ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan â the man who challenges Netflix. ð
(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)
Manhattan, New York, U.S.A. 2017 ⊠2 / 16
(Todayâs photo. It has not been published before, but Iâve recently re-edited it from the original.)
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
English lyrics and Japanese translation
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
Volume 19ð
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Twilight sank over the harbor town, dimming the air as the rusted girders along the pier turned a burnished red.
The park in Red Hook was nearly empty; the chains of the swings stirred in the wind, clinking faintly.
Childrenâs laughter drifted from afar, only deepening the stillness that hung over the place.
Amir stood outside the wire fence, gazing at the scene, and something half-forgotten stirred within him.
There had been evenings, too, in the rubble of Gaza.
Out from the ruins of broken houses, his mother would appearâ
breathless, dust clinging to her clothes, coming to find him, to hold him close.
He could still recall the scent of her hair, the warmth of her arms.
âLetâs go home,â she had said.
Even if âhomeâ was nothing more than a collapsing shell of stone and dust, her voice alone had led him back.
A mattress laid atop debris.
A room with no walls, only wind.
Yet each time his motherâs hand brushed his forehead, that place became, undeniably, home.
Amirâs gaze returned to the New York children swaying on the swings.
The innocent rhythm between mothers and sons was repeating itself again, bathed in the soft light of dusk.
It was a world untouched by weapons or blood.
âRafi,â he murmured, barely louder than the wind,
âmaybe⊠we donât have to go on.â
Rafi didnât look away.
His eyes were clouded with the sediment of Gazaâblood and dust, the memory of ruin.
His fatherâs body fallen in shadow.
Walls blackened with fire.
Dreams torn apart.
What filled him was not tenderness, but a cold and merciless anger.
âDonât forget, Amir,â he said, his voice hard as stone.
âIn the same place where your mother held you, our fathers were slaughtered.
Those ruins are not just ruins.â
Amir fell silent.
The riverâs surface rippled red in the twilight; across the East River, the towers of Manhattan shimmered faintly, blurred at the edges.
Peace and destruction, memory and hatredâ
they mingled together in the same wind.
Behind the wire fence, childrenâs laughter still rang out.
But to the two men, it sounded only like an echo from another world.
The setting sun sank quietly, staining the bridgeâs iron joints red as the heat beneath it trembled in the air.
Rainwater pooled in the cracks of the concrete, reflecting a thin sheet of gold.
A faint steam rose from the damp air, and the salt from the harbor clung to Amirâs nose.
The boarded door of an abandoned factory hung loose,
the wind pushing in old newspapers and leaves, swirling them into tiny spirals.
From afar came the cry of cicadas, and a city bus exhaled a sigh through its brakes.
Beneath the bridge stood Amir, Rafi, and several others scattered in silence.
Some wiped sweat from their brows, eyes lowered to the ground;
others rested hands upon the girders, gazing out toward the distant light.
At intervals, the shadow of a parent waiting for a child passed by,
a white-roofed van gliding through the heat.
Amir rubbed his back, the sweat clinging to his shirt, and sat down in the shadow of the bridge pier.
Rafi stood a short distance away.
Their shadows stretched long, wavering under the harsh westering sun.
No one among their comrades moved; their stillness was a kind of breathless waiting.
âCanât we stop here?â Amirâs voice wavered into the humid air.
In his mind, he saw again his motherâs hand reaching through a crack in the stone wallâ
that small, dirt-stained hand that once touched his cheek.
The desire to return to that warmth still flickered faintly in his chest, like an ember refusing to die.
Rafi clenched his jaw, and spoke through his teeth, his words as brief and cold as a stone cast into the sea.
âDonât forget, Amir.
If you forget that night, weâll betray the dead.â
His voice merged with the creak of metal underfoot, irreconcilable with the laughter of children or the cry of cicadas drifting in the distance.
Amir narrowed his eyes, watching the flow of light beyond the railing.
Across the river, windows shimmered in layersâ
places where life went on, where dinners were being served,
where childrenâs laughter and footsteps would echo softly through the gardens.
A deep shadow cut across Rafiâs face.
His fists were clenched, the veins on his hands taut and bright.
âThat wish of yours,â he said quietly,
âdo you know it might become someoneâs gravestone?â
Amirâs gaze fell to a small white rabbit doll at his feet.
It was caked with dust, one eye missing.
Perhaps it belonged to a child who once played beneath this bridgeâ
or perhaps it had simply wandered here by chance.
Either way, to Amir, that single missing eye seemed like a fleeting glimpse of a world quietly disappearing.
Silence spread between them.
The wind hummed low through the iron beams.
Around them, the world went on moving.
A van door shut.
A parent touched a childâs shoulder.
A bus turned the corner.
Their comrades drew shallow breaths, eyes fixed on the ground or the far horizon.
Without looking back, Amir began walking toward the city beyond the bridgeâs shadow.
Behind him came a single breath from Rafiâ
a sound that carried the stillness of a corpse.
The summer dusk slowly swallowed the bridge.
The men beneath it remained as faint silhouettes,
poised between the red of sunset and the cold gleam of steel.
Rafi quietly unzipped his bag and drew out a tablet.
His fingers trembled slightly,
but he took a slow breath to steady himself,
and aimed the camera at the mark of âBââ at the bottom of mellow-echo.net.
A dark screen flickered to life, revealing a deep-layer QR code.
Without hesitation, his finger slid along the words:
âC4-ID: Vanta+Core / Ready.â
That movement sent a faint tremor through the tension of the men beneath the bridge,
blending with the dry scent of rust and the damp summer air.
From the far side of the East River, under another bridge,
sparks began to riseâone, then anotherâ
tiny flashes glowing red in the dark.
The light quivered across the shadows,
and the sound of metal striking metal echoed low.
Rafiâs eyes followed the fading silhouette of Amirâs back.
The others stepped silently away,
drawing a little farther from the bridge.
Moist air clung to Rafiâs skin,
and the mingled red of dusk and chill of steel filled the space around him.
In the hush beneath the bridge,
each flash and creak formed a strange rhythm in his chest.
A cicada cried once in the distance.
The cityâs murmur faded to a far-off haze.
Pressed beneath that wave of tension,
the men held their breath,
confirming each otherâs presence only through glances and the rhythm of their breathing.
The summer dusk slowlyâyet surelyâ
swallowed the bridge, the city,
and the shadows that remained.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
18
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title.
ã¬ã©ã¹ã®åããã
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
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This is my very first 'Moc'. The idea was to create a building inspired in the Haussmann style present in most of central Paris, without any piece count limit that would keep the modular compatibility and the minifig scale. So this is not a direct replica of any particular one. The street name is also fictional, there is no 'Boulevard des LumiÚres' in Paris, but its spirit is highly Parisian.
Hi Spookies & Culties, Here is your "must have these Cult Items" Weekend Shopping List!!
â Item â The Aurea heels are smexy with chains and studs & could go with any outfit!
â Rigged For â Reborn â Maitreya-X â Kupra â GEN-X â Legacy â
â Featuring Color Hud w/ 10 light colors & 10 dark colors & 3 metal colors!
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility â
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Title.5:00 AM. Buildings. Buildings. Buildings.
(LUMIX G3 shot)
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. ⊠1 / 7
Images.
ELLEGARDEN â The End Of The World
youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=eHMnC19wUOKlJbVK
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My new novel.
Bâ (B Flat)
This is my ninth novel.
The following is only the first draft. I'll be revising it a lot.
(It is, of course, not the final version.)
This is a continuation of Part 6. The previous part can be found here
:www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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My New Novel.
Bâ (B Flat)
ââŠWhatâs that?â
Anaâs question went unanswered. Amir only stared at the surface of the river.
The edge of the cloth around the body fluttered, revealing half of a manâs faceâpale, rigid, and yet retaining an expression that was almost serene. So still that it was as if he were still adrift in a dream.
Professor Zakaria Haddadâ
It would be some time yet before Ana learned that this was his name.
âDonât move! Hands behind your head! Lie face down!â
The sharp, cracking voice tore through the tranquil air of the park.
From deep within the park, uniformed officers came running down the gentle slope of the grass. Some stopped, aiming their weapons in this direction, their gaze fixed squarely on Amir.
Unruffled, Amir quietly crouched beside Nadia.
âNadia, hereâkeep this for me.â
He held out the sketch from earlier.
A half-open door, a curtained window, a house veiled in shadow.
Nadiaâs eyes widened as she looked at him.
âWhyâŠ?â
âBecause itâs not over yet.â
With that, Amir rose slowly to his feet. His gentle smile shifted, replaced by a cool, detached stare directed at the officers.
âAmir! What are youââ Ana began, moving toward him, but he glanced back briefly.
âThank you, Ana. I could only come here because you were here.â
Those words slipped into the wind, and then he ranâkicking through the reeds, sliding over the grass, vaulting a handrail, and vanishing toward the skate park beyond.
âCut him off! Donât let him get away!â
Officers shouted into their radios, some breaking into a sprint.
Instinctively, Ana spread her arms as if to shield the children.
In a small voice, Nadia murmured,
ââŠWhy is he leavingâŠ?â
The scent of the wind shifted.
Interwoven with the riverâs smell was a faint breath of damp air, drifting up from underground. Beyond it, in the construction zone between the park and the redevelopment area, a rusted iron hatch just beyond the chain-link fence eased shut with a metallic clank. When one of the pursuing officers reached the spot, all that remained were the footprints on the ground and the slightly ajar hatch.
The stench of sewage, the tang of rusted metal. A faint sound of water.
And as Amirâs shadow slippedâquietly, but unmistakablyâinto the depths beneath the city, the first explosion erupted far below the Domino Sugar Refinery.
The blast tore through the silence, sending a tremor rumbling outward. Ancient brick walls cracked with a sharp report. A vast plume of smoke and dust rose at once, rattling windowpanes until they burst, scattering shards in every direction. Steel beams groaned, and walls bereft of support sagged before slowly giving way. The heavy buildingâs collapse, steeped in history, sounded like the groan of a giant waking from a centuries-long slumber.
A few minutes earlier, a small helicopter carrying a local news crew had been flying south along the Brooklyn waterfront. The riverâs surface quivered faintly; the city was not yet fully awake. Morning shadows lay neatly arrayed between the rooftops, while a line of birds traced the sky. Below, life seemed nothing but tranquil.
Off the port side, toward the low sky above Kent Avenue, a sudden pillar of white smoke rose.
ââŠHold on, thereâs smokeâŠâ The female reporterâs voice wavered in the headset as the pilot tilted the aircraft. The cameraâs zoom found the plume just as the refineryâs roof trembledâlifting slightly with the blast of dustâwhile the old brick walls split with a vicious crack. Steel beams bowed; glass burst upward into the sky like a flurry of snow.
The roar shook the air, its vibration spreading in ripples from deep within the ground. The sheer mass and sluggish surrender of the collapsing structure could be felt even through sight alone.
Peering into the viewfinder, the reporter let out a small gasp. The pilot banked gently, bringing the frame closer to the smoke.
ââŠViewers, there has just been a major explosion here on the Brooklyn waterfront. The smoke is⊠spreading rapidly.â Her voice, caught between shock and tension, quickened as it chased the unfolding scene. The camera stayed locked on the detailsâthe fractures in the brick, the bending of steel, the moment the glass disintegrated into powdery shards.
And before she could finish her commentary, another column of smoke erupted in the far right of the frameâthis time about four miles inland, at 316 Rutledge Street Tower, just east of Broadway.
The skeletal frame of the nearly completed high-rise shook violently, sparks bursting from its joints. Concrete floor slabs sheared layer by layer, the force of their collapse cascading downward in a chain reaction. Even from above, one could see the buildingâs form being pulled apart by gravity.
ââŠThis is⊠another building. I believe this is the Rutledge Street Tower, farther inland in Brooklyn. A second⊠explosion.â
The helicopterâs camera swung toward it, catching the exact moment the frame shuddered and the joints spat fire. Concrete floors pancaked, the destruction leaping from level to level in plain view from the aerial shot.
The reporter drew in her breath. ââŠThis is a coordinatedâmultipleââ She bit off the rest, for a third plume was already piercing the pale morning sky.
ââŠA third one. North along Kent Avenue⊠near Wythe, perhaps? A new residential buildingâŠâ
Through the zoom, brand-new windows shattered in unison, scattering bright fragments into the sunlight. Interior staircases collapsed as if seized by the wind, the framework gradually losing its shape.
The smoke soon blanketed the city, drifting out over the river. A gray curtain, its edges tinged gold by the sun, wavered in the air. Brooklynâs colors seemed to drain away, centered on three circles of ruin.
ââŠThe dust is⊠covering the city. This isâŠâ Her voice rasped, the ending trembling. The camera showed Brooklynâs waterfront wrapped in smoke, which spread slowly over the river, haloed faintly in gold by the sun.
ââŠWeâre bringing you the scene as it unfolds⊠but this is no accidental fire. Three incidents at onceâclearly intentionalââ She cut herself off, quickly amending, âDetails remain unclear,â because the male crew member beside her had shaken his head.
On the ground, patrons at a café along Kent Avenue had first only craned their necks to see the smoke. Fingers around coffee cups began to stiffen; smiles faded. Then came the deep bass resonance, vibrating through walls and floors, followed by a delayed tremor that traveled up their spinesâat which point chairs toppled and people began to run. Glass crunched underfoot. Around the corner, reddish dust curled like a living thing, swallowing the shadows of utility poles. Coughs, children crying, hands raised with smartphones. Sirens swelled from several directions, and people scattered as though chased by the sound.
In the Manhattan newsroom, breaking-news banners flashed red, the helicopter feed filling the screen behind the anchor desk. Collapsing brick, twisting steel, glass glittering in the sunâall played again and again in slow motion, pressing the studio air heavier with each loop.
âThis is clearly plannedââ a male commentator began, but the anchor interjected, âWe cannot confirm that yet.â Views from ground and air overlapped, burning into the viewersâ eyes the image of a city drowned in smoke.
Meanwhile, on a quiet pier on the Manhattan side, Rafi stood alone. The river was smooth as a mirror, but across the water, the skyline was losing its shape in slow motion. The distant explosions reached him like thunder in the chest, the scent of metal and cordite carried on the wind. Narrowing his eyes, he watched the crumbling city as though it were a single painting.
In the depths of his mind, another city roseâthe streets of his hometown, long since buried in rubble. Charred stone walls, the scent of blood, a sky blurred with dust. The roar of bombing in Gaza had always been paired with the strange stillness that followed. In that moment when cries went silent and only the wind remainedâ
That silence had stolen back into his ears now.
The three buildings were performing, almost in unison, an architecture of collapse.
The roar cleaved the cityâs quiet, as if to declare the beginning of Rafiâs revenge. Standing in the cold wind, he savored the way past memories and present plans intertwined. The smell of dust and smoke called forth old pain. Anger and calculation, held deep in his chest, seemed to breathe in the same rhythm.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
8
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
7
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
6
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
5
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
4
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
ååäºæã ãã«ããã«ããã«ã
( LUMIX G3 shot )
ãã³ããã¿ã³ããã¥ãŒãšãŒã¯ãã¢ã¡ãªã«ã2017. ⊠1 / 7
Images.
ELLEGARDEN ⊠The End Of The World
youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=eHMnC19wUOKlJbVK
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åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
第9匟ã
以äžã¯ããŸã åçš¿ã®æ®µéã§ãããŸã ãŸã ãŸã ãŸã æšæ²ããŸãã
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ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
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8
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
7
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
6
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
5
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
4
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
è¿œèšããã®å°èª¬ãå€å°èª¬æããŸããã
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
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ãBombayåïŒãã³ãã€åãhhåïŒã
â¢ç¹åŸŽïŒéåžžã®ABOè¡æ¶²åãæããªãïŒAãBãOã«åé¡ãããªãïŒç¹æ®ãªåã
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â¢çºçé »åºŠïŒã€ã³ãã§ã¯1äžäººã«1人çšåºŠã ããäžççã«ã¯çŽ250äžäººã«1人ãšãã
â¢èŒžè¡å¶éïŒåãBombayåãã茞è¡ã§ããªãã
2
2024幎ããŒããŒã倧åŠéŠåžã®åæ¥åŒã¹ããŒããç¥ããªãããšã®åã
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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#Exhibition #ãã¶ã€ã³ãã§ã¹ã¿ #ãã¶ãã§ã¹ #designfesta #tokyobigsight #æ±äº¬ããã°ãµã€ã #Lumix #ã«ããã¯ã¹ #ãããœãã㯠#Panasonic #G3 #ãã¡ãŸã #å «è¡ #å «è¡åž #yachimata #yachimatacity #cityofyachimata #NewYork #ãã¥ãŒãšãŒã¯ #ãã³ããã¿ã³ #Manhattan #ã¢ã¡ãªã« #USA #Japan #Manhattan #Newyork #æ¥æ¬ #åè #å°èª¬ #Chiba #novel #Bâ #ããŒãã©ãã #ãã€ã©ãŒã¹ãŠã£ãã #TaylorSwift #ellegarden #lonesome #ãšã«ã¬ã¬ãŒãã³ #ãšã«ã¬ #TylerTheCreator #DanielCaesar #LaToiyaWilliams #TakeYourMaskOff
#21Savage #SummerWalker
My New Novel
Bâ (B Flat)
I once declared I would never publish again.
But here I am, publishing even more. (^ ^)
Not decided yet.
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Scene: Madison Square Garden 1
Jack stepped into the elevator, shifted the box of donuts in his hand, and pressed the button for Basement Level 3.
As the lit panel above him slowly ticked downward, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. The chill inside the air-conditioned elevator blurred his vision slightly from the heat contrast with the outside world.
Once the elevator doors opened, he turned right. A door appeared immediately on his left. A security guard in a rumpled suit greeted him.
âTheyâre all waiting for you.â
Jack swiped his security card and smiled faintly.
âBrought donuts. Share them with everyone later.â
The guard grinned, his white teeth flashing behind his sunglasses.
Beyond the thick soundproof door, a dimly lit room opened upâthirty-two monitors glowed pale blue in the dark. Staff moved quickly between equipment, speaking little, focused on their tasks.
The low hum of servers and the occasional alert tone filled the space. In the center stood the command seat, surrounded in a circle by workstations. Along the far wall, a massive screen switched rapidly through live feeds from over 400 cameras placed throughout the arena: audience seats, lobbies, hallways, VIP lounges, loading docks, backstage, electrical rooms, underground passagesâŠ
If a single rat showed up in the basement, they could trace it all the way to the sewers.
Jack sat in the command chair and flipped the switch on the gooseneck microphone in front of him. The flexible neck gave a small twitch, and the red indicator light lit up.
âEveryone, I got donuts. Sadly, the glazed ones were sold out. Iâve got Boston Cream, Chocolate Frosted, Strawberry Frosted, and Old-Fashioned. No coffee either. Help yourselves.â
âJack, Iâll take the Old-Fashioned.â
That was Ben at the loading dock, adjusting the transparent earpiece tubing that coiled into his collar. He muttered through the mic, eyes on the monitor.
Jack gave a faint smile in return, then straightened his voice and spoke seriously into the mic before him.
âThe presidential candidate is arriving soon. Heâll enter through Benâs dock, then head to the VIP room in three minutes. After a 15-minute meeting, heâll take the stage. Let me be clearâtonight is the national convention where the official nomination will be finalized. The Republican Party hasnât held it here in over twenty years. And heâs bringing his fiancée, Eleanor Blake. A brilliant and stunning woman. Do not get mesmerized. The only ones you're allowed to admire are the ripped, muscle-bound lunatics. Also, Vice Presidential candidate Cole Harrison will be with them. Heâs the watchdog for Justin and his foul mouth. No matter what he says, do not punch him. Iâm the one whoâll get punched afterward.â
Jack glanced at his watch.
âThey arrive in one minute. Once Justinâs team leaves, enjoy the donuts to your heartâs content. Thatâs all.â
Darryl, who had been staring at the VIP lounge feed on the left screen, called to Jack from behind.
âJack, better check in with Elijah at the hospital. Make sure heâs on standby.â
Still facing forward, Jack raised a hand in reply and spoke to Elijah.
âYou hear that, Elijah? Darryl thinks youâre lounging at Starbucks.â
Laughter came through immediately. Behind Elijahâs voice, the frantic hospital announcements echoedâat odds with his relaxed tone.
âDarryl, howâd you know? I was just about to fire Jack.â
Swiveling in his chair, Darryl smiled as he looked at his monitor.
âLetâs hope Justin doesnât end up on your table.â
Jack cut in, ending the banter.
âEveryone, go time. Justinâs here. Follow the plan. Iâm counting on you.â
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Scene: Red Hook 1
Amir and Rafi
Red Hook stood apart, even within Brooklyn.
Shielded by the shadows of high-rises, its wind-worn red-brick warehouses and rusted harbor cranes groaned in the breeze. The scent of saltwater layered upon itself with every tide, raising red corrosion on the iron doors.
Beyond a fence with a broken lock, a warehouse doorâunused for yearsâslowly creaked open.
Amir stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the lightless space. The smell of oil soaked into the concrete hit his nose.
âLetâs start from here.â
At those words, Rafi gave a silent nod.
Their first visit to this place had been five winters ago.
After losing everything in Gaza to the Israeli military, they fled legally from Egypt through Turkey, reaching Tapachula in southern Mexico. There, they contacted a coyote, a smuggler of undocumented migrants.
Rafi paid $12,000 per person to the trafficker.
The entire sum was paid in cryptocurrency hacked via North Korean channels. The money came from coins stolen through a hacking group linked to North Korea. Amir had written the code himself and erased all traces. They crossed borders not with blood, but with numbers.
Later, they slipped under the border fence at night and entered the U.S. by land.
The Texas night sky was a blue-black deeper than anything they had ever seen. Its low, crystalline blue gave them a flicker of hopeâbut the fire of hatred still burned brighter.
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Set in New York City.
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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ãããŸã§ã®ã¡ã¢
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
èå°ã¯ãã¥ãŒãšãŒã¯ã§ãã
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
è¿œèšããã®å°èª¬ãå€å°èª¬æããŸããã
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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ã¡ã¢
1
ãBombayåïŒãã³ãã€åãhhåïŒã
â¢ç¹åŸŽïŒéåžžã®ABOè¡æ¶²åãæããªãïŒAãBãOã«åé¡ãããªãïŒç¹æ®ãªåã
â¢çºèŠå°ïŒ1952幎ãã€ã³ãã»ã ã³ãã€ïŒæ§ãã³ãã€ïŒã§åããŠç¢ºèªã
â¢çºçé »åºŠïŒã€ã³ãã§ã¯1äžäººã«1人çšåºŠã ããäžççã«ã¯çŽ250äžäººã«1人ãšãã
â¢èŒžè¡å¶éïŒåãBombayåãã茞è¡ã§ããªãã
2
2024幎ããŒããŒã倧åŠéŠåžã®åæ¥åŒã¹ããŒããç¥ããªãããšã®åã
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Aloe. Phoebe Jacket FATPACK
⥠12 base colors + 18 fatpack exclusive colors.
⥠Black & White Letter Options.
⥠Black & White Buttons.
⥠Fatpack modify & Custom Text.
â¡ Body Compatibility:
â¿ Legacy + Perky + vTech.
â¿ Ebody Reborn + Waifu + Teacups + vTech.
Taxi --> K u s t o m 9
Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
â Items â The Deven sneakers are blinged out and slicked up for any outfit! The Darren sneakers would spice up any outfit!
â Darren Rigged For â Legacy M â Jake â Gianni â Kario Flex â
â Deven Rigged For â Reborn â GenX â Kupra â Legacy F/M â MaitreyaX â Lara â Jake â Gianni â Kario
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/33
â Cult's Social Media Links â
The BAE Systems Hawk is a British single-engine, jet-powered advanced trainer aircraft. It was first flown at Dunsfold, Surrey, in 1974 as the Hawker Siddeley Hawk, and subsequently produced by its successor companies, British Aerospace and BAE Systems. It has been used in a training capacity and as a low-cost combat aircraft.
In 1964, the Royal Air Force specified a requirement (Air Staff Target, AST, 362) for a new fast jet trainer to replace the Folland Gnat. The SEPECAT Jaguar was originally intended for this role, but it was soon realised that it would be too complex an aircraft for fast jet training and only a small number of two-seat versions were purchased. Accordingly, in 1968, Hawker Siddeley Aviation (HSA) began studies for a simpler aircraft, initially as special project (SP) 117. The design team was led by Ralph Hooper.
This project was funded by the company as a private venture, in anticipation of possible RAF interest. The design was conceived of as having tandem seating and a combat capability in addition to training, as it was felt the latter would improve export sales potential. By the end of the year HSA had submitted a proposal to the Ministry of Defence based on the design concept, and in early 1970 the RAF issued Air Staff Target (AST) 397 which formalised the requirement for new trainers of this type. The RAF selected the HS.1182 for their requirement on 1 October 1971 and the principal contract, for 175 aircraft, was signed in March 1972.
The prototype aircraft XX154 first flew on 21 August 1974 from Dunsfold piloted by Duncan Simpson, Chief Test Pilot of HSA (Kingston), reaching 20,000 ft in a flight lasting 53 minutes.[4] All development aircraft were built on production jigs; the program remained on time and to budget throughout. The Hawk T1 entered RAF service in late 1976. The first export Hawk 50 flew on 17 May 1976. This variant had been specifically designed for the dual role of lightweight fighter and advanced trainer; it had a greater weapons capacity than the T.1.
More variants of the Hawk followed, and common improvements to the base design typically included increased range, more powerful engines, redesigned wing and undercarriage, the addition of radar and forward-looking infrared, GPS navigation, and night-vision compatibility. Later models were manufactured with a great variety in terms of avionics fittings and system compatibility to suit the individual customer nation; cockpit functionality was often rearranged and programmed to be common to an operator's main fighter fleet to increase the Hawk's training value.
In 1981, a derivative of the Hawk was selected by the United States Navy as their new trainer aircraft. Designated the McDonnell Douglas T-45 Goshawk, the design was adapted to naval service and strengthened to withstand operating directly from the decks of carriers, in addition to typical land-based duties. This T-45 entered service in 1994. initial aircraft had analogue cockpits, while later deliveries featured a digital glass cockpit. All airframes were planned to undergo avionics upgrades to a common standard.
Operators of the Hawk include the Royal Air Force (notably the Red Arrows display team) and several foreign military operators. The Hawk is still in production in the UK and under licence in India by Hindustan Aeronautics Limited (HAL), with over 900 Hawks sold to 18 operators around the world.
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
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Scene: Garden 3â4
Jack slumped deeply in the commanderâs chair, his gaze sweeping across the pale glow of the monitor wall.
Camera feeds A17, A18, A19âall fixed on the arenaâs center. Yet the security guard on the west side of the stands wasnât watching there. His eyes were glued to the emergency exit at Section 212. Its sensor blinked onceâa flash of red warning across the screen.
âA suspicious movement⊠the door sensor just lit up,â Jack's low voice vibrated through Benâs earpiece.
Ben glanced upward at the monitors and whispered,
âShall I go?â
âNo,â Jack replied, his voice dropping. âDonât leave your post. Iâll handle it.â
He paused, stern. âItâs probably nothing. Butâstay alert. Keep your eyes peeled.â
Silence fell over each earpiece, the tension thickening. On the monitor, the door remained motionlessâneither opening nor closingâfrozen in stillness.
Jack burst from the briefing room, sprinted up from underground into the arena, his view sweeping the western stand. He looked up at the broad, flat ceiling of Madison Square Garden, sensed it swelling with the heat of the crowd. Cheers greeting the presidential candidate blended with jeersâclearly, antiâRepublicans had infiltrated.
Jack narrowed his gaze on the west stand, then lowered his eyes to his iPhone. Multiple social feeds scrolled with frenetic energy, and one post caught his attention: a murder threat, flashing in angry red text.
He dashed down the crowded corridor and reached the west stand, addressing a nearby guard:
âEvening. Everything clear on your end?â
The guard, clad in plain black suit with no tieâjust a discreet earpieceânodded, calm. He lifted his jacket slightly, revealing the outline of a Glock 19 at his waist. No hostilityâjust a tacit acknowledgment. Jack responded with a silent nod, their training speaking volumes.
âDoor sensor tripped once. Iâll check visually.â Jack seized the cold metal handle and cast a glance down the corridor beyond. Darkness swallowed the path; silence reigned.
He spoke into his earpiece:
âAll clear in the west stands. Security is solid.â
He patted the guardâs shoulder. âStay alert.â The man returned a brief smileâand then lights died across the arena.
In the dark, red lasers lanced from ceiling to floor as a menacing bass drum rolled in from below. A crisp hiâhat scythed in sixteenthânotes; a heavy kick drum struck fourâonâtheâfloor. A low, rumbling bass synth layered inâand the very air of the arena began to pulse.
The crowd's heartbeat synchronized with the beat. Swirling smoke and laser cuts, the floor trembling. From deep within the sound, a processed male voice intoned again and again:
âStrength. Order. America.â
As smoke thickened the light, colossal center-hung screens flickered to life:
J U S T I Nâ¯â¯B R A D F O R D
One spotlight pierced the gloomâred, then blue, finally whiteâtracing the American tricolor. Within its glow appeared a man: Justin. Clad in a darkânavy tailored suit, a bold crimson tie signifying the Republican Party, a single white rose pinned to his lapel.
Moments later, another spotlight revealed Eleanor Blake, dressed in an elegant black gown, standing behind him. Hand in hand, they strode center stage, each step purposeful. The audience looked on, awestruck, shouting cheers:
ââTake back America!ââ
Red, blue, and white lights danced across their feet. Eleanor paused; Justin stepped forward to the microphone as the music faded and lights dimmed again. Silence engulfed the arena.
He made no soundâonly a slight, assured smile. That smile was a declaration of war. Saying everything without uttering a word. That postureâthat was the bearing of a man who would become the most powerful leader in the world: President of the United States.
Justin scanned the crowd for a moment, then spoke in calm tones. His golden hair, blue eyesâmirroring Eleanorâsâlent gravity to his words:
âGood evening, New York. Howâs your night going so far?â
He smiled at a woman in the front row. Following his fatherâs advice, he spoke as if addressing just one person, not an entire audienceâ
ââWhen I arrived in the parking lot tonight, I felt weighed down by the humidity. Eleanor whispered to me: âWe chose the best course to protect you. Our team would risk their lives for you.ââ
His voice rang clear. Thunderous applause erupted from tens of thousands. A wave of anticipation rolled toward the stage. The spotlight seemed to center itself in his eyesâand likewise in Eleanorâs.
âTonight, we gather to put our will once again at the heart of this nation. To reclaim the âlightâ America is forgetting. Over the past four years, our party restored the economy, brought back security, rebuilt national order. Now, itâs time to shine that light brighterânot as mere hope, but as our responsibility. If America shines again, the world will follow. We must seize that stronger, purer light. It will illuminate the world.â
Justinâs voice reverberated through the arenaâuntil⊠a dry gunshot cracked the air from center stage.
Jack dove instinctively. His eyes darted upward to the giant screens: time froze. He saw Justinâs body convulse backwards, his jacket tail flipping off his left shoulder. The first bullet struck his left arm, the second to his left abdomen. Justin crumpled slowly, falling faceâfirst.
âJustin!â Eleanorâs scream cut across the stage. Her wide eyes fixed on him, trembling. A haze of tears blurred her vision. Secret Service agents shielded her, pulling her back.
âHit the deck!â Guards and crowd shouted in chorus. Pandemonium erupted. Women's screams overlapped. The reverberation of gunfire lingered ominously in the cavernous space.
Unbeknownst to most, Jackâs ears had discerned two shots. He closed his eyes and reâran the soundâeach fired from aboveâeach from perilously close.
âBenâwhere are you?â Jack pushed through collapsing spectators, heading to the stage.
âBy Justinâs side. Missed his heartâjust grazed left arm and abdomen. Not arterial, but bleeding heavily.â
âMedical teamâs on the motorcade. Justin has Bombay bloodâtwo bags ready on the ambulance. Start transfusion.â
âIf thatâs not enough, what about Elijah?â
âEither way, heâs en route. Bellevue Hospital stores Bombay bagsâconfirmed three days ago.â
Bombay blood: a rare type first found in Bombay (now Mumbai) in 1952ânot A, B, or Oâafflicting about 1 in 10,000 in India, 1 in 2.5 million worldwide. It can only be transfused to someone of the same type.
Ben replied calmly.
They rushed Justin to Bellevue Hospitalâthe closest to the Garden. Jack called Elijah. Before the first ring ended, Elijah answered, breathless:
âJack... this is bad. Weâve no bloodâno Bombay stock.â
Jack couldnât believe it.
âI saw the bags in person three days ago!â
Silence, then Elijah replied:
âThe blood keeper was killed in a car crash yesterday.â
As Jack absorbed the news, his voice boomed over the arenaâs PA, shaking the trembling building. The crowd froze and then shattered. Thousands surged toward exitsâonly to find them locked.
âThereâs explosives in this building. Please, stay calm and head for the exits. I repeatâI amâŠ.â
Panic rippled. Eight exits in totalâmost had been sealed for VIP and motorcade security. The crowd funnelled into the remaining three.
Low moans grew to shrieks. People trampled the fallen. A little girl's white blouse had turned grey, her teddy flattened. During flight, no one looked back. At one exit, dozens collapsed, graves to the trampling. The weight buckled railings, jammed the door.
âDoors wonât open!â âThereâs childrenâ!â Screams scattered. Security couldnât reach the scene. Orders were drowned in noise. Control evaporated.
âThe crowd is uncontrollable, Jack,â came Zakariaâs voice through the PA, along with a simultaneous link to staff smartphones.
âYou got my email? Open the link. No virus, I promise.â
Hurriedly, Jack checked his phone. The site loaded:
âGood evening, New Yorkâand Los Angeles. My name is Zakaria Haddad. My real name. Five years ago, I lived in Gaza. Now I sit in a room many of you recognize.â
On the screen, a brown-skinned man with a trimmed beardâZakariaâseated in a chair eerily like the Oval Office. Three green-curtained windows behind himâthe color favored by Prophet Muhammad. A portrait of Ibn Sina hung on the wall, his gaze deep, delicateâreaching from timeâs past to the present.
Zakaria glanced at his watch, then back at cameraâan unreadable dark joy flickering in his eyes.
âBreaking newsâwatch your phone alerts.â Instantly:
Former Democratic President Owen Reed shot at Los Angeles Convention Center
Zakaria hid a wry smile.
âA sad update, America. But donât mourn. In Gaza, we suffered 55,000 times this. We lost over 55,000 dear soulsâand we wept.â
He averted his gaze, clasped both hands, slammed his fist onto the desk. The air thickened. Yet in his eyes brimmed silent tearsâquiet sorrow.
âWe do not seek money or glory in death. We seek tears equal to the 55,000. Only tears can heal us.â
He rested his elbows, folded his hands, chin supported. A long pause. His eyes twitched with small sorrowful motions.
Zakaria rotated a framed photo toward the camera.
âMy family. More precious than my life. Gone in an instant.â
There was no hatred in his voiceâonly respect and gentle grief. He began again.
âI was one among those 55,000. Even if I perish, their wills persist. I stand here to voice our will.â
He quietly reached into his right drawer, withdrew a Glock 17, chambered a round, and placed the barrel against his temple. His eyes were mercifulâgentle, embracing his lost family.
As a Sunni, he stared straight at the camera:
âGod bless America.â
Backlit by three blazing windows, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The dry crack snapped through the room. The camera jerkedâthen the screen went black.
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Previous notes
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Saipan. USA. 2016. LUMIX G3 shot ⊠10 / X
ãµã€ãã³ãã¢ã¡ãªã«ãïŒïŒïŒïŒãLUMIX G3 shot ⊠10 / X
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My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
Volume 18ð
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
Ana woke to the faint sense of someoneâs presence.
The monitor beside her bed flickered softly, and the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic.
From the bed next to hers, Justinâs eyes were fixed straight on her face as she slept.
The anger that had once burned in those eyes during his televised speeches was gone, replaced by a gentle, almost tender light.
âThank you. TrulyâŠâ
His voice trembled faintly, and behind his words lingered a fragile honesty.
Ana narrowed her eyes slightly.
âYou donât need a reason to save someone. Bombay Blood⊠it doesnât let you choose who to give it to.â
He smiled faintly, turning his gaze toward the ceiling as if to hide the shallowness of his breath.
âIâve never been the kind of man to entrust my life to anyone. At leastânot until yesterday.â
A quiet silence settled between them before he went on.
âI used to believe politics was a job without blood. Votes, numbers, negotiationsâthatâs all it was supposed to be.â
âBut it wasnât?â Ana asked softly.
âNo.â
Justin let out a sigh.
âThe thought that someone elseâs blood is flowing inside meâitâs terrifying, if I stop to think about it.
And yet⊠at the same time, Iâve never felt so alive. Not once in my life.â
Ana tilted her head slightly.
âAlive?â
âThe moment I was shot, I truly thought I was going to die. But people risked their lives to protect me. Someone made a choice that could have killed them instead of me. I only now realize how much that meansâbeyond anything words can express.â
His tone lacked the sharpness, the calculated rhythm of a politicianâs speech. It was simply the voice of a man trying to measure the weight of his own life.
Ana smiled faintly.
âThen maybe now⊠you could give your blood to someone else?â
Justin gave a wry smile and lowered his eyes.
âMaybe. But first, I think I should repay the debt to the one who brought me back to life.â
At that moment, a faint crackle from a security radio came from beyond the door.
Justinâs recovery had not yet been made public. But his survival wouldâsooner or laterâshake the election, and perhaps even the world.
Ana forgot all of that.
All she felt was a quiet astonishment that the blood that once flowed in her own body was now pulsing within another.
The door opened quietly.
The sharp sound of heels struck the floor, and a faint scent of rosemary drifted in.
The woman who entered wore a disposable polyethylene gown, shoe covers, and a thin hair cap. It was Eleanor.
Her gaze moved from Ana to Justin, pausing on each of their faces.
âIâm sorry to interrupt,â she said, her voice calm, though Ana sensed the precision of carefully measured emotion beneath it.
When Ana started to rise, Eleanor raised a hand to stop her.
âYou must be Ms. Anaya⊠Thank you. Thank you for saving him.â
She took Justinâs hand briefly, then looked Ana straight in the eye.
âNo amount of gratitude could ever be enough. To borrow a lifeâsuch a thing hardly ever happens.â
Ana nodded faintly, unsure how to respond.
âI only did what I could.â
Justin looked at Eleanor and narrowed his eyes slightly.
âIf it werenât for her, Iâd probably be⊠in a coffin instead of a campaign.â
The remark was half in jest, but carried a trace of self-mockery.
Eleanor kept her smile, placing a hand gently on Anaâs shoulder.
âYou may not realize it yetâbut what youâve done might one day mean something to this country. Youâll understand, eventually.â
Without a knock, the door opened again.
A woman in a white coat stepped in, her movements precise, her expression sharp. It was Dr. Sasha Wilson, head of emergency medicine at Bellevue Hospital.
Her hair was tied neatly back, and she held a tablet in one hand.
âMs. Anaya Patel,â Sasha said, bowing slightly.
âThank you for your cooperation. The transfusion of Bombay Blood could not have been performed so swiftly without you.â
She glanced down at her tablet and continued in a tone that was businesslike, yet respectful.
âThere is no further medical need for you to remain. You are officially cleared for discharge.â
Ana exhaled deeply and nodded.
âYour belongings will be returned in the lobby. If you require an escort, security canââ
âThat wonât be necessary,â Ana replied at once.
Sasha looked momentarily surprised, then nodded in understanding.
Justin spoke up quietly.
âMiss Patel⊠will I see you again?â
Ana stopped in her tracks.
The air in the room seemed to tremble faintly behind her. Eleanor said nothing.
âI hope,â Ana said softly, turning toward them, âthat I will never again have reason to meet a presidential candidate.â
She smiledâa smile that held both warmth and distance.
Meanwhile, at a newsstand on the corner, tabloid headlines blared stories of Justin and Eleanorâs engagement.
Rumors spread that their wedding would be held before the Electoral College vote in Decemberâa symbolic show of unity meant to sway the coming election, whatever the outcome.
Eleanor seemed to search for words, but lowered her gaze instead.
When Sasha opened the door, Ana stepped out.
The hush of the automatic doors closing behind her sounded like the end of a quiet ritual.
In the corridor, Elijah was waiting.
âTake me to Arjun,â Ana said.
She had to do somethingâanythingâfor Arjun, who had killed for her.
Her chest was restless, her breath uneven.
In the back seat of the patrol car, Ana clasped her hands tightly, her knees tense.
The Brooklyn night was warm and heavy, the police radio hissing with bursts of static.
âThe shooter was Arjun Singh, right?â the young officer in the passenger seat asked, without turning around.
âYes⊠it was him. If he hadnât fired, Iââ
âWe know, Ms. Patel. The cameras caught everything, and the witnesses agree. Itâs clear self-defense. Without him, youâd be dead.â
The older officer at the wheel grunted his assent.
Ana nodded silently.
The instant the gun was raised toward her inside Totto Ramen, everything had slowed to a crawl.
Then, a gunshot from behindâits echo still lived in the back of her mind.
âHere we are.â
The patrol car stopped outside the NYPD Midtown South Precinct.
The concrete buildingâs exterior lights glowed pale against the night sky.
Along 35th Street, the dark glass doors reflected the letters:
âNYPD MIDTOWN SOUTH PRECINCT.â
A few steps led up to double glass doors, flanked by blue garage bays for police vehicles.
Rows of vertical concrete pillars gave the building a stern, almost solemn dignity.
Accompanied by the officers, Ana entered the station and was led to a small interview room.
Inside sat Arjunâunharmed, composed, waiting.
âAnaâŠâ
His voice was low, unsteady.
She said nothing, walked toward him, and took a seat.
âIâm so glad youâre safeâŠâ
Tears welled suddenly in Arjunâs eyesâthe first she had ever seen from him.
His shoulders trembled, his body drawn inward.
Seeing his fragility, Anaâs eyes softened, and she too began to cry.
âThank you⊠truly, thank you.â
Silence fell between themânot heavy, but deep, a silence of shared relief.
Then came a knock, and the lead detective entered.
âAll evidence is consistentâsurveillance footage, witnesses, audio. With Ms. Patelâs statement, we have no issue. Arjun Singh, you are hereby released.â
As the paperwork was signed, Arjun rose.
He shook the officerâs hand firmly, saying nothing.
Together they stepped out into the night.
The sky was low, covered in dark clouds, but no rain fell. Streetlights spilled quiet pools of light across the pavement.
A young patrolman waited by the car.
âWeâll drive you home to Paramus. Canât have you caught up in another incident,â he said with a wink, opening the door.
They smiled faintly and got in.
Neither spoke.
Only now and then did their fingers brushâuntil their hands naturally found each other.
Anaâs phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from Mika.
âTomorrowâs the exhibit at Domino Park. The kids are excited. Rest tonight. Leave it to me.â
Ana looked at the screen and smiled faintly. The bluish light reflected across her tired face.
âItâs from Mika,â she murmured. âShe says sheâll handle the whole exhibition tomorrow.â
Arjun raised his brows slightly and smiled.
âItâs a good thingâto have people who can keep things moving, even when youâre not there.â
âYeahâŠâ Ana whispered, resting her forehead gently against his chest.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title.
Gates C70 - C115 .6.
( Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot )
ãã¥ãŒãžã£ãŒãžãŒå·ãã¢ã¡ãªã«ã2007. ⊠6 / 8
(ä»æ¥ã®åçãããã¯æªçºè¡šã§ããïŒ
Fergus McCreadie ⊠Stony Gate ( Live )
youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
è¿œèšããã®å°èª¬ãå€å°èª¬æããŸããã
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
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youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Aloe. Amanda Dress & Heels FATPACK
⥠12 base colors + 18 bonus FATPACK colors for Dress & Heels.
⥠Opacity Options for Dress.
⥠FATPACK Modify.
â¡ Body Compatibility:
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⥠Ebody Reborn + Waifus + vTech + Teacups + Juicy Rolls.
Sponsor HER Couture
VALERIA GOWN
Items Included: Color Hud (20 Colors)
â° Compatibility with:
â Kupra â Maitreya â Legacy
SPARKLE SKIRT FIT
â° Items Included: Color Hud (12 Colors)
â° Compatibility with:
â Maitreya + Petite â Legacy + Perky â Belleza (Freya) â Slink (Hourglass) â Tonic (All) â Ebody (Curvy) â Altamura â Kupra (Original, Low, Bimbo)
LM
â Item â Pyper is an adorable pair of pumpkin slippers with a sock on one side and fish net on the other making them rather unique!
â Rigged For â Reborn â Legacy Female â Maitreya â Kupra â Freya â
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Hi Spookies & Culties, Here is your "must have these Cult Items" Weekend Shopping List!!
â For Waifu Dreams â Azalia â
â Rigged For â Reborn â Maitreya-X â Kupra â Legacy â Lara â
â Featuring Color Hud w/ 10 light colors & 10 dark colors & 3 metal colors!
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility â
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/337
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Hi Culties & Spookies, It's time for even more sales for the Happy Weekend Market Place Sale!!
â Item â The Knox boots are tactical and badass and would make any outfit come together!
â marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Knox-Fatpack/25690985
â Rigged For â Legacy F â Reborn â Kupra â Gen-X Curvy â Maitreya-X
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/33
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Loki - Mei Sweatshirt & Bra
⥠14 Colors
⥠Each Sweatshirt has Solid and Pattern Version.
⥠Each color pack includes a HUD for Sweatshirt Texture Type, Bra, Hand & Metal Hearts.
⥠Bra Flames & Metal Hearts are Optional.
⥠FATPACK has more customization options.
â¡ Body Compatibility:
â¿ Maitreya
â¿ Legacy + Perky
â¿ Ebody Reborn + Waifu Boobs
Taxi ---> E q u a l 10
Loki - Annie Warm Dress FATPACK
⥠14 Colors
⥠Each Dress Includes 3 Heart Inner Lace Patterns.
⥠Each Color Pack Includes HUD for Lace (3 Colors)/Dress Details/Panties.
⥠Heart Lace & Panties Are Optional.
⥠FATPACK has more Customization options.
â¡ Body Compatibility:
â¿ Maitreya
â¿ Legacy + Perky
â¿ Ebody Reborn + Waifu Boobs
Taxi ---> C o l l a b o r 8 8 Event
The Sherah boots are sexy with detailing that would look good with any outfit!
â marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Sherah-Fatpack/25708692
â Rigged For â Legacy F â Reborn â Kupra â Gen-X Curvy â MaitreyaX â
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Cult Discord: discord.gg/J3PHwBnwFp
Cult Facebook: www.facebook.com/CULTSL
Cult PrimFeed: www.primfeed.com/cult
Cult Flickr: www.flickr.com/photos/cultfashionsl
Cult Flickr Group: www.flickr.com/groups/cultsl/
Cult Inworld Group: secondlife:///app/group/b20930fc-db07-cece-79e7-b100c0154e19/about
Cult Social Card: cultfashion.carrd.co//17
ð SOCIAL MEDIA GIVEAWAY â You know what to do! âïž
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ð trÚs beau.
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
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Scene: Garden 3â4
Jack slumped deeply in the commanderâs chair, his gaze sweeping across the pale glow of the monitor wall.
Camera feeds A17, A18, A19âall fixed on the arenaâs center. Yet the security guard on the west side of the stands wasnât watching there. His eyes were glued to the emergency exit at Section 212. Its sensor blinked onceâa flash of red warning across the screen.
âA suspicious movement⊠the door sensor just lit up,â Jack's low voice vibrated through Benâs earpiece.
Ben glanced upward at the monitors and whispered,
âShall I go?â
âNo,â Jack replied, his voice dropping. âDonât leave your post. Iâll handle it.â
He paused, stern. âItâs probably nothing. Butâstay alert. Keep your eyes peeled.â
Silence fell over each earpiece, the tension thickening. On the monitor, the door remained motionlessâneither opening nor closingâfrozen in stillness.
Jack burst from the briefing room, sprinted up from underground into the arena, his view sweeping the western stand. He looked up at the broad, flat ceiling of Madison Square Garden, sensed it swelling with the heat of the crowd. Cheers greeting the presidential candidate blended with jeersâclearly, antiâRepublicans had infiltrated.
Jack narrowed his gaze on the west stand, then lowered his eyes to his iPhone. Multiple social feeds scrolled with frenetic energy, and one post caught his attention: a murder threat, flashing in angry red text.
He dashed down the crowded corridor and reached the west stand, addressing a nearby guard:
âEvening. Everything clear on your end?â
The guard, clad in plain black suit with no tieâjust a discreet earpieceânodded, calm. He lifted his jacket slightly, revealing the outline of a Glock 19 at his waist. No hostilityâjust a tacit acknowledgment. Jack responded with a silent nod, their training speaking volumes.
âDoor sensor tripped once. Iâll check visually.â Jack seized the cold metal handle and cast a glance down the corridor beyond. Darkness swallowed the path; silence reigned.
He spoke into his earpiece:
âAll clear in the west stands. Security is solid.â
He patted the guardâs shoulder. âStay alert.â The man returned a brief smileâand then lights died across the arena.
In the dark, red lasers lanced from ceiling to floor as a menacing bass drum rolled in from below. A crisp hiâhat scythed in sixteenthânotes; a heavy kick drum struck fourâonâtheâfloor. A low, rumbling bass synth layered inâand the very air of the arena began to pulse.
The crowd's heartbeat synchronized with the beat. Swirling smoke and laser cuts, the floor trembling. From deep within the sound, a processed male voice intoned again and again:
âStrength. Order. America.â
As smoke thickened the light, colossal center-hung screens flickered to life:
J U S T I Nâ¯â¯B R A D F O R D
One spotlight pierced the gloomâred, then blue, finally whiteâtracing the American tricolor. Within its glow appeared a man: Justin. Clad in a darkânavy tailored suit, a bold crimson tie signifying the Republican Party, a single white rose pinned to his lapel.
Moments later, another spotlight revealed Eleanor Blake, dressed in an elegant black gown, standing behind him. Hand in hand, they strode center stage, each step purposeful. The audience looked on, awestruck, shouting cheers:
ââTake back America!ââ
Red, blue, and white lights danced across their feet. Eleanor paused; Justin stepped forward to the microphone as the music faded and lights dimmed again. Silence engulfed the arena.
He made no soundâonly a slight, assured smile. That smile was a declaration of war. Saying everything without uttering a word. That postureâthat was the bearing of a man who would become the most powerful leader in the world: President of the United States.
Justin scanned the crowd for a moment, then spoke in calm tones. His golden hair, blue eyesâmirroring Eleanorâsâlent gravity to his words:
âGood evening, New York. Howâs your night going so far?â
He smiled at a woman in the front row. Following his fatherâs advice, he spoke as if addressing just one person, not an entire audienceâ
ââWhen I arrived in the parking lot tonight, I felt weighed down by the humidity. Eleanor whispered to me: âWe chose the best course to protect you. Our team would risk their lives for you.ââ
His voice rang clear. Thunderous applause erupted from tens of thousands. A wave of anticipation rolled toward the stage. The spotlight seemed to center itself in his eyesâand likewise in Eleanorâs.
âTonight, we gather to put our will once again at the heart of this nation. To reclaim the âlightâ America is forgetting. Over the past four years, our party restored the economy, brought back security, rebuilt national order. Now, itâs time to shine that light brighterânot as mere hope, but as our responsibility. If America shines again, the world will follow. We must seize that stronger, purer light. It will illuminate the world.â
Justinâs voice reverberated through the arenaâuntil⊠a dry gunshot cracked the air from center stage.
Jack dove instinctively. His eyes darted upward to the giant screens: time froze. He saw Justinâs body convulse backwards, his jacket tail flipping off his left shoulder. The first bullet struck his left arm, the second to his left abdomen. Justin crumpled slowly, falling faceâfirst.
âJustin!â Eleanorâs scream cut across the stage. Her wide eyes fixed on him, trembling. A haze of tears blurred her vision. Secret Service agents shielded her, pulling her back.
âHit the deck!â Guards and crowd shouted in chorus. Pandemonium erupted. Women's screams overlapped. The reverberation of gunfire lingered ominously in the cavernous space.
Unbeknownst to most, Jackâs ears had discerned two shots. He closed his eyes and reâran the soundâeach fired from aboveâeach from perilously close.
âBenâwhere are you?â Jack pushed through collapsing spectators, heading to the stage.
âBy Justinâs side. Missed his heartâjust grazed left arm and abdomen. Not arterial, but bleeding heavily.â
âMedical teamâs on the motorcade. Justin has Bombay bloodâtwo bags ready on the ambulance. Start transfusion.â
âIf thatâs not enough, what about Elijah?â
âEither way, heâs en route. Bellevue Hospital stores Bombay bagsâconfirmed three days ago.â
Bombay blood: a rare type first found in Bombay (now Mumbai) in 1952ânot A, B, or Oâafflicting about 1 in 10,000 in India, 1 in 2.5 million worldwide. It can only be transfused to someone of the same type.
Ben replied calmly.
They rushed Justin to Bellevue Hospitalâthe closest to the Garden. Jack called Elijah. Before the first ring ended, Elijah answered, breathless:
âJack... this is bad. Weâve no bloodâno Bombay stock.â
Jack couldnât believe it.
âI saw the bags in person three days ago!â
Silence, then Elijah replied:
âThe blood keeper was killed in a car crash yesterday.â
As Jack absorbed the news, his voice boomed over the arenaâs PA, shaking the trembling building. The crowd froze and then shattered. Thousands surged toward exitsâonly to find them locked.
âThereâs explosives in this building. Please, stay calm and head for the exits. I repeatâI amâŠ.â
Panic rippled. Eight exits in totalâmost had been sealed for VIP and motorcade security. The crowd funnelled into the remaining three.
Low moans grew to shrieks. People trampled the fallen. A little girl's white blouse had turned grey, her teddy flattened. During flight, no one looked back. At one exit, dozens collapsed, graves to the trampling. The weight buckled railings, jammed the door.
âDoors wonât open!â âThereâs childrenâ!â Screams scattered. Security couldnât reach the scene. Orders were drowned in noise. Control evaporated.
âThe crowd is uncontrollable, Jack,â came Zakariaâs voice through the PA, along with a simultaneous link to staff smartphones.
âYou got my email? Open the link. No virus, I promise.â
Hurriedly, Jack checked his phone. The site loaded:
âGood evening, New Yorkâand Los Angeles. My name is Zakaria Haddad. My real name. Five years ago, I lived in Gaza. Now I sit in a room many of you recognize.â
On the screen, a brown-skinned man with a trimmed beardâZakariaâseated in a chair eerily like the Oval Office. Three green-curtained windows behind himâthe color favored by Prophet Muhammad. A portrait of Ibn Sina hung on the wall, his gaze deep, delicateâreaching from timeâs past to the present.
Zakaria glanced at his watch, then back at cameraâan unreadable dark joy flickering in his eyes.
âBreaking newsâwatch your phone alerts.â Instantly:
Former Democratic President Owen Reed shot at Los Angeles Convention Center
Zakaria hid a wry smile.
âA sad update, America. But donât mourn. In Gaza, we suffered 55,000 times this. We lost over 55,000 dear soulsâand we wept.â
He averted his gaze, clasped both hands, slammed his fist onto the desk. The air thickened. Yet in his eyes brimmed silent tearsâquiet sorrow.
âWe do not seek money or glory in death. We seek tears equal to the 55,000. Only tears can heal us.â
He rested his elbows, folded his hands, chin supported. A long pause. His eyes twitched with small sorrowful motions.
Zakaria rotated a framed photo toward the camera.
âMy family. More precious than my life. Gone in an instant.â
There was no hatred in his voiceâonly respect and gentle grief. He began again.
âI was one among those 55,000. Even if I perish, their wills persist. I stand here to voice our will.â
He quietly reached into his right drawer, withdrew a Glock 17, chambered a round, and placed the barrel against his temple. His eyes were mercifulâgentle, embracing his lost family.
As a Sunni, he stared straight at the camera:
âGod bless America.â
Backlit by three blazing windows, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The dry crack snapped through the room. The camera jerkedâthen the screen went black.
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Previous notes
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Saipan. USA. 2016. LUMIX G3 shot ⊠5 / X
ãµã€ãã³ãã¢ã¡ãªã«ãïŒïŒïŒïŒãLUMIX G3 shot ⊠5 / X
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åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
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(æçµçš¿ã§ã¯ãããŸããã)
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
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youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
â Item â The Omen slippers have gremlin energy and are unisex on top of it!
â Rigged For â Reborn â Legacy F/M â Maitreya â Kupra â GEN-X â Jake â Gianni â Unrigged â
â Remember to always try the DEMOS!â Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibilityâ
â Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
â Cult LM â maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
â Cult's Social Media Links â
Title: A World of Blue and White
(Shot with FUJIFILM GFX50R)
Hawaii. United States. 2019. ⊠3 / 8
(Todayâs photo. Previously unreleased.)
My new novel.
Bâ (B-flat)
I'm releasing it. This will truly be the last time I share it.
I won't release any more after this.
It's just a rough draft from the beginning â more like notes.
If you're interested, please give it a read. :)
The setting is New York.
åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
å ¬éããŸããããã§æ¬åœã«æåŸã®å ¬éã§ãã
ãã以äžã¯å ¬éããŸããã
åé ããã®èµ°ãæžãã§ããã¡ã¢çšåºŠã§ãã
ããã£ããèªãã§ãã ããã:)
èå°ã¯ãã¥ãŒãšãŒã¯ã§ãã
Images.
Bryony Jarman-Pinto ⊠Water Come
youtu.be/z1ZAkZ5bSLs?si=56ao-cHyPzpnDsgp
::Photo Music and iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/photo-music/pl.u-Eg8qefpy8Xz
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Bâ (B-Flat)
Further excerpt released. Just a rough draft from the beginning. Like a note. Please read if you'd like. :)
Setting: New York City.
Red, Yellow, Blueââ
It was just past 7 p.m. when a light drizzle began to fall on East 52nd Street.
Anaya Patel leaned against the wall of the building next to Tot Ramen, where she was supposed to meet someone, and absently stared at the traffic light at the intersection to her right.
It was already July, yet the summer felt cooler than last yearâs. She regretted stepping out in just a T-shirt.
When the light turned green, Anaya squinted, narrowing her gaze.
Kana, her old classmate, was waving and smiling as she ran toward herââ
The flat ceiling of Madison Square Garden seemed to bulge slightly with the heat of the crowd, or so it appeared to Jack.
Cheers welcoming the presidential candidate clashed with shouts of outrage, rattling deep inside his ears.
Jack scanned the arena quickly before glancing back down at his iPhone. Several social media apps were open at once, and furious posts streamed across the screen.
One post in the bottom right cornerâon Metaâcaught his eye.
A death threat.
Presidential candidate Justin Bradford was about to take the stage with his fiancée, Eleanor Blake.
As a red spotlightâthe color of the Republican Partyâlit up the center of the stage, the couple stepped out.
And at that exact moment, a gunshot rang out.
It was subtle enough to be missed at firstâbut Jack heard it. Two shots.
As chaos erupted around him, Jack quietly closed his eyes, picturing the trajectory.
The first bulletâlikely from his right, near the PA system. But that area should have been covered by agents from his own unit.
He calculated the second shot. It probably came from the left side of the stage.
It was aimed with precision, taking into account the positioning of both Justin and Eleanor.
There might have been a leak.
Then came a second report.
His colleague Ben Hollowayâs voice, calm as ever.
The heart was missed, but both bullets had hit. One had grazed it and lodged in the epigastric area, just under the diaphragm.
Jack replied, equally calm.
âJustinâs Bombay blood. I confirmed it three days ago with Bellevue Hospital. They have reserves stored.â
Ben responded in a low voice, as if nothing had happened.
âUnderstood.â
Justin was rushed to Bellevue, the closest hospital to Madison Square Garden.
Jack called Elijah Kane directly from his smartphone.
Using WhatsApp or any other messaging app was strictly forbidden in the Secret Service.
Elijah answered before the first ring ended.
âJack, itâs bad. We donât have it. No Bombay blood.â
Jack was stunned.
âI confirmed it three days ago. I spoke directly to the person in chargeâcan't recall their nameâbut I saw the blood bags myself.â
After a pause, Elijah replied.
âThat person died in a car accident yesterday.â
Anaya Patel waited for her husband Arjun at Tot Ramen.
With her was Mika (Sato), her best friend since collegeâJapanese.
Just as the server placed a steaming bowl of ramen in front of her, Anayaâs phone rang.
The caller ID said Bellevue Hospital.
She answered without hesitation.
Mika looked on, concerned.
âIs this Anaya Patel? Iâm Sasha Wilson from Emergency.
You may have heardâRepublican presidential candidate has been shot.
We need your blood.
Stay where you are. A Secret Service vehicle is en route.â
Following Mikaâs gaze, Anaya turned to the display above the counter.
A live report from MSG was playing.
Then, a man in a sleek blue suit with brown skin approached her.
âIâm Rohan Shah, Secret Service.
Please come with me to the hospital.
The car is ready.â
He reached for her hand with urgency.
Just then, Anayaâs iPhone buzzed again. An unfamiliar number.
She tapped it.
âHello?â
âAnaya Patel?â
âYes. Who is this?â
âJack. Jack Vance. Secret Service. Iâll be there shortly.â
âHow do you know where I am?â
âWeâre professionals. We have our ways.â
âBut the Secret Service guy is already here.â
âNoâheâs not!â Jackâs voice roared through the phone.
At that instant, the man in front of her pulled a rifle from under his jacket and aimed it at her forehead.
A small gunshot rang through the restaurant.
Anaya froze.
She couldnât speak.
As the man collapsed to the floor, another figure emergedâalso pointing a gun at her.
It was her husband, Arjun.
âFreeze! FBI!â
NYPD officers in uniform and FBI agents in gray suits stormed in.
âHands behind your head! Get down on the floor!â
The cliché movie-like commands rang out as Anaya trembled. Mika, too.
But probably no one shook more than Arjun.
Jack arrived moments later.
âAnaya Patel!â
Still trembling, Anaya answered without looking up.
âThatâs me.â
Jack, drenched in sweat, pulled her upright.
âWeâre going to the hospital.â
A message from Elijah arrived with a link.
Jack, now in the passenger seat with Anaya, tossed her his iPhone.
âOpen it!â
She tapped itâit appeared to be a livestream.
âGood evening, New York. And Los Angeles.
My name is Zakaria Haddad.
Thatâs my real name.
A few years ago, I lived in Gaza.
Now Iâm in a room that mimics one you know very well.â
A man with brown skin and a beard sat in what looked almost exactly like the Oval Office.
He looked at his watch, then back at the camera.
âItâs time for breaking news.
Keep your eyes on your phones.â
Just then, an alert popped up:
BREAKING: Former Democratic President Owen Reed reportedly shot at the Los Angeles Convention Center
Zakaria bowed his head slightly and chuckled.
âA sad headline, isnât it?
But donât be sad, America.
In Gaza, we endured 55,000 times worse.
We lost more than 55,000 loved ones.
We weptâendlessly.â
Still looking down, he clenched his fists and slammed the desk.
When he looked up, tears glistened in his eyes.
âWe do not seek money.
Nor honor through death.
All we wantâ
are tears.
Tears equal to the ones we shed.
Only those tears can heal us.â
Placing both elbows on the desk and clasping his hands, Zakaria gently rested his chin on them. He closed his eyes, and a heavy silence filled the room. The corners of his eyes seemed to tremble ever so slightly. Then, slowly, he began to speak.
âI am just one among fifty-five thousand. Even if I disappear, the will of fifty thousand others will remainâunchanging, undying, carried forward. I am here to give voice to that will.â
Zakaria opened the desk drawer, took out a Glock 17, and slid the action, chambering a round. He raised the gun to his temple.
A Sunni Muslim, he looked straight into the camera and spoke with a hint of sarcasm.
âGod bless you. America.â
Zakaria closed his eyes and pulled the trigger straight back. A dry crack echoed through the room.
The screen cut to black in an instant.
To be continued...
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Exhibition in 2025
Theme
The Nightfly
My next novel, Bâ
This exhibition will reflect its imagery.
A portion of the novel will be excerpted and shared publicly.
Images
Taylor Swift â This Love [Japanese Translation]
youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=Y2g0HzhoVjnR46zS
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Organizer
Design Festa
Venue
Tokyo Big Sight
Date
Fall 2025
Contact
exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com
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âA.I. - About Appleâs Identityâ
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54271473379/in/dateposted...
---
### Will Apple Listen to Mark Zuckerbergâs Criticism?
I Donât Think SoâAt Least Not for Someone Enchanted by the Apple Vision Pro.
Mark Zuckerberg, CEO of Meta, recently appeared on a well-known podcast, where he criticized Apple for failing to release an innovative product since the iPhone and for experiencing a decline in sales.
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:
Photo Music and iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/photo-music/pl.u-Eg8qefpy8Xz
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æ¶ããå¢çç·ããçãŸãããã®ãïœ å»ã£ãŠããå·æèšå¿µçŸè¡é€šãæ¯ãè¿ã£ãŠ ïœ
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54020588671/in/dateposted...
What Emerged from the Vanishing Boundaries~ Reflecting on the Departing Kawamura Memorial Museum ~
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54020588671/in/dateposted...
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8mm film of our honeymoon resurrected after decades.
youtu.be/zH-dG7bMeL4?si=yLF5_f1m-LhAVdPp
We found the 8mm film of our honeymoon for the first time in decades, and burned it onto a DVD.
On June 6, 1993, we got married, and headed straight to Nassau, Bahamas, via New York.
Our destination was the pink sand beach where the late Princess Diana went on her honeymoon.
If you're heading to the Bahamas, this might be a good reference.
The hotel we stayed at was the Ramada Hotel, which no longer exists.
My wife is showing us the hotel room.
But now you can see the beautiful scenery in real time.
When I played the DVD that arrived, it showed footage of our arrival in the Bahamas.
Please take a look if you'd like.
This time, we asked Fujifilm to make the DVD.
I'll post the link below.
Digitize videos and photos and convert them to DVDs | Fujifilm
fujifilmmall.jp/conversion/?_gl=1*1smvac9*_gcl_au*NTA1NDU....
#Bahamas #Nassau #PinkSandBeach #Honeymoon #1993
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Important Notices.
I have relaxed the following conditions.
I will distribute my T-shirt to the world for free.
m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50656401427/in/dateposted-p...
m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50613367691/in/dateposted-p...
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Notice regarding "Lot No.402_â.
From now on I will host "Lot No.402_".
The work of Leonardo da Vinci who was sleeping.
That is the number when it was put up for auction.
No sign was written on the work.
So this work couldn't conclude that it was his work.
However # as a result of various appraisals # it was exposed to the sun.
A work that no one notices. A work that speaks quietly without a title.
I will continue to strive to provide it to many people in various ways.
October 24 2020 by Mitsushiro - Nakagawa.
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©ïž2025 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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Profile.
In November 2014 # we caught the attention of the party selected to undertake the publicity for a mobile phone that changed the face of the world with just a single model # and will conclude a confidentiality agreement with them.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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Hereâs a translated version with a style suitable for a news site introduction:
---
### **Interview and Novel: My Work**
I published a book in the past.
At that time, I uploaded my interview as a PDF online, both in Japanese and English.
Now, I am making it available for free.
More details can be found on Amazon.
**Writing a Novel.**
**Photography Techniques.**
**The Sense of Distance Between the Creator and the Work.**
These all share a common theme.
I put into words the things I felt and left them behind as a record.
I hope my text reaches many readers.
Thank you.
**Mitsushiro**
ð **[Access the Files Here](drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...)**
### **Contents**
ð **1. Interview (English Version)**
ð **2. Novel: *Unforgettable* (English Version)**
ð **3. Interview (Japanese Version)**
ð **4. Novel: *Unforgettable* (Japanese Version)**
*(This novel is dedicated to future artists.)*
*(456 pages in Japanese manuscript format.)*
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
---
### **Synopsis**
Kei Kitami, a student preparing for university entrance exams, meets Kaori Kamimura, an event companion six years his senior, through social media.
Kaori has come to Tokyo with a dreamâto befriend famous artists.
To achieve this, she needs the influence of Ryo Osawa, a well-known radio producer.
During a live radio broadcast, Osawa speaks directly to Kaori:
*"I have a wife and child. But still, I want to see you."*
Meanwhile, Rika Sanjo, Keiâs classmate who secretly harbors feelings for him, is closely watching Kaoriâs every move...
---
Main story
There are two reasons why a person faces the sea.
One to enjoy a slice of shine in the sea like children bubbling over in the beach.
The other to brush the dust of memory like an old man who misses old days staring at the shine
quietly.
Those lead to only one meaning though they do not seem to overlap. Itâs a rebirth.
I face myself to change tomorrow a vague day into something certain.
That is the meaning of a rebirth.
I had a very sweet girlfriend when I was 18.
After she left I knew the meaning of gentleness for the first time and also a true pain of loss. After
she left # how many times did I depend too much on her # doubt her # envy her and keep on telling lies
until I realized it is love?
I wonder whether a nobody like me could have given something to her who was struggling in the
daily life in those days. Giving something is arrogant conceit. It is nothing but self-satisfaction.
I had been thinking about such a thing.
However I guess what she saw in me was because I had nothing. Thatâs why she tried to see
something in me. Perhaps she found a slight possibility in me # a guy filled with ambiguous unstable
tomorrow. But I wasted days depending too much on her gentleness.
Now I finally can convey how I felt in those days when we met.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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iBooks. Electronic Publishing. It is free now.
0.about the iBooks.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
1.unforgettable '(ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...
2.unforgettable '(JNP.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...
3. Streamlined trajectory.(For Japanese only.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8... =11
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My Novel : Unforgettable'
(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
Kei Kitami, a student preparing for university entrance exams, meets Kaori Kamimura, an event companion six years his senior, through social media.
Kaori has come to Tokyo with a dreamâto befriend famous artists.
To achieve this, she needs the influence of Ryo Osawa, a well-known radio producer.
During a live radio broadcast, Osawa speaks directly to Kaori:
*"I have a wife and child. But still, I want to see you."*
Meanwhile, Rika Sanjo, Keiâs classmate who secretly harbors feelings for him, is closely watching Kaoriâs every move...
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
Main story
There are two reasons why a person faces the sea.
One to enjoy a slice of shine in the sea like children bubbling over in the beach.
The other to brush the dust of memory like an old man who misses old days staring at the shine
quietly.
Those lead to only one meaning though they do not seem to overlap. Itâs a rebirth.
I face myself to change tomorrow a vague day into something certain.
That is the meaning of a rebirth.
I had a very sweet girlfriend when I was 18.
After she left I knew the meaning of gentleness for the first time and also a true pain of loss. After
she left # how many times did I depend too much on her # doubt her # envy her and keep on telling lies
until I realized it is love?
I wonder whether a nobody like me could have given something to her who was struggling in the
daily life in those days. Giving something is arrogant conceit. It is nothing but self-satisfaction.
I had been thinking about such a thing.
However I guess what she saw in me was because I had nothing. Thatâs why she tried to see
something in me. Perhaps she found a slight possibility in me # a guy filled with ambiguous unstable
tomorrow. But I wasted days depending too much on her gentleness.
Now I finally can convey how I felt in those days when we met.
1/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...
2/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...
3/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...
4/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...
5/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...
6/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...
7/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...
8/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...
9/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...
Fin.
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
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Title of my book : unforgettable'
Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Out Now.
ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
in Amazon.
Unforgettableâ amzn.asia/d/eG1wNc5
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The schedule of the next novel.
Still would stand all time. (Unforgettable '2)
(It will not go away forever)
Please give me some more time. That is Japanese.
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My Works.
1 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48072442376/in/dateposted...
2 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48078949821/in/dateposted...
3 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48085863356/in/dateposted...
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Do you want to hear my voice?
:)
1
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. First type.
2
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. Second type.
3
About when I started Fotolog. Architect 's point of view.
4
Why did not you have a camera so far?
5
What is the coolest thing? The photo is as it is.
6
About the current YouTube bar. I also want to tell # I want to leave.
7
About Japanese photographers. Japanese YouTube bar is Pistols.
8
The composition of the photograph is sensibility. Meet the designers in Milan. Two questions.
9
What is a good composition? What is a bad composition?
10
What is the time to point the camera? It is slow if you are looking into the viewfinder or display.
11
Family photos. I can not take pictures with others. The inside of the subject.
12
About YouTube 's photographer. Camera technology etc. Sensibility is polished by reading books.
13
About the Japanese newspaper. A picture of a good newspaper is Reuters. If you continue to look at useless photographs # it will be useless.
14
About Japanese photographers. About the exhibition.
Summary. I wrote a novel etc. What I want to tell the most.
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I talked about how to make a work.
About work production 1/2
About work production 2/2
1 Photo exhibition up to that point. Did you want to go?
2 Well # what is an exhibition that you want to visit even if you go there?
3 Challenge to exhibit one work every month before opening a solo exhibition at the Harajuku Design Festa.
4 works are materials and silhouettes. Similar to fashion.
5 Who is your favorite artist? What is it? Make it clear.
6 Creating a collage is exactly the same as taking photos. As I wrote in the interview # it is the same as writing a novel.
7 I want to show it to someone # but I do not make a piece to show it. Aim for the work you want to decorate your own room as in the photo.
8 What is copycat? Nowadays # it is suspected to be beaten. There is something called Mimesis?
kotobank.jp/word/Mimesis-139464
9 What is Individuality? What is originality?
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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Explanation of composition. 2
1.Composition explanation 2 ... 1/4
2.Composition explanation 2 ... 2/4
3.Composition Explanation 2 ... 3/4
4.Composition Explanation 2 ... 4/4
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My shutter feeling.
Today's photo.
It is a photo taken from Eurostar.
This video is an explanation.
I went to Milan in 2005.
At that time # I went from Milan to Venice.
We took Eurostar into the transportation.
This photo was not taken from a very fast Eurostar.
When I changed the track # I took a picture at the moment I slowed down.
Is there a Japanese beside you?
Please have my video translated.
:)
In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...
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Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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flickr.
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/
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instagram.
www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/
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Pinterest.
www.pinterest.jp/MitsushiroNakagawa/
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YouPic
youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/
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twitter.
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facebook.
www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa
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threads.
www.threads.net/@mitsushiro_nakagawa
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Blue sky.
bsky.app/profile/mitsushironakagawa.bsky.social
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Amazon.
www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...
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My Statistics (as of May 12, 2025)
Flickr and YouPic views:
Flickr 25,354,244 View
Youpic 8,533,634 View
x.com/mitsushiro/status/1921858836618481746
My statistics (as of December 15, 2024)
How many views have you had on Flickr and Youpic
Flickr 24,260,172 Views
Youpic 7,957,826 Views
x.com/mitsushiro/status/1868185157909582014
My statistics (as of August 1, 2024)
How many views have I had on Flickr and Youpic
Flickr 23,192,383 Views
Youpic 7,574,603 Views
My statistics. (As of February 7, 2024)
What is the number of accesses to Flickr and YouPic
Flickr 21,694,434 Views
Youpic 7,003,230 Views
What is the number of accesses to Flickr and YouPic?
(As of November 13, 2023)
Flickr 20,852,872 View
Youpic 6,671,486 View
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Japanese is the following.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 204 _ . Copyright©ïž2024 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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â Lot No.402_ â ã«é¢ãããç¥ããã
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2020幎10æ24æ¥ by Mitsushiro - Nakagawa.
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0.about the iBooks.
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1.unforgettableâ ( ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
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2.unforgettableâ ( JNP.ver.)(ãã®å°èª¬ã¯æªæ¥ã®ã¢ãŒãã£ã¹ããžæ§ããŸã)
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åã®å°èª¬ãè±èªçã
My Novel Unforgettable' (This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .
1/9
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2/9
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3/9
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4/9
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5/9
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6/9
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7/9
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8/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...
9/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...
Fin.
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
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Title of my book : unforgettable'
Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Out Now.
ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
in Amazon.
Unforgettableâ amzn.asia/d/eG1wNc5
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åã®äœåã
1 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48072442376/in/dateposted...
2 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48078949821/in/dateposted...
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Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.
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flickr.
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/
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YouTube.
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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instagram.
www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/
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Pinterest.
www.pinterest.jp/MitsushiroNakagawa/
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YouPic
youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/
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fotolog
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twitter.
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facebook.
www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa
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threads.
www.threads.net/@mitsushiro_nakagawa
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Blue sky.
bsky.app/profile/mitsushironakagawa.bsky.social
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Amazon.
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Japanese is the following.
Title.
Park.
Bâ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
æ¥æ¬èªã®ããããçã¯äžã®æ¹ã«ãããŸãð
âSynopsisâ
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Koreaâs cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not moneyâbut to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinationsâmirroring one anotherâignite a nationâs deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidateâs life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New Yorkâembedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) liveâsymbols of âthe order America built.â
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: âWe will never bow to terror.â
Among the crowd, Rafiâs operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasserâonce Rafiâs comrade, haunted by the memory of his sisterâs death in Gazaâtries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafiâs conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the cityâs fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
âCharactersâ
Anaya Patel â 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh â 26, Anayaâs boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato â 25, Anayaâs friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford â 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake â 26, Justinâs fiancée
President Grant M. Langford â 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles âChuckâ Baines â 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett â 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett â 30, Ryanâs wife
Owen Reed â 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance â 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway â 30, Jackâs colleague
Darryl Ross â 29, Jackâs colleague
Elijah Kane â 28, Jackâs colleague
Marcus Dane â 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett â 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell â 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcusâs subordinate
Veronica Reeves â 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris â 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen â 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe â 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad â 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser â 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam â 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah â 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza â 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad â 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari â 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser â 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi â 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Bâ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan â the man who challenges Netflix. ð
(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)
Manhattan, New York, U.S.A. 2017 ⊠6 / 16
(Todayâs photo. It has not been published before, but Iâve recently re-edited it from the original.)
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
English lyrics and Japanese translation
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
Volume 19ð
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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My new novel
Bâ (B Flat)
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Twilight sank over the harbor town, dimming the air as the rusted girders along the pier turned a burnished red.
The park in Red Hook was nearly empty; the chains of the swings stirred in the wind, clinking faintly.
Childrenâs laughter drifted from afar, only deepening the stillness that hung over the place.
Amir stood outside the wire fence, gazing at the scene, and something half-forgotten stirred within him.
There had been evenings, too, in the rubble of Gaza.
Out from the ruins of broken houses, his mother would appearâ
breathless, dust clinging to her clothes, coming to find him, to hold him close.
He could still recall the scent of her hair, the warmth of her arms.
âLetâs go home,â she had said.
Even if âhomeâ was nothing more than a collapsing shell of stone and dust, her voice alone had led him back.
A mattress laid atop debris.
A room with no walls, only wind.
Yet each time his motherâs hand brushed his forehead, that place became, undeniably, home.
Amirâs gaze returned to the New York children swaying on the swings.
The innocent rhythm between mothers and sons was repeating itself again, bathed in the soft light of dusk.
It was a world untouched by weapons or blood.
âRafi,â he murmured, barely louder than the wind,
âmaybe⊠we donât have to go on.â
Rafi didnât look away.
His eyes were clouded with the sediment of Gazaâblood and dust, the memory of ruin.
His fatherâs body fallen in shadow.
Walls blackened with fire.
Dreams torn apart.
What filled him was not tenderness, but a cold and merciless anger.
âDonât forget, Amir,â he said, his voice hard as stone.
âIn the same place where your mother held you, our fathers were slaughtered.
Those ruins are not just ruins.â
Amir fell silent.
The riverâs surface rippled red in the twilight; across the East River, the towers of Manhattan shimmered faintly, blurred at the edges.
Peace and destruction, memory and hatredâ
they mingled together in the same wind.
Behind the wire fence, childrenâs laughter still rang out.
But to the two men, it sounded only like an echo from another world.
The setting sun sank quietly, staining the bridgeâs iron joints red as the heat beneath it trembled in the air.
Rainwater pooled in the cracks of the concrete, reflecting a thin sheet of gold.
A faint steam rose from the damp air, and the salt from the harbor clung to Amirâs nose.
The boarded door of an abandoned factory hung loose,
the wind pushing in old newspapers and leaves, swirling them into tiny spirals.
From afar came the cry of cicadas, and a city bus exhaled a sigh through its brakes.
Beneath the bridge stood Amir, Rafi, and several others scattered in silence.
Some wiped sweat from their brows, eyes lowered to the ground;
others rested hands upon the girders, gazing out toward the distant light.
At intervals, the shadow of a parent waiting for a child passed by,
a white-roofed van gliding through the heat.
Amir rubbed his back, the sweat clinging to his shirt, and sat down in the shadow of the bridge pier.
Rafi stood a short distance away.
Their shadows stretched long, wavering under the harsh westering sun.
No one among their comrades moved; their stillness was a kind of breathless waiting.
âCanât we stop here?â Amirâs voice wavered into the humid air.
In his mind, he saw again his motherâs hand reaching through a crack in the stone wallâ
that small, dirt-stained hand that once touched his cheek.
The desire to return to that warmth still flickered faintly in his chest, like an ember refusing to die.
Rafi clenched his jaw, and spoke through his teeth, his words as brief and cold as a stone cast into the sea.
âDonât forget, Amir.
If you forget that night, weâll betray the dead.â
His voice merged with the creak of metal underfoot, irreconcilable with the laughter of children or the cry of cicadas drifting in the distance.
Amir narrowed his eyes, watching the flow of light beyond the railing.
Across the river, windows shimmered in layersâ
places where life went on, where dinners were being served,
where childrenâs laughter and footsteps would echo softly through the gardens.
A deep shadow cut across Rafiâs face.
His fists were clenched, the veins on his hands taut and bright.
âThat wish of yours,â he said quietly,
âdo you know it might become someoneâs gravestone?â
Amirâs gaze fell to a small white rabbit doll at his feet.
It was caked with dust, one eye missing.
Perhaps it belonged to a child who once played beneath this bridgeâ
or perhaps it had simply wandered here by chance.
Either way, to Amir, that single missing eye seemed like a fleeting glimpse of a world quietly disappearing.
Silence spread between them.
The wind hummed low through the iron beams.
Around them, the world went on moving.
A van door shut.
A parent touched a childâs shoulder.
A bus turned the corner.
Their comrades drew shallow breaths, eyes fixed on the ground or the far horizon.
Without looking back, Amir began walking toward the city beyond the bridgeâs shadow.
Behind him came a single breath from Rafiâ
a sound that carried the stillness of a corpse.
The summer dusk slowly swallowed the bridge.
The men beneath it remained as faint silhouettes,
poised between the red of sunset and the cold gleam of steel.
Rafi quietly unzipped his bag and drew out a tablet.
His fingers trembled slightly,
but he took a slow breath to steady himself,
and aimed the camera at the mark of âBââ at the bottom of mellow-echo.net.
A dark screen flickered to life, revealing a deep-layer QR code.
Without hesitation, his finger slid along the words:
âC4-ID: Vanta+Core / Ready.â
That movement sent a faint tremor through the tension of the men beneath the bridge,
blending with the dry scent of rust and the damp summer air.
From the far side of the East River, under another bridge,
sparks began to riseâone, then anotherâ
tiny flashes glowing red in the dark.
The light quivered across the shadows,
and the sound of metal striking metal echoed low.
Rafiâs eyes followed the fading silhouette of Amirâs back.
The others stepped silently away,
drawing a little farther from the bridge.
Moist air clung to Rafiâs skin,
and the mingled red of dusk and chill of steel filled the space around him.
In the hush beneath the bridge,
each flash and creak formed a strange rhythm in his chest.
A cicada cried once in the distance.
The cityâs murmur faded to a far-off haze.
Pressed beneath that wave of tension,
the men held their breath,
confirming each otherâs presence only through glances and the rhythm of their breathing.
The summer dusk slowlyâyet surelyâ
swallowed the bridge, the city,
and the shadows that remained.
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My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Thereâs still more to come. ð
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
18
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54840848974/in/dateposted...
17
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54829426478/in/dateposted...
16
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54811315069/in/dateposted...
15
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
14
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
13
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
12
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
11
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
5
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
4
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
Bâ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
Park.
åã®æ°ããå°èª¬
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åã¯èªä¿¡ããããŸãã
ãã²ãæåŸ ããŠãåŸ ã¡ãã ããã
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
远䌞
ããããªã«ææŠããç·ãã¿ã£ã¡ãããð
( Nikon coolpix 8700 shot )
ãã³ããã¿ã³ããã¥ãŒãšãŒã¯ãã¢ã¡ãªã«ã2017. ⊠6 / 16
(ä»æ¥ã®åçãããã¯æªçºè¡šæžã¿ã§ãããããæè¿ããªãªãžãã«ããåç·šéããŠããŸããïŒ
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
è±è©ãšåèš³
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
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åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
第19匟ã ð
以äžã¯ããŸã åçš¿ã®æ®µéã§ãããŸã æšæ²ããŸãã
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å ¬éããŠããå 容ã®é çªã¯ãã©ãã©ã§ãã
(ãã¡ããæçµçš¿ã§ã¯ãããŸããã)
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åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
è¿œèšããã®å°èª¬ãå€å°èª¬æããŸããã
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
ã¡ã¢
1
ãBombayåïŒãã³ãã€åãhhåïŒã
â¢ç¹åŸŽïŒéåžžã®ABOè¡æ¶²åãæããªãïŒAãBãOã«åé¡ãããªãïŒç¹æ®ãªåã
â¢çºèŠå°ïŒ1952幎ãã€ã³ãã»ã ã³ãã€ïŒæ§ãã³ãã€ïŒã§åããŠç¢ºèªã
â¢çºçé »åºŠïŒã€ã³ãã§ã¯1äžäººã«1人çšåºŠã ããäžççã«ã¯çŽ250äžäººã«1人ãšãã
â¢èŒžè¡å¶éïŒåãBombayåãã茞è¡ã§ããªãã
2
2024幎ããŒããŒã倧åŠéŠåžã®åæ¥åŒã¹ããŒããç¥ããªãããšã®åã
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title:
Beyond the Balcony
(Shot with FUJIFILM GFX50R)
Hawaii. United States. 2019. ⊠0.9/ 8
(Todayâs photo. Previously unreleased.)
My new novel.
Bâ (B-flat)
I'm releasing it. This will truly be the last time I share it.
I won't release any more after this.
It's just a rough draft from the beginning â more like notes.
If you're interested, please give it a read. :)
The setting is New York.
åã®æ°ããå°èª¬ã
ãBâãïŒããŒãã©ããïŒ
å ¬éããŸããããã§æ¬åœã«æåŸã®å ¬éã§ãã
ãã以äžã¯å ¬éããŸããã
åé ããã®èµ°ãæžãã§ããã¡ã¢çšåºŠã§ãã
ããã£ããèªãã§ãã ããã:)
èå°ã¯ãã¥ãŒãšãŒã¯ã§ãã
Images.
Bryony Jarman-Pinto ⊠Water Come
youtu.be/z1ZAkZ5bSLs?si=56ao-cHyPzpnDsgp
::Photo Music and iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/photo-music/pl.u-Eg8qefpy8Xz
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Bâ (B-Flat)
Further excerpt released. Just a rough draft from the beginning. Like a note. Please read if you'd like. :)
Setting: New York City.
Red, Yellow, Blueââ
It was just past 7 p.m. when a light drizzle began to fall on East 52nd Street.
Anaya Patel leaned against the wall of the building next to Tot Ramen, where she was supposed to meet someone, and absently stared at the traffic light at the intersection to her right.
It was already July, yet the summer felt cooler than last yearâs. She regretted stepping out in just a T-shirt.
When the light turned green, Anaya squinted, narrowing her gaze.
Kana, her old classmate, was waving and smiling as she ran toward herââ
The flat ceiling of Madison Square Garden seemed to bulge slightly with the heat of the crowd, or so it appeared to Jack.
Cheers welcoming the presidential candidate clashed with shouts of outrage, rattling deep inside his ears.
Jack scanned the arena quickly before glancing back down at his iPhone. Several social media apps were open at once, and furious posts streamed across the screen.
One post in the bottom right cornerâon Metaâcaught his eye.
A death threat.
Presidential candidate Justin Bradford was about to take the stage with his fiancée, Eleanor Blake.
As a red spotlightâthe color of the Republican Partyâlit up the center of the stage, the couple stepped out.
And at that exact moment, a gunshot rang out.
It was subtle enough to be missed at firstâbut Jack heard it. Two shots.
As chaos erupted around him, Jack quietly closed his eyes, picturing the trajectory.
The first bulletâlikely from his right, near the PA system. But that area should have been covered by agents from his own unit.
He calculated the second shot. It probably came from the left side of the stage.
It was aimed with precision, taking into account the positioning of both Justin and Eleanor.
There might have been a leak.
Then came a second report.
His colleague Ben Hollowayâs voice, calm as ever.
The heart was missed, but both bullets had hit. One had grazed it and lodged in the epigastric area, just under the diaphragm.
Jack replied, equally calm.
âJustinâs Bombay blood. I confirmed it three days ago with Bellevue Hospital. They have reserves stored.â
Ben responded in a low voice, as if nothing had happened.
âUnderstood.â
Justin was rushed to Bellevue, the closest hospital to Madison Square Garden.
Jack called Elijah Kane directly from his smartphone.
Using WhatsApp or any other messaging app was strictly forbidden in the Secret Service.
Elijah answered before the first ring ended.
âJack, itâs bad. We donât have it. No Bombay blood.â
Jack was stunned.
âI confirmed it three days ago. I spoke directly to the person in chargeâcan't recall their nameâbut I saw the blood bags myself.â
After a pause, Elijah replied.
âThat person died in a car accident yesterday.â
Anaya Patel waited for her husband Arjun at Tot Ramen.
With her was Mika (Sato), her best friend since collegeâJapanese.
Just as the server placed a steaming bowl of ramen in front of her, Anayaâs phone rang.
The caller ID said Bellevue Hospital.
She answered without hesitation.
Mika looked on, concerned.
âIs this Anaya Patel? Iâm Sasha Wilson from Emergency.
You may have heardâRepublican presidential candidate has been shot.
We need your blood.
Stay where you are. A Secret Service vehicle is en route.â
Following Mikaâs gaze, Anaya turned to the display above the counter.
A live report from MSG was playing.
Then, a man in a sleek blue suit with brown skin approached her.
âIâm Rohan Shah, Secret Service.
Please come with me to the hospital.
The car is ready.â
He reached for her hand with urgency.
Just then, Anayaâs iPhone buzzed again. An unfamiliar number.
She tapped it.
âHello?â
âAnaya Patel?â
âYes. Who is this?â
âJack. Jack Vance. Secret Service. Iâll be there shortly.â
âHow do you know where I am?â
âWeâre professionals. We have our ways.â
âBut the Secret Service guy is already here.â
âNoâheâs not!â Jackâs voice roared through the phone.
At that instant, the man in front of her pulled a rifle from under his jacket and aimed it at her forehead.
A small gunshot rang through the restaurant.
Anaya froze.
She couldnât speak.
As the man collapsed to the floor, another figure emergedâalso pointing a gun at her.
It was her husband, Arjun.
âFreeze! FBI!â
NYPD officers in uniform and FBI agents in gray suits stormed in.
âHands behind your head! Get down on the floor!â
The cliché movie-like commands rang out as Anaya trembled. Mika, too.
But probably no one shook more than Arjun.
Jack arrived moments later.
âAnaya Patel!â
Still trembling, Anaya answered without looking up.
âThatâs me.â
Jack, drenched in sweat, pulled her upright.
âWeâre going to the hospital.â
A message from Elijah arrived with a link.
Jack, now in the passenger seat with Anaya, tossed her his iPhone.
âOpen it!â
She tapped itâit appeared to be a livestream.
âGood evening, New York. And Los Angeles.
My name is Zakaria Haddad.
Thatâs my real name.
A few years ago, I lived in Gaza.
Now Iâm in a room that mimics one you know very well.â
A man with brown skin and a beard sat in what looked almost exactly like the Oval Office.
He looked at his watch, then back at the camera.
âItâs time for breaking news.
Keep your eyes on your phones.â
Just then, an alert popped up:
BREAKING: Former Democratic President Owen Reed reportedly shot at the Los Angeles Convention Center
Zakaria bowed his head slightly and chuckled.
âA sad headline, isnât it?
But donât be sad, America.
In Gaza, we endured 55,000 times worse.
We lost more than 55,000 loved ones.
We weptâendlessly.â
Still looking down, he clenched his fists and slammed the desk.
When he looked up, tears glistened in his eyes.
âWe do not seek money.
Nor honor through death.
All we wantâ
are tears.
Tears equal to the ones we shed.
Only those tears can heal us.â
Placing both elbows on the desk and clasping his hands, Zakaria gently rested his chin on them. He closed his eyes, and a heavy silence filled the room. The corners of his eyes seemed to tremble ever so slightly. Then, slowly, he began to speak.
âI am just one among fifty-five thousand. Even if I disappear, the will of fifty thousand others will remainâunchanging, undying, carried forward. I am here to give voice to that will.â
Zakaria opened the desk drawer, took out a Glock 17, and slid the action, chambering a round. He raised the gun to his temple.
A Sunni Muslim, he looked straight into the camera and spoke with a hint of sarcasm.
âGod bless you. America.â
Zakaria closed his eyes and pulled the trigger straight back. A dry crack echoed through the room.
The screen cut to black in an instant.
To be continued...
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Exhibition in 2025
Theme
The Nightfly
My next novel, Bâ
This exhibition will reflect its imagery.
A portion of the novel will be excerpted and shared publicly.
Images
Taylor Swift â This Love [Japanese Translation]
youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=Y2g0HzhoVjnR46zS
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Organizer
Design Festa
Venue
Tokyo Big Sight
Date
Fall 2025
Contact
exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com
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âA.I. - About Appleâs Identityâ
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54271473379/in/dateposted...
---
### Will Apple Listen to Mark Zuckerbergâs Criticism?
I Donât Think SoâAt Least Not for Someone Enchanted by the Apple Vision Pro.
Mark Zuckerberg, CEO of Meta, recently appeared on a well-known podcast, where he criticized Apple for failing to release an innovative product since the iPhone and for experiencing a decline in sales.
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:
Photo Music and iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/photo-music/pl.u-Eg8qefpy8Xz
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_________________________________
æ¶ããå¢çç·ããçãŸãããã®ãïœ å»ã£ãŠããå·æèšå¿µçŸè¡é€šãæ¯ãè¿ã£ãŠ ïœ
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54020588671/in/dateposted...
What Emerged from the Vanishing Boundaries~ Reflecting on the Departing Kawamura Memorial Museum ~
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54020588671/in/dateposted...
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8mm film of our honeymoon resurrected after decades.
youtu.be/zH-dG7bMeL4?si=yLF5_f1m-LhAVdPp
We found the 8mm film of our honeymoon for the first time in decades, and burned it onto a DVD.
On June 6, 1993, we got married, and headed straight to Nassau, Bahamas, via New York.
Our destination was the pink sand beach where the late Princess Diana went on her honeymoon.
If you're heading to the Bahamas, this might be a good reference.
The hotel we stayed at was the Ramada Hotel, which no longer exists.
My wife is showing us the hotel room.
But now you can see the beautiful scenery in real time.
When I played the DVD that arrived, it showed footage of our arrival in the Bahamas.
Please take a look if you'd like.
This time, we asked Fujifilm to make the DVD.
I'll post the link below.
Digitize videos and photos and convert them to DVDs | Fujifilm
fujifilmmall.jp/conversion/?_gl=1*1smvac9*_gcl_au*NTA1NDU....
#Bahamas #Nassau #PinkSandBeach #Honeymoon #1993
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Important Notices.
I have relaxed the following conditions.
I will distribute my T-shirt to the world for free.
m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50656401427/in/dateposted-p...
m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50613367691/in/dateposted-p...
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Notice regarding "Lot No.402_â.
From now on I will host "Lot No.402_".
The work of Leonardo da Vinci who was sleeping.
That is the number when it was put up for auction.
No sign was written on the work.
So this work couldn't conclude that it was his work.
However # as a result of various appraisals # it was exposed to the sun.
A work that no one notices. A work that speaks quietly without a title.
I will continue to strive to provide it to many people in various ways.
October 24 2020 by Mitsushiro - Nakagawa.
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©ïž2025 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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Profile.
In November 2014 # we caught the attention of the party selected to undertake the publicity for a mobile phone that changed the face of the world with just a single model # and will conclude a confidentiality agreement with them.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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Hereâs a translated version with a style suitable for a news site introduction:
---
### **Interview and Novel: My Work**
I published a book in the past.
At that time, I uploaded my interview as a PDF online, both in Japanese and English.
Now, I am making it available for free.
More details can be found on Amazon.
**Writing a Novel.**
**Photography Techniques.**
**The Sense of Distance Between the Creator and the Work.**
These all share a common theme.
I put into words the things I felt and left them behind as a record.
I hope my text reaches many readers.
Thank you.
**Mitsushiro**
ð **[Access the Files Here](drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...)**
### **Contents**
ð **1. Interview (English Version)**
ð **2. Novel: *Unforgettable* (English Version)**
ð **3. Interview (Japanese Version)**
ð **4. Novel: *Unforgettable* (Japanese Version)**
*(This novel is dedicated to future artists.)*
*(456 pages in Japanese manuscript format.)*
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
---
### **Synopsis**
Kei Kitami, a student preparing for university entrance exams, meets Kaori Kamimura, an event companion six years his senior, through social media.
Kaori has come to Tokyo with a dreamâto befriend famous artists.
To achieve this, she needs the influence of Ryo Osawa, a well-known radio producer.
During a live radio broadcast, Osawa speaks directly to Kaori:
*"I have a wife and child. But still, I want to see you."*
Meanwhile, Rika Sanjo, Keiâs classmate who secretly harbors feelings for him, is closely watching Kaoriâs every move...
---
Main story
There are two reasons why a person faces the sea.
One to enjoy a slice of shine in the sea like children bubbling over in the beach.
The other to brush the dust of memory like an old man who misses old days staring at the shine
quietly.
Those lead to only one meaning though they do not seem to overlap. Itâs a rebirth.
I face myself to change tomorrow a vague day into something certain.
That is the meaning of a rebirth.
I had a very sweet girlfriend when I was 18.
After she left I knew the meaning of gentleness for the first time and also a true pain of loss. After
she left # how many times did I depend too much on her # doubt her # envy her and keep on telling lies
until I realized it is love?
I wonder whether a nobody like me could have given something to her who was struggling in the
daily life in those days. Giving something is arrogant conceit. It is nothing but self-satisfaction.
I had been thinking about such a thing.
However I guess what she saw in me was because I had nothing. Thatâs why she tried to see
something in me. Perhaps she found a slight possibility in me # a guy filled with ambiguous unstable
tomorrow. But I wasted days depending too much on her gentleness.
Now I finally can convey how I felt in those days when we met.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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_________________________________
iBooks. Electronic Publishing. It is free now.
0.about the iBooks.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
1.unforgettable '(ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...
2.unforgettable '(JNP.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...
3. Streamlined trajectory.(For Japanese only.)
itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8... =11
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My Novel : Unforgettable'
(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
Kei Kitami, a student preparing for university entrance exams, meets Kaori Kamimura, an event companion six years his senior, through social media.
Kaori has come to Tokyo with a dreamâto befriend famous artists.
To achieve this, she needs the influence of Ryo Osawa, a well-known radio producer.
During a live radio broadcast, Osawa speaks directly to Kaori:
*"I have a wife and child. But still, I want to see you."*
Meanwhile, Rika Sanjo, Keiâs classmate who secretly harbors feelings for him, is closely watching Kaoriâs every move...
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
Main story
There are two reasons why a person faces the sea.
One to enjoy a slice of shine in the sea like children bubbling over in the beach.
The other to brush the dust of memory like an old man who misses old days staring at the shine
quietly.
Those lead to only one meaning though they do not seem to overlap. Itâs a rebirth.
I face myself to change tomorrow a vague day into something certain.
That is the meaning of a rebirth.
I had a very sweet girlfriend when I was 18.
After she left I knew the meaning of gentleness for the first time and also a true pain of loss. After
she left # how many times did I depend too much on her # doubt her # envy her and keep on telling lies
until I realized it is love?
I wonder whether a nobody like me could have given something to her who was struggling in the
daily life in those days. Giving something is arrogant conceit. It is nothing but self-satisfaction.
I had been thinking about such a thing.
However I guess what she saw in me was because I had nothing. Thatâs why she tried to see
something in me. Perhaps she found a slight possibility in me # a guy filled with ambiguous unstable
tomorrow. But I wasted days depending too much on her gentleness.
Now I finally can convey how I felt in those days when we met.
1/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...
2/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...
3/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...
4/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...
5/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...
6/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...
7/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...
8/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...
9/9
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...
Fin.
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
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Title of my book : unforgettable'
Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Out Now.
ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
in Amazon.
Unforgettableâ amzn.asia/d/eG1wNc5
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The schedule of the next novel.
Still would stand all time. (Unforgettable '2)
(It will not go away forever)
Please give me some more time. That is Japanese.
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My Works.
1 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48072442376/in/dateposted...
2 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48078949821/in/dateposted...
3 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48085863356/in/dateposted...
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Do you want to hear my voice?
:)
1
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. First type.
2
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. Second type.
3
About when I started Fotolog. Architect 's point of view.
4
Why did not you have a camera so far?
5
What is the coolest thing? The photo is as it is.
6
About the current YouTube bar. I also want to tell # I want to leave.
7
About Japanese photographers. Japanese YouTube bar is Pistols.
8
The composition of the photograph is sensibility. Meet the designers in Milan. Two questions.
9
What is a good composition? What is a bad composition?
10
What is the time to point the camera? It is slow if you are looking into the viewfinder or display.
11
Family photos. I can not take pictures with others. The inside of the subject.
12
About YouTube 's photographer. Camera technology etc. Sensibility is polished by reading books.
13
About the Japanese newspaper. A picture of a good newspaper is Reuters. If you continue to look at useless photographs # it will be useless.
14
About Japanese photographers. About the exhibition.
Summary. I wrote a novel etc. What I want to tell the most.
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I talked about how to make a work.
About work production 1/2
About work production 2/2
1 Photo exhibition up to that point. Did you want to go?
2 Well # what is an exhibition that you want to visit even if you go there?
3 Challenge to exhibit one work every month before opening a solo exhibition at the Harajuku Design Festa.
4 works are materials and silhouettes. Similar to fashion.
5 Who is your favorite artist? What is it? Make it clear.
6 Creating a collage is exactly the same as taking photos. As I wrote in the interview # it is the same as writing a novel.
7 I want to show it to someone # but I do not make a piece to show it. Aim for the work you want to decorate your own room as in the photo.
8 What is copycat? Nowadays # it is suspected to be beaten. There is something called Mimesis?
kotobank.jp/word/Mimesis-139464
9 What is Individuality? What is originality?
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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Explanation of composition. 2
1.Composition explanation 2 ... 1/4
2.Composition explanation 2 ... 2/4
3.Composition Explanation 2 ... 3/4
4.Composition Explanation 2 ... 4/4
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My shutter feeling.
Today's photo.
It is a photo taken from Eurostar.
This video is an explanation.
I went to Milan in 2005.
At that time # I went from Milan to Venice.
We took Eurostar into the transportation.
This photo was not taken from a very fast Eurostar.
When I changed the track # I took a picture at the moment I slowed down.
Is there a Japanese beside you?
Please have my video translated.
:)
In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...
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Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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flickr.
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/
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instagram.
www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/
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Pinterest.
www.pinterest.jp/MitsushiroNakagawa/
_________________________________
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YouPic
youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/
_________________________________
_________________________________
twitter.
_________________________________
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facebook.
www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa
_________________________________
_________________________________
threads.
www.threads.net/@mitsushiro_nakagawa
_________________________________
_________________________________
Blue sky.
bsky.app/profile/mitsushironakagawa.bsky.social
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Amazon.
www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...
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My Statistics (as of May 12, 2025)
Flickr and YouPic views:
Flickr 25,354,244 View
Youpic 8,533,634 View
x.com/mitsushiro/status/1921858836618481746
My statistics (as of December 15, 2024)
How many views have you had on Flickr and Youpic
Flickr 24,260,172 Views
Youpic 7,957,826 Views
x.com/mitsushiro/status/1868185157909582014
My statistics (as of August 1, 2024)
How many views have I had on Flickr and Youpic
Flickr 23,192,383 Views
Youpic 7,574,603 Views
My statistics. (As of February 7, 2024)
What is the number of accesses to Flickr and YouPic
Flickr 21,694,434 Views
Youpic 7,003,230 Views
What is the number of accesses to Flickr and YouPic?
(As of November 13, 2023)
Flickr 20,852,872 View
Youpic 6,671,486 View
_________________________________
_________________________________
Japanese is the following.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 204 _ . Copyright©ïž2024 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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_________________________________
Title.
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0.about the iBooks.
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1.unforgettableâ ( ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
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My Novel Unforgettable' (This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .
1/9
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2/9
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3/9
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4/9
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5/9
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6/9
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7/9
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8/9
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9/9
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Fin.
images.
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Title of my book : unforgettable'
Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Out Now.
ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
in Amazon.
Unforgettableâ amzn.asia/d/eG1wNc5
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Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.
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flickr.
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YouTube.
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instagram.
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Pinterest.
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facebook.
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threads.
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Blue sky.
bsky.app/profile/mitsushironakagawa.bsky.social
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Amazon.
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Japanese is the following.
Iâm writing this at a Dennyâs in Japan. :)
Even after writing for 5 hours, it feels like just 60 minutes. ^^
iPhone 13 Pro shot :)
My new novel:
Bâ (Be Flat)
Dropping more content! ð
(Still not finalized yet.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Scene: Madison Square Garden 2
A low murmur swept down the avenue in front of the Garden as a black lead sedan and a fleet of white motorcycle escorts slowly rolled in. Four armored limousines followed, flanked by NYPD and state police SUVs. Behind them trailed a line of communication trucks, ambulances, and news vansâno more than fifty vehicles in all, but the weight of their presence was overwhelming.
The motorcade moved as if traffic signals held no meaning. The street had been completely shut down, and the convoy advanced in perfect synchrony. Police radio chatter leaked from the vehicles, while the blocked-off sidewalks were crowded with reporters clutching cameras and riot police standing firm. Near the center, three jet-black SUVs carried CAT operatives, their eyes scanning the street like silent sentinels from behind suppressor-equipped rifles.
On top of the limousines, state-of-the-art jamming devices disrupted all outside signals. Trailing them was a âRoadrunnerâ communications command vehicle bristling with antennas, maintaining real-time encrypted communication with the command center beneath the Garden.
At the tail end were fire department rapid response units, a hazmat vehicle, and two ambulances. The arrival of a presidential candidate was no longer a mere movementâit was a military operation. The city responded like a living neural network, absorbing and adjusting to the convoyâs every move.
Onlookers lined the barricadesâcivilians raising smartphones overhead, and journalists with grim faces behind their lenses. No one spoke. The crowd stood in solemn silence, bathed in the red and blue pulses of rotating lights, watching as the procession swept past like a scene from a film. But this wasnât a movie. The silence was real. No one dared crack a joke.
Sniper teams were stationed on rooftops around the Garden. Occasionally, the word âclearâ crackled over the comms. Inside the building, only those who had passed facial recognition were permitted to take position. In the chilled surveillance room where Jack sat, hundreds of camera feeds rotated every few seconds across the screens.
Inside the presumed presidential limousine, darkness cloaked everythingâno figures visible behind the glass. Yet everyone on-site knew those clear windows hid layers of invisible defense. That silence, designed to preserve life, carried with it a deadly order that blanketed the entire convoy.
Overhead, two Black Hawk helicopters glided in low and began to hover above the Garden. They were escape vessels, should the worst occurâbut more than that, they were a reminder that this place was, for tonight, a battlefield.
In the command room on the Gardenâs B3 level, Jack sat under the blue glow of the monitors, listening intently to the radio in his ear.
âEagle has arrived. Parking complete on B3. Zebra point passed. T-minus 45 seconds to approach.â
The voice in his earpiece made him bite his lip unconsciously. The coffee in his cup had long gone cold.
Onscreen, the divided camera feeds displayed the barricades on Seventh Avenue, snipers in standby, and nowâthe black limousine sliding into the underground garage.
The air tightened. Time became tangible. The tick of the second hand grew louder in everyoneâs ears. Jackâs fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the radio button.
Scene: Madison Square Garden 1
Jack shifted the donut box in his hand and pressed the button for B3. The air in the elevator was cold, and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he watched the lights descend. The contrast with the heat above made his vision blur slightly.
Stepping out, he turned right. Immediately on the left was the briefing room door, where a security man in a rumpled suit greeted him.
âEveryoneâs already waiting.â
Jack stood before the sensor and calmly turned his face toward it. A few seconds later, a mechanical chime signaled access approval, and the heavy fireproof doors slid open.
Once inside, Jack offered a small smile.
âI brought donuts. Make sure everyone gets some later.â
The security man grinned behind his sunglasses.
Beyond the thick soundproof door, 32 monitors glowed blue in the dim room. Staff members moved briskly and silently between the machines. The hum of servers filled the space, punctuated only by the occasional alert. In the center was the commanderâs seat, surrounded in a ring by workstations. The wall-sized screen displayed rapid live cuts from over 400 arena camerasâspectator stands, lobby, corridors, VIP lounge, loading dock, backstage, utility room, underground passagesâŠ
If a single rat appeared in those tunnels, theyâd be able to track it straight to the sewers.
Jack sat in the commanderâs chair and flipped the switch on the gooseneck mic in front of him. Its flexible neck trembled as the red indicator light came on.
âIâve got donuts. Sorry, no glazed. Thereâs Boston Cream, Chocolate Frosted, Strawberry Frosted, and Old-Fashioned. No coffee, so grab your own.â
âOld-Fashioned for me,â came Benâs voice from the loading dock. He adjusted the transparent tube of his earpiece and muttered into his collar.
Jack gave a faint smile, then grew serious again as he leaned toward the mic.
âEagle is about to arrive. Entering through Benâs loading dock. Three minutes to VIP room. Fifteen-minute briefing. Then onstage. Let me remind youâtonight marks the official nomination of the presidential candidate at the National Convention. First Republican convention held here in over twenty years. Also, his fiancée, Eleanor Blake, is with him. Stunning and brilliant. Try not to fall for her. The only ones youâre allowed to admire are bulky bruisers in tactical gear. And donât forget, VP candidate Cole Harrison is here tooâheâs the leash on our foul-mouthed Justin. No matter what he says, donât punch back. Iâll be the one getting punched later.â
Jack checked his watch.
âOne minute out. When Justinâs team heads home, dig into the donuts. Over and out.â
From the monitor showing the VIP lounge, Daryl spoke up behind him.
âJack, better check in with Elijah at the hospital. Make sure heâs on standby.â
Without turning, Jack raised his hand and called out.
âElijah, you copy? Daryl thinks youâre chilling at Starbucks.â
Laughter came through the speaker, followed by the chaotic background noise of Bellevue Hospital.
âDaryl, howâd you know? I was just thinking of getting Jack fired.â
Swiveling in his chair, Daryl laughed back at the screen.
âLetâs hope Justin doesnât end up in your ER.â
Jack cut in.
âAll stations, go. Justinâs here. Stick to the plan. Letâs move.â
âââââââââââ
Scene: Madison Square Garden 3 â Justin, Eleanor, Cole
The door of the limousine opened from within, and Justin Bradford stepped out with a short sigh.
âDamn. Itâs suffocating down here. Even a stray dog would turn up its nose at this parking garage.â
He brushed off the hem of his suit jacket with one hand, casting a grimace toward the concrete gloom.
Vice presidential candidate Cole Harrison followed quietly behind. Eight years older than Justin, Cole had once stood by Justinâs father, Lysus Bradfordâthrough every rally and protest, until the day Lysus, still registered as a Democrat, was gunned down by a sniper. Cole had admired Lysus deeply for his commitment to voicing the will of the unheard.
Justin yawned, wide and unfiltered. Cole spoke gently beside him.
âThis was the safest option. Too many unknowns outside. Itâs dangerous.â
âCole, youâre the biggest unknown weâve got.â
âAnd that makes two of us, Justin,â Cole replied with a small, knowing smile.
The click of white heels echoed faintly as Eleanor Blake stepped onto the stained concrete. She wore a pale beige coat over her dress and moved with quiet elegance. Though her brow creased slightly at the stagnant air, she quickly replaced it with a smile and walked toward Justin.
âJustin,â she said, her voice gentle yet firm, âno more jokes at the staffâs expense. These people would lay down their lives for you.â
Justin gave a small, lopsided smile and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
âFor their sake, I better live up to it.â
Flanked by security, the three of them began walking down the dim corridor. Faint LED lights flickered overhead. Dirty walls, cold silence, and a chill that crept under their skin accompanied them.
âThese hallways always get to me,â Justin muttered.
âI understand,â Eleanor said softly. âBut this is the safest route.â
âThatâs exactly why we should be grateful,â Cole added. âItâs this kind of space that protects us.â
Eventually, they reached the elevator reserved for dignitaries. The face recognition system chirped quietly as it confirmed their identities.
âJust a few more steps to the VIP lounge,â said one of the agents.
Justin glanced back at Eleanor and shrugged.
âLetâs shake the Garden tonight.â
She touched his arm lightly and smiled.
âIâm counting on you, Justin.â
The three of them stepped into the elevator, the doors closing quietly behind them as it carried them upward.
Scene: Totto Ramen â Ana, Mika, Motorcade
â Red, Yellow, Blue â
It was just after 7 p.m. when a light rain began to fall on East 52nd Street.
Ana leaned against the wall of an old building next to Totto Ramen, absently watching the changing traffic light at the intersection to her right. The air was heavy with humid heat clinging to the concrete, making even the pedestrians seem to move slower than usual.
The signal turned green. As she dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief and squinted into the distance, she spotted Kana on the far side of the crosswalk, waving and running toward her with a smile.
Then, suddenly, the air shifted.
From the far side of the intersection, a fleet of black SUVs glided in, soundless and ghostlike. In the few dozen seconds between the lead vehicleâs arrival and the armored limousine at the rear disappearing, the entire intersection was sealed offâno one passed.
As the convoy disappeared down the avenue, the signal changed again. Foot traffic resumed. The city inhaled.
Kana reemerged from the crowd and waved once more.
After wrapping up their exhibit, Ana and Mika had packed their gear into Mikaâs car and headed into Manhattan. Anaâs husband, Arjun, worked at LuminaTech Innovationsâa hybrid company based in Williamsburg specializing in AI, cloud services, and cybersecurity. Though it was his day off, heâd had a meeting in Hudson Yards and was on a separate schedule from Ana.
Totto Ramen was nearby, and ever since Mika had first brought her there, it had become a favorite for Ana and Arjun alike.
âSorry to keep you waiting. Itâs been such a lovely day,â Mika said, slightly out of breath.
By âlovely,â she meant the two sharply dressed men from that morning, still lingering in their thoughts.
Ana answered with mild disinterest.
âWas it? That your type, Mika?â
Mika shrugged and smiled.
âMm, I like someone close enough that I can run home to my parents if I need to.â
They laughed as they slid open the ramen shopâs wooden door and took seats at the counter. The place was bustling with Asian families enjoying their weekend. Familiar Japanese drifted from the far end of the counter.
Anaâs iPhone buzzed. It was a video call from Arjun.
She tapped the screen. His apologetic face appeared.
âThe meetingâs running long. Go ahead and eat without me.â
Ana smiled gently.
âBe careful. A whole swarm of black cars just swept through here.â
Arjun responded immediately.
âTheyâre probably heading to the Garden. Thereâs supposed to be a Republican convention tonight. The candidateâs making his appearance.â
Mika, having caught the gist, nodded deeply.
âYeah, itâs felt weird all day. The cityâs tenseânot your usual weekend.â
âââââââââââââ
Scene: Red Hook 1 â Amir and Rafi
Red Hook stood apart, even within Brooklyn.
Shielded by the shadows of skyscrapers, the red-brick warehouses, worn by wind and rain, groaned softly in the breeze. Each gust from the sea layered fresh salt onto the air, leaving streaks of rust blooming along the warehouse doors.
Beyond a broken fence, a long-unused warehouse door creaked open.
Amir stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The smell of oil soaked into the concrete filled his nostrils.
âLetâs start here,â he said.
Rafi nodded without a word.
They had first come to this place five winters ago.
Having lost everything in Gaza at the hands of Israel, the two had fled legally through Egypt and Turkey, eventually arriving in Tapachula in southern Mexico. There, they made contact with a smuggler known as a coyote.
Rafi paid $12,000 per person to the traffickersâusing cryptocurrency hacked through North Korean channels. The coins had been stolen through a North Koreaâlinked hacking syndicate. Amir wrote the code himself and erased all trace of the transaction. They had crossed borders not with blood, but with digits.
Later, under cover of night, they slipped beneath a border fence and entered the United States by land.
The night sky over Texas was a shade of dark blue they had never seen before. Low and clear, the deep blue held a fleeting kind of hope. But that hope was far outweighed by the hatred that had taken root in their hearts.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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Set in New York City.
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
â¢Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens â cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
â¢Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
â¢Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
â¢Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech â The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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This is my very first 'Moc'. The idea was to create a building inspired in the Haussmann style present in most of central Paris, without any piece count limit that would keep the modular compatibility and the minifig scale. So this is not a direct replica of any particular one. The street name is also fictional, there is no 'Boulevard des LumiÚres' in Paris, but its spirit is highly Parisian.
My encounter with Sissi was totally unplanned. I was walking towards a subway station on Avenida dos Aliados in the center of Porto when a small note posted on the door of an elegant building caught my eye. It announced an on-going exhibition from Lisbon artist Ana Jotta. I entered Culturgest Porto, a gallery housed in the EdifÃcio Caixa Geral de Depósitos (which I would translate by General deposit fund Building).
Art exhibitions are held there on the ground floor level of a large, somewhat ornate, atrium with balconies and stained glass windows around it. Sissi was posted at a desk facing the door. I asked her a few questions about the Culturgest and the artist. It turned out she spoke good French. She explained me that there are larger Culturgest galleries and auditoriums in Lisbon and that the organism is funded by the Fundação Caixa Geral de Depósitos.
Mrs Jottaâs work was shown on wallpaper she has designed with collected images. It looked like wall size scrapbook pages. As I was not familiar with the artist, I found that showing her work over this background made its perception somewhat difficult in a short visit. It does however often take time to get acquainted with an artistsâ vocabulary. It was however immediately apparent that her production is witty with a sense of humor. Interestingly, there was something in the hanging of the exhibition that suited the building finely and with a degree of stylistic compatibility.
As I was pleased with both the unexpected artistic discovery and our short conversation, I asked Sissi if she would agree that I shoot a quick portrait of her in this setting. You may see the result above.
Back home in Montreal, I found a 360º video of Ana Jottaâs exhibition on YouTube. It starts and ends behind Sissi seated at her desk.
Iâd like to thank Sissi for taking part in my 100 strangersâ project.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=668e22j9-kE
Ma rencontre avec Sissi était totalement imprévue. Je marchais vers une station de métro sur l'Avenida dos Aliados, dans le centre de Porto, lorsquâune petite note affichée sur la porte d'un bâtiment élégant a attiré mon attention. Elle annonçait une exposition en cours de lâartiste Ana Jotta originaire de Lisbonne. DerriÚre cette porte se trouvaient les locaux de Culturgest Porto, une galerie logée dans lâEdificio Caixa Geral de Depósitos (lâÃdifice de la Caisse Générale de dépots).
Des expositions d'art y sont présentées au rez-de-chaussée dâun atrium plutÃŽt ornementé entouré par des balcons et agrémenté de vitraux. Sissi était postée à un bureau face à la porte dâentrée. Je lui ai posé quelques questions au sujet de Culturgest et de l'artiste. Il sâest avéré qu'elle parlait bien français. Elle m'a expliqué qu'il y avait de plus importantes galeries et des auditoriums de Culturgest à Lisbonne et que l'organisme est financé par la Fundação Caixa Geral de Depósitos.
Le travail de Mme Jotta était accroché sur des murs tapissés de papiers peints conçu par ses soins à partir dâimages collectées quâelle se réappropriait. Le tout ressemblait à des pages de scrapbook format mural. Comme je ne connaissais pas l'artiste, jâai trouvé que cette toile de fond compliquait quelque peu la perception de ses Åuvres dans le contexte dâune courte visite impromptue. Il faut cependant souvent du temps pour se familiariser avec le vocabulaire d'un artiste. Il mâanéanmoins été immédiatement évident que sa production est pleine d'esprit et affiche un sens de l'humour particulier. Fait intéressant, il y avait quelque chose dans lâaccrochage de l'exposition qui convenait bien au bâtiment et démontrait avec lui une certaine compatibilité stylistique.
Comme jâétais heureux à la fois de cette découverte artistique inattendue et de notre courte conversation, jâai demandé à Sissi si elle serait d'accord que je fasse un portrait rapide dâelle dans ce contexte. Comme elle a acceptée, vous le voyez ci-dessus.
De retour à Montréal, j'ai trouvé une vidéo 360º de l'exposition dâAna Jotta sur YouTube. Elle commence et se termine derriÚre Sissi assise à son bureau.
Je tiens à remercier Sissi pour avoir contribuer à mon projet de photographier 100 inconnus.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=668e22j9-kE
This photo is part of my 100 strangers project. Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at the 100 Strangers Flickr Group page www.flickr.com/groups/100strangers/