Disclaimer: Hetalia and everything from it does not belong to me, because I think it's illegal in some way for someone my age to own any sort of series as popular as Hetalia is.
Note: This is an AU story, which means it's set in an Alternate Universe, so I will be using their human names.
Running, running with the harness pulling me forward.
People talking to each other, talking on their phones, constantly talking.
A tug on the harness to my left, and a quick dash across the street to meet it.
Cars whizzing past, a horn blaring somewhere up the street.
Sirens screaming farther away, seagulls howling, a dog barking.
A breathless inquiry as to whether there was any room left.
A small girl, asking her parents about the strange man with the black glasses.
Someone got off, and a gracious thank you slipped from my lips.
Can't be late. Don't want to be late.
A large step up onto the platform, a helping hand grasping my elbow before I could fall.
Another thank you, a short trip to a bench.
Daan will be mad if I'm late... stupid bastard, living in Chinatown.
Gum on my shoe... it's sticking to the floor; lovely.
Why does he have to live in Chinatown?
The bell ringing, someone outside cursing they missed it. Unlucky bastard.
The steady movement of the cable car was familiar to me by now, but the constant chatter that filled it never ceased to annoy me. People would quiet down when I stepped on, as usual, but then the whispers would start, and conversation would resume soon after.
I was used to it, but that didn't mean I had to likeit. The little ones, like that girl asking her parents about me, they didn't bother me. They were young. They were curious. They just wanted to know why I had my glasses and my dog. It was the older ones who should know better. And Christ, speaking of older...
The old people smell in the compartment of the car always set my mouth into a temporary frown, and the particularly fragrant woman sitting beside me didn't help matters any.
Personally I'd grown to like the smells of the city, disgusting though other people may have found them. Car exhaust, baked goods, coffee -and yes, the smells that issued from the sewers- all these told me I was still in familiar territory; flat ground.
The concrete jungle. My own little urban heaven. The city didn't change like the more rural areas did; there were not as many animals or trees here. No roots to trip over, no cars whizzing over a hill out of nowhere going much faster than they should be by all rights. Cities have sidewalks and traffic jams. It's easier this way. I like it. I'm used to it. I've been living in cities since I was 12, anyway. I'm just sort of glad they don't change all that often.
Always the same cable cars. Always the same schedules. The same drivers. Same announcements. Same routes. Same stops. Same costs. Same passengers. Same smells. Same… what the flying fuckkind of scent is that?
I smelled it at the same time my guide dog did, and I could feel her perk her head up, and I heard her nose sniffing at the air. The car had slowed to a stop perhaps a second earlier; I recognized the scents wafting through the wind now blowing into the cable car as baked and fried goods, and many of the voices outside were speaking Chinese, a language I'd learned to identify but not understand.
This other scent though... it was wrong in this location. Like high-end cologne. Nobody who was an anybody rode the cable cars. They smelled and they had too many people and there was never ever ever, no matter how early you got there, enough room for everybody. Well, except me; they alwaysmade room for me.
I knew people who wore expensive cologne. Really, I did. I mean, I wrote a fucking book. I knew people. So it wasn't as though the scent was unfamiliar to me... it was just... in the wrong place. And I hated it when things were in the wrong places. So did Whiskey, if the small whines escaping her slobbery lips every few seconds were anything to go by. Damn, I had to have a chat with that trainer. Whiskey was nowhere near as controlled as Rosemary had been.
The (okay, no need to be liberal here and say PERSON, he's wearing cologne, he's a guy) man wearing the scent dropped onto the bench beside me with a sigh, and I realized I'd been paying so much attention to identifying the foreign scent, I had completely missed my senior companion getting off the car.
Warmth rolled off my new bench-mate in waves, (God damn it all, why did he have to sit next to ME? Sweaty people are so gross...) and his manner of breathing almost sounded as though he'd just run a ways to get here. I listened intently for him to say anything as the driver went around scanning passes, but nothing aside from the usual beep came from the space beside me. The beep of the handheld scanning device told me had a pass, and not cash. So my cologne-wearing friend does this often, then?
Whiskey's harness tugged to the right in my hand, and I gasped as she practically unseated me to lurch towards the man sharing the bench with me. I heard excited, faster-paced sniffling sounds, and guessed Whiskey had gone for his crotch- as she was apt to do. "Oh," a male voice suddenly exclaimed from the direction of the cologne-bastard, as I'd decided to dub him. Damn new dog! She still needed to be broken in to my schedule...
"Shit," I cursed, tugging her back between my legs, and curling a hand into her fur to hold her in place. "Bad Whiskey. No."
"Oh no, that's alright!" cologne-bastard said from beside me, and I was surprised by the happy sounding voice he had. Here I'd been expecting some Chinese mafia boss or something, I don't know, dammit. But this man... well it sounded like he smiled a lot, that was for sure. He had a rich, lilting sort of voice, and was that a... Mexican accent? "Whiskey," he mused. "What a cute name!"
"She's a German Shepherd, she's ferocious, not cute," I deadpanned. I wasn't angry... so I didn't fully understand why I was already bordering on becoming frustrated with this man. The gum on my shoe might have had something to do with it... and my upcoming meeting with Daan probably covered the rest of it.
"Right, okay, not cute," the man agreed quickly, before chuckling a little. "But ah, why is she wearing that harness? And I thought they didn't allow dogs on cable cars..."
I turned towards the sound of his voice and gave my best impression of a 'How fucking stupid are you?'face, hoping he would get the message. Maybe he hadn't noticed the sunglasses yet.
First a few seconds passed, and then a few more, with the chatter around us carrying on, the pair of us not paying any attention. Or, I wasn't anyway. But when the time spent in silence began bordering on a full minute, I finally blurted, "How fucking stupid areyou?" out loud.
"Pardon?" he asked, sounding startled by my harsh words, and I could hear the confused frown that was certainly adorning whatever kind of face he had. I still couldn't decide what nationality he was. His accent was weird.
"I'm BLIND, you moron!" I snapped, causing the tourist-looking family (yes, I could HEAR that,) to stop their conversation on the next family car and shift down a few feet on the bench opposite ours. I ignored this. "She's my guide dog. Get it?"
"Oh!" cologne-bastard gasped, and there was the sound of something being dropped, and then fingernails scrabbling to retrieve it. "Oh, God, oh, I'm sosorry! I didn't even- Crap, how could I have just- Sorry!"
"Don't apologize for being an idiot," I sneered. "It won't fix your brain, dumb shit."
Oh... I flushed a little in embarrassment. Well I didn't mean to say that... I, uh, should apologize probably... But no, this was already awkward enough. I decided to leave it alone for the time being.
The pair of us lapsed into another pregnant silence (and the family resumed their car conversation), and before long the conductor was announcing the next stop.
I know this route like the back of my hand, but sometimes they add stops, and I sort of ignored inconsequential things like stops when this God-damned cologne-wearing ass-hole got on. And normally I'm fairly decent at determining what they say, but HELL if "Mphmmhph Nmph Mph Mmmph," is any road off California Street that I've ever heard of.
"What did he say?" I demanded of the oblivious bastard next to me, tugging sharply on his sleeve with my free hand to get his attention.
"Oh, that we're stopping in Nob Hill next," the stranger said with a distracted air, but he didn't sound altogether bothered by my previous chew-out of his mental capabilities.
"WHAT?" I screeched, causing both Whiskey and the cologne-bastard to jump in surprise. "NO! I needed to get off at Chinatown! I..." I trailed off as I remembered how this particular car worked. Nob Hill came after Chinatown on the uphill route, meaning I'd missed my stop when... "This is all your fault!" I snapped, jabbing an accusing finger into the -Holy shit he had muscles- chest of the man beside me. "You and your fucking cologne, distracting my dog! Fuck you!I have an appointment! Fuck if I want to try to walk downhill all the way back to Chinatown!"
"Whoa whoa whoa," the stranger said quickly, placing a placating hand on my right shoulder. "Calm down. You need to go to Chinatown? I can... I can walk you back that way, if you like! It's no trouble. And if I... ahem... d-did I do that?Ah, if I distracted you when I got on, then this is the least I can do! Here let me help-"
"Don't touch me," I warned him darkly, elbowing him in the ribs when he tried to hold me by the elbow to help me off the cable car as it rolled to a stop. "I can fucking walk on my own, dammit!"
Now my bad mood was undeniable. This was just brilliant- first I leave the house late, then I have to sit next to some old lady on the cable car, I get gum on my shoe, and I miss my stop anyway for all my trouble. I was going to be late now, there was absolutely no way to avoid it.
I allowed Whiskey to lead me to the edge of the cable car, muttering darkly to myself the whole time about old women, bastards wearing fancy cologne and punks spitting gum in cable cars, and accepted someone's hand to help me step down -fucking shit so high off the ground... notokay- before the German Shepherd was tugging me quickly out of the middle of the street.
True to his word, the -Mexican?- cologne-smelling man's steps echoed my own as I finally reached the sidewalk, and began my careful trek back towards Chinatown, San Francisco. I paid him little mind, choosing instead to focus on keeping my footing as we started down the steep hill, and tugging Whiskey's lead when she pulled just a little too hard.
"I don't need your fucking help," I snapped over my shoulder in the general direction I could hear the man following me from. "I can get there just fine by asking someone for directions."
"Oh, but it's no trouble!" cologne-bastard insisted quickly. "I don't really have anywhere else to be going. I'd really muchrather accompany you. I would feel terrible if you fell over or something because you had to walk downhill because I made you miss your stop!"
"Dammit, you dumb bastard, I don't need your fucking help and I definitely don't need your God-damned sympathy." I hissed, straining to maintain my balance as Whiskey swerved to avoid someone else on the sidewalk. Using a guide dog was certainly faster than trying to walk around with just my pole, but I wondered sometimes if that wouldn't be the... safermethod of travel. Whiskey was new and (VERY) excitable after all.
"Ah, right..." the man muttered awkwardly from behind me, and even over the sounds of the street I could hear the telltale sound of hair being mussed that signified a nervous ruffle of his hair. "Okay, I um... won't give you any sympathy then? Where are you going, so I can help you look for- ah, I mean, findit!"
"It's this certain apartment building," I said, sighing, but pulling out the piece of paper with the address scrawled on it that Feliciano had slipped into my pocket earlier that morning. "I know, I can't actually read that, my idiot brother read it to me this morning and gave it to me just in case. I have a meeting with this guy, so..."
"Oh! I know where this is!" cologne-bastard said triumphantly. "I used to have a dorm mate in college who was really serious about saving money, he moved out of the dorm and made me ship all his stuff to this building after the first semester because he said he couldn't stand the amount of money he was wasting by just being there. Odd guy."
"...what the hell...?" I wondered aloud, before dropping the subject with a decisive shake of my head. "Whatever. Well can you find the place or not?"
"Sí," he said, after a moment's silent deliberation. "I remember where it was. The postal service didn't let me mail some of his stuff because it was kind of illegal, so I had to drop it off in person. I was really just glad to have the room to myself again. He smoked a lot, and I think it was only a cigarette that once."
"Great," I said neutrally, not particularly giving two fucks about his old college roommate as Whiskey stopped abruptly, and I had to follow suit, knowing either that something had just gone wrong, or we had reached a curb.
The latter, evidentially, I decided, as Whiskey started walking again a few seconds later, and I took a hesitant step down about five inches from the sidewalk to the street. She pulled eagerly at the leather strap binding her to me, anxiously panting as I didn't cross the street fast enough for her liking. I was just trying to be careful; there were manhole covers and sewer grates in the road, and I really didn't want to face-plant and find out what asphalt tasted like.
A horn blared from somewhere a little behind me and to my left, and I jerked forward another quick step as my heart rate increased. A series of tremors ran down my spine as my ears tried to recover from the loud blast, and I was momentarily disoriented before regaining my senses and continuing to walk. I flipped off the general populace in the direction of the noise, and heard someone start to shout. My stomach dropped though, as an engine revved, and the telltale beeping sounds of the crosswalk's countdown disappeared.
"Whoa, look out!" the cologne-wearing man's voice exclaimed, and suddenly I was being shoved forward, two strong hands at my shoulder blades, steering me up the ramp at the corner of the sidewalk and onto safer ground. I almost stumbled at the change in incline, but managed to keep my balance by grasping at Whiskey's harness and leaning heavily on it for just a moment.
"What the fuck!" I shouted, flailing my arms wildly around where I thought his head would be, trying to smack him for shoving me. "What the literalfuck! You don't touch me! You-"
"I'm sorry, okay?" the voice snapped, from somewhere to my right now. "You were about to get hit or something!"
I paused, thinking for a moment -yeah, okay, maybe I almost got hit, but that was no reason to steer me out of the road... um, right?- before responding meekly and continuing forward. "I was fine, bastard. Besides, I've only been hit once, I'm not expecting that to happen again. The bastard is in jail now anyway. Serves him right."
"What?" the stranger yelped, his voice still coming from my right. "Someone hit you? Dios mio, what-?"
"Shut up, this isn't group therapy, I didn't come to talk about my problems with you," I bit off, managing to get slightly ahead of him, if the sounds of his rushed footsteps were anything to go by. "Now where is the fucking apartment?"
"Just another block," he murmured, voice more subdued now.
We lapsed into silence, and I couldn't exactly call it awkward or peaceful, because how the fuck peaceful can Chinatown EVER get, but it was a start, and a welcome change from this bastard's awkward-ass questions. There are some things the general populace just doesn't talk to blind people about. This guy was defying all those... unspoken rules.
I waited impatiently for Whiskey to stop me at the next intersection, and when she finally did, I turned my head from side to side, trying to take in all the sounds and smells to determine just where we had ended up.
I was so engrossed in attempting to discern the difference between this street and the entrance to Chinatown on California street, I didn't notice when the cologne-smelling man held an arm protectively behind my back while I crossed the street. When we reached the other side I realized it had been there and shrugged him off, walking forward again.
"Right here," the man said, from a few feet behind me, and I ground to a stop, whirling back around and allowing Whiskey to bring me to the man's side. "You know which room you need?"
"Yes, I know which room I need, bastard," I snapped, frowning, and hoping he would leave soon, and not ask why-
"Why does whoever you're meeting live here anyway?" he asked, innocence ringing clear in his tone though a curious edge was present as well.
"Now that really is noneof your fucking business," I scowled in his general direction, before directing Whiskey to lead me inside, and leaving him standing on the street, none the wiser.
I walked forward hesitantly once inside the doors -glass, from the sound they made when they closed- and put a hand out hesitantly when Whiskey came to an abrupt stop. My fingers touched another door handle, and I tugged, trying to open it, and when that didn't work, I pushed, but got the same result. I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration, sending my sunglasses riding up along my fingers an inch or so, before I sighed in exasperation. Last time I had been here -and the only time, for that matter- I had come with Feliciano... and there had been a keypad.
I felt blindly along the door's handle until I reached a wall, and then I pressed my way along it, finding the wall to be rounded, like the small lobby was ovular, searching for the keypad box. My left hand brushed something first, and I touched around the edges, finding it to be about six by six inches, and the number keys felt worn. I almost flinched away at the thought of how many people had touched, maybe sneezed, coughed, spit on these metallic buttons, but settled on cringing before focusing on trying to read the Braille bumps in the grooves.
Normally keypads go in the same order, and I knew it, but they also varied from arrangement to arrangement. There were those typica ones, with just the numbers, but then there were the ones with extra buttons, asterisks and such. This one didn't have the extra buttons, and the Braille was so faded I couldn't feel what any of the keys said. That could mean the asterisk was anywhere at the beginning or the end, and I figured there was a sign saying what to do to call a certain room, but there was no Braille beside it, so I didn't know what it said.
Frustrated, I slammed a fist against the wall, and then pressed my head to it, cursing for the thousandth time my own inability to see, and the world's inability to make everything accessible to my kind. How fucking hard could it be, really? Put some labels with some dots so we'll actually know what the hell is going on.
I dug around in my pocket for my cell phone, an old flip model we'd gotten and had modified with Braille after Feliciano lost me in the park a few years ago. I went to hit 1, Feliciano's speed dial, but paused, and dropped my forehead against the wall again. I would call Feliciano and... what? Ask him to tell me which buttons were which? Tell him to come press the buttons for me?
"Do you... need some help with that?" a hesitant, familiar voice asked from behind me. "I-I stayed just to make sure you got in alright, I promise, but um... you looked like you could use some help."
"Bastard," I muttered dejectedly, but made no move to stop him as he stepped beside me and -I assumed- observed the keypad.
"What room do you need?" he asked.
"B12," I sighed, reciting the room number Feliciano had told me Daan's was.
"Okay... asterisk, B... 12," he said, and I heard the small clicks of buttons being pressed, and then the dial tone echoed through the old speaker, tinny and crackling every few seconds.
"If this is Ramon, I already sold out of weed for the week, so you'll have to go somewhere else," Daan's voice, slightly warped through the line, echoed in the small space.
"It's me, bastard, and I don't want your weed," I snapped, before hesitating a moment. This stranger was still here, so... "I'm… Lovino. Remember? Feliciano is my brother. We had a meeting?"
"Right... uh, I don't remember who the fuck you are," he sighed through the line. "Can you come back later? I'm sniffing some kind of fantastic shit with some chick right now."
"Fuck!" I spat angrily, clenching a fist in my hair. "No, I can't come back later! You promised me you'd pay me! Remember? My brother and I wrote that thing... that got you a lot of money! Remember? You started ranting about how much pot you could buy with your cut. I needthat money!"
"Ohhhhhhh," Daan gasped, apparently recognizing me now. "You're that pissy Italian blind guy! You and your brother wrote that-"
"YES!Yes, that's me, you got it!" I shouted, trying to block out his words. I really didn't need this other guy finding out about the book... It was already so hard to keep it silent... I really didn't need some stranger from a cable car getting involved as well. "So the money! Where is it? Can I come up and get it?"
"No worries man, I put it in my mail slot. Figured you'd be by soon to get it. You're late, you know." I gritted my teeth, wanting desperately to be in punching range of the stupid Dutch asshole. I knew I was late, dammit. "Number B12! Oh and the key is at the desk. Just say B12 sent you and he should give it to you. Oh. And if you don't get the next one to me before Christmas, I can't promise you I can get it to the company on time for this year's list. You know what that means."
"What?! Christmas?" I practically shouted into the receiver. "Are you fucking insane? I can't get that written by-"
"Well you got thisone in, didn't you? Just go get your money, man, you're killing my high. Mailbox. B12. Go have fun with it."
The line dropped then, and the dial tone buzzed steadily in the quiet space. Cologne-bastard pressed something and the noise ceased.
"Careless bastard," I muttered darkly to myself. "Can't just leave that kind of money in a mailbox..."
"That was my old college roommate!" he exclaimed, after a second's hesitation. "Daan. From the Netherlands! And he still smokes lots of things he shouldn't... How do youknow him? And why does he owe you money?"
"That's stillnone of your fucking business," I growled, as a sharp buzzing sound ran through the speaker on the wall, and a click from the second set of doors informed me Daan had finally buzzed us in. "Why do you ask so many fucking questions?"
"Oh, well I-"
"That was a rhetorical question."
"Oh."
I pulled the door open, letting Whiskey lead me into the real lobby, and wrinkled my nose, disgusted with the scent of the place. Cigarette smoke, some other sort of smoking substance's smell, the typical piss scent, and the classic; vomit. I could hear loud music -oh dear God up in heaven, why did it have to be the Nyan cat song- playing out from some sort of tinny-sounding device, and guessing it was a phone or iPod, I stalked towards it, stopping as Whiskey sat, signifying I'd reached the desk.
I waited a few seconds for whoever was playing to look up from their game, but nothing happened. I could hear the man behind me fidgeting around while we stood, both awkwardly awaiting the end of whatever the fuck kind of game the person was playing. "Excuse me," I said evenly, waving a hand back and forth once to try to get their attention. The cologne-bastard had yet to correct me, so I assumed I was actually speaking to someone. But when no response came after a long minute of silence, I raised a fist and took a deep breath. "EXCUSE ME!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, and purely out of spite, slammed my fist down onto the desk as I did so.
I heard a loud exclamation of "Aiyah!" -definitely male, with a Chinese accent- from behind the counter, and there was a scrabbling noise for a moment as though I'd made him drop his electronic device when I startled him. "What the hell do you think you are doing, aru? You just scared the shit out of me! Don't fucking do that-"
"B12. The fucker who smokes illegal shit," I said, giving the concierge no further preamble.
"Lots of tenants smoke illegal shit here," the concierge pointed out. "He's the only one who sells it, though."
"I really don't care," I deadpanned. "Give me the fucking key he left me. NOW."
"Fine, fine! Jesus! Impatient bastard, aru!" he muttered darkly, and I could discern the sound of papers and wrappers being shuffled around inside a desk or shelf below the desk. "I can see why Daan didn't want you going up to his room to get whatever he's leaving you."
A curse word (or several) could be heard every few seconds, and once I thought I heard him muttering about a panda. I almost started praying right then and there that he hadn't lost the damn key. Then there was a clink, rather like metal on plastic, and a triumphant humming of something or other in Chinese.
"You're welcome, aru," the concierge called, sounding disgruntled.
A key was pressed into my open palm, and I closed my fingers around it possessively. Not daring to wait and see if he would think twice about giving it to me, I spun on my heel and followed Whiskey as she lead me away from the desk, and parallel to the door, heading left.
"The mailboxes are on the right, if those are what you're, ah, looking for," cologne-bastard piped up, an uneasy tone discoloring his usually happy tenor.
"...I knew that," I lied through gritted teeth, turning Whiskey around and heading in that direction instead.
She walked along the wall behind the desk for a time, and I ran my hand along it with her so as not to pass a corner unaware, and I stopped when my fingers brushed against cool metal instead of the cardboard-like wallpaper. I gently traced my fingertips along it until my thumb caught in one of the holes used to pull the mailboxes open, and then I moved downwards, searching for a keyhole.
"Here," cologne-bastard said from behind me, and I felt the warmth from his body grow much closer to mine, as though he was stepping close to my back. A tremor ran down my spine as I heard him shifting, just a few steps behind me, as I wondered just what he was doing. Large fingers closed around my hand, and guided it across the tiny metal mail slots until they reached one a few from the end on the opposite side. "Thisis B12."
"Th-Thank you," I murmured, my breath catching in my throat for some unknown reason before I cleared my throat to regain my composure.
I brought the key in my other hand up to the keyhole on the proper slot, and inserted it, after attempting to do it the wrong way on the first try. On the second, it slid in smoothly, and I twisted it to the right, and got a satisfying metallic-sounding click in response. I paused for a moment, deciding I really shouldn't let this other man see just how much money Daan was paying me, and promptly resolved to pull it out and pocket it as quickly as possible.
Opening the metal door swiftly, I jammed my hand inside the small compartment and curled my fingers around the wad of dollar bills, concealing them from the sight of my still-unnamed companion. I used my free hand to hurriedly unzip my coat pocket, and make sure it was empty before I stuffed the entirety of the money Daan owed my brother and I this month into the pocket, and jamming the zipper closed again. I turned around and aimed Whiskey in the general direction of the door, knowing she would get the hint and lead me there on her own after a moment or so anyway.
"That's it?" cologne-bastard asked, an undertone of surprise evident in his voice. His footsteps hastened to catch up with me as I pushed through the glass doors and back into the busy streets of Chinatown. "That's... was that your meeting?"
"Yes. Now if you could kindly piss the fuck off?" I snapped, not needing to see to know that he was surely sporting a dumbstruck expression. "Now I go home and you go back wherever it was you needed to go in the first place."
"I don't have anywhere to be, though," he said, before sighing, and beginning to tap the toe of his shoe against the pavement. "Can I walk you home?"
"No," I said flatly.
"Please?" he tried again.
"No."
"Alright," he said, letting out a dejected sigh. "I suppose I'll be off then... Walking around San Francisco all alone..."
"I guess you will, bastard. You have fun with that," I said, ignoring his obvious bid for company.
A/N: Okay, ah, how was it? :D Please drop a review and let me know if you see a mistake (Even though I had my personal Gilbert go through and edit it, they could still be in there) or see something I did wrong in regards to anything to do with being blind. I tried REALLY hard to research this, (*cough* half-assed the research, but for me that's a lot) but since it's based on the signs I kept seeing on all the public transportation in San Francisco saying that Guide Dogs (Apparently you can't call it a Seeing Eye dog unless it's from a certain school? I think they copyrighted it. Themoreyouknow.) are always allowed on public transportation and you have to get up if "elderly or disabled" people want to sit up front. Also... I really want to know if this is worth continuing. I know I'm awful for not working on EITHER of my two other Spamano stories still in the process, but my plot bunnies are ADHD, and believe it or not I do better working on more than one story at a time.
Note* This is rated T for now, that could go up. I mean, Lovino swears a TON, so if I think it's getting ridiculous, I might bump it up to M... But I PROMISE, I will continue it, no matter how long the wait for the next chapter is. If I decide to discontinue it, I'll tell you all.