It was like, midnight, when I had the inspiration for this story. I don't want to write another crappy ending like all my other stories, so chapter two is finished and three is in the making. Leaving for Camp tomorrow, and I got the idea for her name from the camp: Shakespearian man! WOOHOO! 'Thou speakest a right'
Disclaimer: I do not, (sadly) own Newsies (yet).
Claimer: I do own Clara, Juliet,
My name is Juliet Rose Parker, I am sixteen years old. I live in a small town in Ohio and I go to Micharch High School. The most interesting thing about me? I HATE the Newsies. Sadly enough, it is my best friend Clara's favorite movie. This means that every Friday night, religiously, I have to go to her house to be put through torture. One hundred and twenty ear-splitting minutes of absolute torture. It was no different this weekend, fifteen minutes after I got home from work my cell phone rang; it was the 'King of New York' song that Clara had downloaded to my phone. "Yellow," I said chirpily.
"Come on, it's Friday," she said impatiently. "Do I even need to call you anymore?"
"Be there in fifteen minutes," I said, rushing up the stairs to my room to pack. I looked around the room, my walls were cream colored and my bedspread was green. I saw the handle sticking out from under the bed and grabbed my green messenger bag. I hastily threw in my "Metallica" concert t-shirt and blue pajama pants. I grabbed a clean shirt out of my drawer, realizing it was the one Clara made me. "Newsies Forever" printed on the front in block letters. I pretended not to hate it for her sake, but boy did it get annoying. I even threw in my S.C. costume, just in case she went totally wacko. I knew all the lyrics to every Newsies song, and made some parodies I'm very proud of. I added my cell phone, hairbrush, toothbrush, deodorant and fully charged IPod to the mix. I shoved the bag over my shoulder and trampled back down the red carpeted stairs. I scribbled a hasty note to my mother, but she'd know where I was, like I said, every Friday night.
I threw my bag in the front seat of my beat up green convertible, and pulled out of the driveway. I pretty much knew the way to Clara's house blindfolded. As soon as I was in the front door, she whirled around, putting popcorn in the microwave and setting down in front of the T.V. with two root beers. I knew that the movie was in the DVD player already, it hardly ever left. You'd think she would have gotten sick of it by now…
"OMG, guess what I found at a garage sale?" I squealed, pulling out a present I had gotten her.
"Awwwww thanks! OMG! It looks just like Racetrack's!" she pulled the worn black cabby cap over her unruly blond hair. Her green eyes sparkled in delight as Max Casella's voice came on, 'In 1899, the streets of New York,' I effectively tuned him out. I daydreamed about my nonexistent boyfriend; he would have blond-brown hair, and blue eyes. He would be very popular, and defend me against bullies. Seeing as I'm kind of a HUGE nerd, but I knew I was going to get into a good college someday! I want to be an actress. Although dividing the change in X by the change in Y doesn't have anything to do with being on stage.
"OPEN THE GATES AND SEIZE THE DAY!" Clara's off key voice pulled me from my reverie. "DON'T BE AFRAID AND DON'T DELAY!"
"Nothing can break us, no one can make us, give our rights away, arise and seize the day," I sang softly, and in tune. Clara smiled at me, I found myself enjoying the rest of the film against my will. The only good part of this movie? Gabriel Damon, almost shirtless…dang he's hot! Well, was hot, when he was sixteen and pretty. Now he's thirty four, and slightly less attractive…Clara was the proud owner of an autographed photo from him. (I admit it, I was jealous) From most of them, Aaron Lohr, Christian Bale, David Moscow, Luke Edwards, Arvie Lowe Jr., and of course, Max Casella. Racetrack Higgins was her absolute favorite; she practically had a shrine built to the guy. If her house caught fire, the thing she grabbed would be her fireproof box (She got it for her birthday) of newsie autographs.
She ran into her room and began to take pictures of her in her new hat; she even took pictures of me in it. She pulled out her key necklace (which she wore at all times) and got out her blue suspenders, taking pictures in full costume. She really was a total freak, but she was my best friend! Better obsess over a group of 60 or so hot teenage guys that sing than something like Bratz dolls right? If it was going to be anything, I'm glad it was Newsies. Clara and I finished the movie and started gossiping about guys and clothes and other girly stuff. "So, who do you have a crush on?" she asked me.
"No one, I'm waiting to find someone perfect," I smiled.
"Like?" she probed.
"A popular, smart guy. He'll be handsome and strong, and defend me against bullies and the idiot football team! Of course he'll get straight A's and be in the Drama Club too. He'll have to look just like a sixteen year old version of Gabriel Damon, he's just so hot," I sighed dreamily. Clara laughed.
"Prince Charming to the principal's office, Prince Charming to the principal's office," she faked an intercom voice.
"Whatever, so what about you?" I asked.
"You know that answer to that one; I'm never going to be married. I'm going to grow up and start a monastery for girls who wanted to marry Max Casella, but couldn't because they were too young or too afraid of his life as a Hollywood actor," she sighed dreamily as well. Her life goal made me chuckle and send her my best 'Spot Conlon' imitation smirk. She rolled over onto her sleeping bag, laughing like a hyena. I had perfected that smirk when, at Halloween, Clara showed up on my front stoop with a garbage bag. Inside the garbage bag was a pair of slightly-too-short brown trousers, black boots, red suspenders, a key necklace like hers, a cane with a gold top, and a gingham shirt. This was my Spot Conlon costume, which I still have to this day, sadly. Then I remembered I had it in my bag, I ran to go get it. (I HATE the Newsies, and Spot Conlon was my least favorite. Gabriel Damon is hot, but Spot Conlon really needs an attitude adjustment, if I ever met him…I swore that I would ignore him completely and tell him off)
"How about a Newsies fashion show?" I asked, returning. The movie may be terrible, but heck…I'd humor my best friend.
"Of course, you are truly brilliant." She began pulling things out of an old wooden chest. This was her 'Newsies' chest. Inside it were costumes, shirts, suspenders, props, slingshots, several bags of 'shooters', and empty glass bottles. She had trousers, cabby caps, shoes, everything necessary to do a fashion show fit for boys in the turn of the century New York. Clara had dragged me through several thrift stores for this stuff. Clara was my best friend, and had been since third grade, when we met fighting over a Peter Pan coloring page. Besties ever since! We changed into outfit after outfit, giggling and snapping photos with her old Polaroid camera. "Hey, check this out," she motioned me over. I sheathed my gold topped 'Spot' cane into my belt loop and walked over to her. She was inspecting the black cabby cap I had given her.
"What is it?" I asked, squinting.
"Read this," she said, handing me a small note. "I found it tucked into the stitching of the tag."
It was a small, handwritten note. There was a small inscription: 'If you have found this hat, then you have found a piece of history. My name is Toni Higgins, and this is my hat in your hands. If you want to come meet me and my friends, just say these words, "I wish to travel to Toni" that should do it. If it doesn't work, don't worry about it. –Toni 'Racetrack' Higgins'
"That is really freakishly strange," I said, handing her the note.
"Racetrack! What if it's really him?" she asked, re-reading the note again.
"It's impossible!" I was adamant.
"Let's see if it works!" she begged. This was totally insane, but it couldn't hurt.
"Just in case, pack my bag with some stuff to take," I'd humor Clara; it really wouldn't do anything would it? It was just a coincidence.
"Alright," she began hastily shoving her favorite newsie accessories, clothes, and the two dresses she had from that era, into my bag. I was still in my 'Spot Wear' and Clara was in a random assortment of suspenders, shoes, shirt and trousers. She shouldered my bag, grabbed my hand, and stood in the middle of the room. Here we go, "I wish to travel to Toni," she said. All of a sudden, it felt like hurricane force winds were blowing all around us. Her hand never left mine, I felt her fingers tighten in shock and fright as a light came from all around us. It was blinding and white, I wanted to close my eyes and shield them, but I couldn't move. I couldn't move my body at all; I was powerless, without control over anything. "Juli!" Clara shouted.
"Clara!" I shouted back over the wind. Suddenly, the light disappeared, seeming to shatter before us, the wind died down. But as the light shattered, I lost consciousness. I was floating in an ebbing sea of blackness, it made me think of the line from Wuthering Heights: 'Do not leave me in this black abyss where I cannot find you!' I tried to call Clara's name, but I couldn't talk. I couldn't move…
I could feel everything happening around me, my eyes had closed as I slipped into the oblivion. The ground solidified under my back, feeling cool, but not uncomfortable. Clara's hand had left mine, and I wanted to regain control and look around, still I was confined. A prisoner within myself. There was a slight tingling feeling all over my body; this must be the aftershock of whatever just happened. I heard several pairs of shoes walking towards us; there was an occasional 'click' as something wood hit the cobblestones below. "What's dat?" one of the voices asked with a thick New York accent. Holy. Crap. It had worked.
"I dunno, looks like two morons decided ta fight da Delancy bruddas." Voice #2 said calmly.
"They ain't unjahed," Voice #3 countered, I heard the clicking noise again.
"Wait, what is that?" Voice #1 said, something removed my hat. My hair splayed out. "God, it's a goil!"
"It's two goils!" Voice #2 said. Thank you Captain Obvious for your lovely observation! I thought.
"What are two goils doin passed out in da street?" Voice #3 was suspicious; I heard traces of a heavy Brooklyn accent. I was glad that Clara was still here with me, and then I had another thought. There could only be one owner of that voice, Spot Conlon. Voice #2 was obviously Jack Kelley, and that left Voice #1 to be Racetrack Higgins.
"Take em' to 'Hattan," Spot said, "I'm staying ovah tonight. It's too late ta go across da bridge." His voice got louder as he spoke, and two arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground. One arm supported my mid-back, the other held under the bend in my knees, carrying me bridal style.
"Spot? Two random goils passed out in da street, and youse are gonna take em straight to da base of operations?" Racetrack asked, suspicion lacing his tone as well.
"When they wake up, we'll ask em some questions. What's a better way to keep an eye on em? And would you leave to helpless goils ta da Delancy's?" Spot asked, feigning shock. "Race, grab dat bag." Good thing, that bag had all of our clothes in it, although it would be hard to explain the IPod.
"Good idea, Ise forgot about dose two mud-for-brains," Jack said, I heard a swishing noise, probably Clara being picked up.
"Heya Jacky-boy, look at what mine's wearin," I heard the amusement in Spot's voice. Then I remembered I was wearing the exact same thing he probably was, crap! This was gonna be really hard to explain once we woke up.
"Looks like your clothes," I heard the laugh in Jack's voice. Racetrack jogged up, he was not carrying someone, the little jerk.
"Spot, youse got a twin," he chuckled. Spot shrugged, my immobile form moving up and down in his arms. I'd seen this boy on the screen, how was he carrying me so far? He's small, but strong I suppose, in order to be the leader of Brooklyn, the toughest borough in New York. ('and probably everywhere else')
"Wondah where deys is from," Spot said.
"Don't have a clue, why were they laying in da street in da middle of da night?" Race asked no one in particular.
"Mine's cold, let's get em inside," Jack said, I heard a door open. My head hit the side of a doorframe, OW! WHAT THE HECK CONLON?
"Oops, sorry doll," he whispered, just in case I could hear him, which I could. The tingling feeling had retreated to just my torso, I found I could move my fingers stiffly. I felt/heard Spot go up stairs, and I was set on a rock hard mattress. Clara was probably having a heart attack; we were inside her favorite movie. Racetrack Higgins was sitting by her; I heard his voice from across the room.
"This one is kinda good lookin," Clara was gonna die of happiness.
"She's alright, I like Spot's better," Jack said, Spot's? Did I belong to anyone here? Seriously? Then I remembered they didn't know our names yet, and forgave them in my head. I felt the ability to open my eyes return, I fluttered my lashes, everything was so blurry.
"Jacky-boy, dis dame is wakin up," Spot said. I heard footsteps. I saw a black-bray blob above me, and then I saw two bits of blue. I blinked a couple of times and my vision cleared. This is like a really bad movie, get me OUT of here! Spot Conlon looked concerned, but quickly hid it under amusement. Jack Kelley looked like he just wanted to run around the room screaming 'We found two pretty girls in the street! La la la!'
"Hey goil, what's yoah name?" Spot asked, feeling my forehead. "She got a slight temperature, but dat may be from bein in my presence," Spot said. Attitude adjustment I thought. Jack left to get something, and Spot asked me for my name again.
"Juliet Rose Parker, I am sixteen," I gave my usual introduction.
"So am I," Spot smirked; I really just wanted to slap him.
"How'd you get here" he asked.
"Train from, er, Ohio," I lied.
"Alright, why were you guys passed out in the street like dat?" he asked, I heard Clara groan and attempted to sit up. Spot put his hand on my shoulder in restraint, "Don't hoit (hurt) yourself further, just stay," yes nurse Spot I thought sarcastically. Jack returned with a cold compress for my temperature, and went to interrogate Clara. As soon as I heard her voice, it went into her high-pitched fan mode.
"OMG! RACETRACK HIGGINS! I'm in the Manhattan lodging house aren't I? Where is Juliet?" She was speaking a mile a minute, and Race looked confused.
"Juliet is fine, just runnin a slight temperature," Jack reassured Clara.
"Jack Kelley?" she was breathless. "Is that Spot over there?" she asked.
"How do you know our names?" Jack asked, completely confused.
"Reputation," I answered, shooting Clara a look that read 'don't tell them what really happened'!
"Really? All the way in Ohio? Which one did you hear about?" Jack asked.
"Spot Conlon of course," Clara piped up. Spot's ego inflated just a little more. "The fearless King of Brooklyn," she used her perfected newsie accent. I had, luckily, also been forced to learn a Manhattan and Brooklyn accent.
"Really? Wow, I'd have thought it would have been me," Jack said, rather sadly.
"I did, and a certain boy named Racetrack, but I don't know which one he is," I grabbed Spot's surprised collar and hauled myself into a sitting position so I could see the room more clearly.
"Pleased to meet youse, Racetrack Higgins at youse soivace," Race shook my hand.
"So what going to happen to us?" I asked.
"Well, do youse have a place to stay?" Spot asked.
"No," was Clara's answer.
"Stay in Brooklyn, you'll just have to learn how to fight," he shrugged.
"Listen, I know how to fight, and I can hit any target with a slingshot, thank you very much," I jabbed him in the chest with my pointer finger. "But Brooklyn sounds fine."
"Really? Wow, nice find Race," Spot called over to the dark haired boy, who had wandered back to Clara's side. (Much to the delight of my friend) Soon, Jack and Spot were getting ready for bed. Jack pulled off his shirt.
"Do you mind?" he asked. I shook my head; it's no different than going to the beach. Both Jack and Spot slept on the floor, Racetrack left for another bunkroom, much to Clara's disappointment. It made me think of the line from Princess Bride, 'Wove, twu wove, will follow you forweva' I love the impressive bishop! I had just time travelled, and I was SUPER tired. So I laid my head on the pillow and welcomed sleep.
I woke up the next morning; the sun wasn't even up yet. It turns out Spot and Jack put us in a deserted room, no one had slept here for ages! It was filled with dust and cobwebs, nasty!
"Listen toots," Spot had already woken up. "Brooklyn is a total mess, if youse stay and help clean things up, den Ise'll make suah youse nevah sleep in da streets again," he offered.
"Sure, I'm good with cooking and cleaning," I said, shrugging. I knew Clara would want to stay in Manhattan with Racetrack. So I'd let her, I was going to the toughest borough in New York!
"So, youse is goin ta Brooklyn," Clara said in her accent.
"Yeah, where are you staying?" I asked.
"Here, with Racetrack," she sighed dreamily and looked out the door.
"Dork," I muttered under my breath and stood up, stretching. "Clara, I'll leave your clothes here, but I'm taking my bag," I said. I gutted her clothes from it, saving a 'good' outfit and a dressy skirt/blouse combo I knew fit me. I shouldered the bag, hugged Clara and headed to Brooklyn.
"So, youse got a boy back in Ohio?" Spot was pulling a 'Rico Suave' and I was having none of it.
"No," I said.
"Dat's good, cause there ain't no boys what are allowed to have goils in Brooklyn," Spot said, clicking his cane on the ground, I imitated him with my cane. His head snapped around, looking me up and down.
"How come youse is wearin da same thing Ise am?" he asked. I'm sure my green-blue eyes must be boring holes through his head.
"I don't know, it must have been a cosmic coincidence. I'm certainly not am impersonator, of course, I don't know who in their right mind would want to impersonate you," I said coldly. I was not falling for his crap.
"Bitter much?" he asked.
"No, I just know about guys like you, you say a bunch of nice things, wrap the poor victim around your finger, and leave. Of course, the girl is heartbroken and lonely, sometimes she never finds true love after that because you left her, and she still loves you," I explained. "Typical term used for guys like you? Womanizers," I said.
"Womanizer? Sounds about right," he said, smirking.
"When I get to Brooklyn, I am never talking to you again unless it's to get the dirty clothes. Understood?" I snapped.
"Suah thing toots," Spot smirked again, looking me up and down. I slapped him and angrily walked to the end of the bridge and into Brooklyn. I knew where I was going; I had been quizzed on these directions by Clara basically every time I came over. I think Spot was still standing near the end of the bridge with a red handprint across his shocked face, and then I ran. I ran until I saw the docks, I ran until I was at the door of the Brooklyn Lodging House, I ran to the empty room at the top of the stairs. I flung my bag against the wall and flopped onto the bed, crying.
My parents, what were they going to think? Clara's parents, my dog, my friends, my soccer team, what were they going to think? We had vanished into thin air, back to 1899 and a bunch of boys I thought were pure fiction. Why did we time travel? Because of a nonsensical note in a hat tag! This was insane, but my family! My family…
"Toots?" Spot asked, walking in tentatively. Then he saw the tears running down my face and my shaking shoulders. He did something so shocking, I nearly exploded mentally: he sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. He rocked me back and forth and hummed 'Danny Boy' until the tears stopped and I sat quivering in his arms.
"M-my name is J-Juliet, not t-t-toots," I said, my voice wavering.
"Juliet," he said slowly, despite my hatred, I liked it when he said my name. His accent slightly slurring it, it sounded like Jewel-ee-et.
"Spot," I said, he looked down, his hat casting a shadow across his nose. "I'm sorry; I got your shirt all wet."
"It's alright, I tink youse needed ta do dat, it's not like you can't wash it or sometin," he said, his 'tough, fearless, invincible leader' façade slipping a little as we sat there, staring at each other. I realized slowly that I was doing what I swore I'd never do, talking to Spot. Crying in front of Spot Conlon, the arrogant leader of Brooklyn. I sat, thinking, then reached up and took his hat. His brown hair had blond highlights in it; this made me think of my description to Clara. His eyes squinted a little in confusion before I slipped the hat over my own wavy reddish hair and stood up, straightening my clothes. "I like your hair better than I like this hat," I said, flirting a little myself.
"I'll change into something more appropriate and get to work cleaning. Is there somewhere I can put my clothes?" I asked, spotting the chest in the corner. I emptied my bag onto the bed, pulling out the dressy outfit I had, and folded the black trousers, blue shirt, and white suspenders into the chest along with my hairbrush, deodorant, and toothbrush. I hid my modern clothes at the very bottom, out of the sight of prying eyes. I ushered Spot out of the room and changed into the dress, folding my 'Spot' clothes up and putting them in the chest as well. I sang 'Round and Round' quietly, thinking of what had just happened.
My outfit was a pale blue, a white blouse rested comfortable on my shoulders. The cuffs were rolled up to my elbows, and the skirt went down to my ankles. I still wore the black shoes that looked like the leaders. I walked out of the room, and attempted to locate Spot. I found him lounging in an armchair in the lobby, several other tough looking newsies gathered around him. I saw that he had changed into a dark blue shirt and he was telling the boys something, but when I walked in, all eyes shot up. The ones I looked at were an icy blue that looked like they had been tainted with molten silver, I almost stopped breathing. Spot saw my expression and sent me another smirk, and then turned to his boys, "Dis is our newest membah of da household. She's gonna keep us all clean and tidy, and cook. Her name's Shakespeare, Shake for short. Just call me Romeo," he smirked over to me, winking. I think my jaw dropped, he knew about my namesake? 'Romeo and Juliet' by William Shakespeare? And he had nicknamed me? Wow, what an interesting name.
"This is Spot Conlon, the most arrogant hot-headed boy to walk the dirty streets New York," I introduced him for good measure. The newsie's jaws dropped as well, no one talks to Spot Conlon like that and doesn't get a good soaking! Of course, Spot just sent me an angry glare and asked what I wanted in an annoyed tone.
"Cleaning supplies," I said curtly. Spot rose and sauntered to a rather abandoned looking closet. Inside was a mop, a broom, several empty pails and assorted scrub brushes, and some soap flakes. On a shelf above there was a small metal tub, a washboard, a wooden paddle for laundry, and some more soap. Three whole boxes of soap actually, it made me wonder how long it had been since this mad house was cleaned last. I decided to start upstairs and work my way down. I grabbed a pail, the mop, and a box of soap. I took a scrub brush and shoved it into the pail with the soap; I closed the closet and headed up the stairs.
Cold, all of the water here is cold. That's what I realized after taking a bath in a metal tub in the washroom. There weren't any newsies back yet, and I needed to be clean. I had spent yesterday washing every surface in this stinking Brooklyn Lodging House, no thanks to Spot, who had walked over my freshly washed floor in dirty shoes! That boy is going to be the end of me, I swear. It seems like my crying session yesterday never happened, he flirts, smirks, and acts just as stupid around me as he does around every girl in Brooklyn. I scrubbed my hair, and rinsed it out, pulling myself into a towel, glad to be warm. I heard the footsteps on the stairs and locked the door. I toweled off fast and threw my clothes on, glad to be clean. I pulled my damp hair into a loose pony tail and stepped out of the bathroom into a wall.
A tall newsie stood there, looking slightly shocked at the little girl staring up at him. "Sorry," I mumbled.
"S' no problem miss," he said.
"Call me Juliet," I said, completely forgetting my newsie name.
"Suah ting," he said, smiling and tipping his hat. "Me name's Roll."
"Well Roll, allow me to get out of your way," I slipped to the side, he passed me. I smiled, my first new friend here in this strange place. Now that I was clean, I might as well get started on that pile of laundry waiting for me in my room. I waited until Roll was done in the washroom and began carrying pail after pail of water into my room, halfway through my job, Spot got home from selling. He saw me resting, and took the two pails in his hands. Soon the washtub was full. "Thanks Spot," I said, smiling at him as I stirred in soap and the first load. Mainly Spot's and a couple of the 'more important' older newsies. Spot sat on the perfectly made bed and talked to me while I worked. I hung the clothes on the fire escape to dry, starting on the second load. By the time the fourth, and last, load was done, both my arms were ready to fall off. Spot sat on the bed, still talking about some girl he met selling yesterday.
"She's really pretty, got red-brown hair and green eyes, very Irish. Boy can she sing," Spot went on and on. I tuned him out, completely ignoring him. I began toting pails of dirty wash water back to the washroom drain, this time, Spot took one pail and I took the other. He was silenced about this stupid 'goil' when I walked into the boys' room. Clean clothes, hats, shoes, bedding and pillows…everywhere.
"Spot, I'll make the beds. If you can tell me what belongs to whom in this mess, I'll clean the entire room." He went around picking things up and laying them at the feet of the bunks. I picked up bedding, dusted it off, and tucked it into the bunks with military precision. I had learned to make beds at camp, and it came in really handy. I fluffed pillows, making sure everyone had one on their bunk. I took the identified items and set them at the foot of each bed, on the floor. I hung hats over wooden posts, and slingshots were set on pillows. When I surveyed my work, and was satisfied, I walked down to the kitchen. Spot followed silently, watching me. It was kind of unnerving, but still nice of him to help me. "Thanks Spot," I turned and pecked him on the cheek in a friendly way. He looked kind of shocked, and turned a strange shade of red…so he did like me…after only one day of knowing me? DON'T TRUST HIM! My brain screamed, Love him, my heart whispered and I wasn't sure which one to listen to.
I walked into the small kitchen, I had cleaned it and sent boys to re-stock it yesterday, so today I got out potatoes, celery, carrots, peas, cabbage, and pumped water into a large pot. It was basically a cauldron, but I knew I'd need every drop with all these boys to feed. Silently, with Spot watching me, I made a gigantic pot of vegetable soup. I got out the freshly cleaned bowls and spoons and set them out on the counter, and then I sat, stirring and waiting for the boys to get home. Without warning, Spot came up behind me and gave me a hug. I stood there, the spoon in my hand, as Spot walked out of the kitchen with a, "Later Shake."
Okay, I hope this isn't a cliffy...I don't want it to be. I will be back in 12 days! Then I will update: I promise. I write faster the more reviews I get, so talk around to your friends...if I don't get 10 comments on this chapter, I'll leave it be.
Thanks, R&R! -Firefly Conlon, Queen of Brooklyn
R.I.P. Dominic Lucero aka Bumlets. God bless you!