REUNITED

A little literature to start off your week. I've always been thrilled when Monday rolls around and one of the stories I'm following has a new chapter. It's a great pick-me-up.

As a tip of the hat to the change (or lack thereof) of Bartlett's characters through time, Timberly's status in this passage is left ambiguous. In the show she was really the only character that aged, so since her progression through time does not follow that of the other characters, her character is given a less definitive age. Hope that doesn't bother anyone.

Phoebe fell into step beside Gerald as he made his way up a side street, and she quickly noticed that they weren't going in the direction of his family's old apartment. She scanned the buildings they passed, but didn't dare speak after her last embarrassing statement. Mercifully, Gerald broke the uncomfortable silence and answered the question he knew she was meaning to ask.

"I moved out of the old place about five years ago. My own place is over here on 70th. Just a studio, but it's become a home."

Phoebe found her voice again and cleared her throat slightly.

"Do you see your parents much these days?" She herself hadn't seen her father in close to two years, and if her mother didn't send her so many messages or try to use streaming images Phoebe felt she might have forgotten what her mother looked like.

Gerald's face fell. "Dad died about three years ago, and Jamie… he's been trying to keep the place in order for Mom and Timberly, but he just doesn't want my help. Big-brother-macho attitude and all. Also the fact that I finished college and he didn't… that's a pretty sore spot for him."

"Oh my goodness. What happened? Your dad I mean?"

"Melanoma. We never even knew it was there until his body started shutting down and... yeah it came on pretty fast. But he didn't suffer really."

"Gerald I'm so sorry." She reached out a hand to place on his shoulder. She hesitated only a moment, figuring that he had probably received platitudes and apologies galore since it happened. Phoebe knew from studies conducted on people in grieving that independent, single men who lost at something they had no control over hated receiving pity. Still, this was her friend, and this was her showing remorse for his loss and offering comfort if he had any need of some.

Studies be damned.

They walked on like that for a ways, and when Phoebe grew nervous that the whole experience of seeing her best friend again would be soiled by this melancholy she tried to change the subject.

"What about your brother? What happened there?" Phoebe knew Gerald's parents to be sticklers for their kids' good comportment, and though Mr. Johanssen had always seemed a little more preoccupied with the family expenditures, he and Mrs. Johanssen had always pushed their children to excel. The fact that one of them, the oldest no less, had not finished college, suggested trouble in the family. It was also a potential trouble spot as far as conversation, but one that was clearly affecting Gerald's mind.

"He had a scholarship to play basketball for CUNY, but it didn't pan out."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But can't you even see him or the rest of the family? That seems unjust that you should be shut out just because your brother is insecure about himself in contrast to your accomplishments."

"It's all right Pheebs," he said. Turning to face her sympathetic-yet-scrutinizing face, Gerald quaked and was forced to renege on that statement. "OK I admit it's not all right. It's just what it is. I still go for holidays and we put tension aside as much as we can when I do. He's not openly hostile. Not like I've been exiled or given a restraining order. Jamie and I just try to keep our distance, talk over the phone once in a while about life that doesn't involve work. It's actually not so bad, just gotta be a little cautious. I guess it's a bit like talking to someone who got paralyzed; you can't discuss dancing or running, that sort of thing. Besides that, Mom's doing OK, although no men in her life since Dad. She seems happy knowing I'm doing well."

"What about Timberly?"

"I don't seem to know what goes on with that girl. Early twenties, thereabouts, a few boyfriends I've met that are no good for her... she catches onto that fact soon enough and then goes and finds another boyfriend that's usually no better. She studies, she works, she gets fired, she quits, she drops out, she goes back... kinda hard to keep up with her, but she's a real go-getter. No doubt about it. Anyway, here we are."

Following a few minutes of climbing a fire-escape hatch, and once nearly slipping off the rungs, Phoebe found herself seated on a well-worn couch in the middle of a small, yet lived-in and reasonably well-maintained studio. She could see the charm in such a place. It definitely seemed to say 'I live here'. Gerald had excused himself to the one bathroom and she could hear the dull thudding of water striking the walls of the shower stall. Phoebe busied herself by opening her day-timer and looking through her list of appointments the next morning:

- 9:00: Breakfast and meeting with the curator from the Noguchi Museum,

- 12:00: Lunch and meeting with the board members from the Hall of Science, and

- 18:00: Lecture at QMA about her work in Rome followed by dinner with the curator and the chief benefactors of the museum.

Phoebe's mind went into a whirl of calculations about bus schedules, taxis, and necessary outfits she'd need to make seamless work of the day. She'd need to walk herself from her hotel to the Noguchi by around 8:40 after consuming approximately 350 calories of complex carbohydrates (oatmeal would be optimal) and the caffeine from a single cup of her green tea to allow her enough energy to engage the curator in proper conversation. She'd need to wear a navy-blue overcoat and a white undershirt that crossed from her neck down to her waist to suggest a kimono and emphasize her Japanese heritage. The hem of her skirt had to extend just three centimeters below her knees to be both adequately proper and allow her full mobility. Shoes… all of this Phoebe rattled off in her head with absolute mechanical precision and the attentiveness of an inspection officer planning how to outfit troops for a parade. She thought of outfit, posture, hairstyle, glasses, perfume, even the kind of watch and on which wrist. Phoebe had studied every nuance of professional meetings and knew secrets and techniques to enhance her effect on people's decisions. Phoebe was not at all provocative in her manners and never allowed any parts of her anatomy to be unnecessarily exposed or used to entice lecherous thoughts. She thought of herself as something of a post-modern geisha: she cajoled, flattered, and encouraged support and comfort with words, behavior and appearance, but she was never indecent, or wooing in a sexual sense.

Phoebe was so absorbed in her thoughts and plans that she didn't notice her host emerge from the bathroom in a white short-sleeve polo shirt and slightly faded jeans over a pair of worn-in Converse® sneakers. He stood over her, just admiring her diligence at her work until she looked up and noticed him standing there. Her eyes traced him up and down and she gave a deep smile and a nod.

He grinned at her inspection. "Well I'm glad you approve. Shall we?" He offered his elbow and she stood to take it.

"Where are we going?"

"There's a nice little place three blocks down with some great small eats. Opened about a year ago – nice fusion of tapas and Mid-East food snacks. Plus a bar if you'd like something to drink."

"Sounds great. Let's go."

After a short dinner and some light conversation between bites, Phoebe found herself seated with Gerald at the bar. Knowing she had a full day of meetings and presentations the next day she had a plan for how to indulge in some social drinking without suffering a particularly serious hangover the next day. She popped two Chaser® tablets in her mouth and then told the bartender to provide her with a regular alcoholic drink to begin with, and to begin decreasing the amount of alcohol in her drinks with each successive order. She even gave him a sheet of acceptable volumes of alcohol and was very strict on the precise brand of alcohol being served. Gerald endured it all with his head in his hand and a smirk on his lips. The bartender for his part had been gracious enough to assent to Phoebe's rather unusual requests, partly out of his fond familiarity with her male associate, and mostly out of his desire to receive the prodigious tip she promised if he did as she asked. As the drinks were set on the counter in front of them, Phoebe lifted hers off her coaster and held it a short distance in front of her chin.

"What shall we drink to?" she asked.

Gerald furrowed his brow and screwed his lips into an expression that suggested serious consideration as he picked up his own drink.

"How about we drink to this," he said, looking between the glasses and his companion.

Phoebe cocked an eyebrow. "We're drinking to drinks?"

"To us having drinks," Gerald corrected. "To two friends being able to come together in the city at night, and while away the late hours in spirits and stories."

"OK, I'll drink to that," she assented.

The resounding clink of glasses was followed with a lengthy sip. Phoebe wasn't sure where the conversation would go after her lips left the glass, so she drew out her sip for quite a while, emptying her glass of about half its contents before she stopped imbibing. She took a closed-lipped swallow to clear her mouth and throat of any residual liquid, and lightly cleared her throat to speak.

"So you said you're teaching at P.S. 118 now?"

"Just subbing, but yeah." He took a second swallow of his drink and exhaled as he put the glass back on his coaster. "I do some work with the inner-city coaching staff, ya' know, organize games, run basketball training camps, do some outreach here and there. But most of the work is in the high schools. Oh, and this term I finally set up an extracurricular class in Storytelling, so I have steady work every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon."

"Passing on all of… oh who was it… Fuzzy Slippers' urban legends?" She teased as she took another sip from her drink.

Gerald grinned. "That's part of it, but I throw in some of my own stories now and again. I really like telling the kids about when we grew up. Man those were the days... all those things Arnold and I did, and all the people and events we got involved with: Stoop Kid, Pigeon Man, Chocolate Boy, Big Caesar... I tell you Pheebs, if someone took the time to put all my stories in writing, the book would be longer than the Iliad and Odyssey combined."

"So many memories," Phoebe mused as she sipped her drink. "Do the stories have much meaning to the kids these days? Has Stoop Kid become Stoop Man? Big Caesar still out there in the lake?"

"Stoop-Man's a bit of a wanderer now." Gerald picked up his glass, but looked down into the swirling liquid without stopping to drink. "Been globe-hopping to all the great stoops Arnold showed him all those years ago. And as for Big Caesar... well some legends are just going to remain legends I guess. As for Pigeon Man, I've heard some kids say they've seen him. They talk about him as something of a spirit now ya'know? He's there one moment among a huddled group of pigeons, all cooing to him as he dispenses seeds, and then you turn away a moment and when you look again, fewer birds and no Pigeon Man. It's like he just evaporates."

She smiled and swirled the contents in her own glass. "What about the more fixed and immutable things we had growing up? Li-i-ke… Green's Meats and Mrs. Vitello's florist shop? Are they still there?"

"Mr. Green is still in the same spot, and grumpier than ever, but he still cuts the best meats around. Mrs. Vitello's health failed her a few years ago and she left for a sunnier climate, but I haven't heard from her for about a year now. I was working in the shop up until it closed about six months ago."

"What about Arnold's grandparents? I passed by the old boarding house..." she left the statement hanging.

"Yeah, Phil beat his family age limit after going through his whole "come 91 years I'm gonna die" shtick. We had another prepared funeral with black suits and music, and the guy waited in his casket for three hours before we convinced him that he might as well enjoy life until his time finally came. Heh... never a dull day with them. Anyway, both of them took off in a float plane a few years back. They were flying down to San Lorenzo to be with Arnold and his parents, but I haven't heard from them since. I don't even know if they made it. Knowing Arnold's grandma they probably took a side journey to cross the Atlantic and have some other crazy adventure."

"Years ago? Don't you talk to Arnold anymore?"

Gerald hung his head.

"Not for a while. He moved to San Lorenzo permanently after high school, and we kept in touch for at first, but after a while he just started getting caught up in the 'messiah prophecy' that the people gave him. I think the guy was starting to think he really was something like the son of the 'molten earth' or something crazy. Guy 's always been bold. Then about four years ago, he and I are video-casting, and this cute San Lorenzan girl comes up in the middle of the talk and starts cuddling and feeling him all over..."

"Arnold! Really?" Phoebe was shocked that the one boy in school who she remembered as being just as logically inclined and grounded as she was would be in such a relationship. She found it a little humorous too.

Gerald continued with his story.

"Yeah, and I told him a little while later that I just didn't feel right about her. Something about the girl just screamed 'groupie'. Like she just wanted him cause he was 'messiah boy' or what have you. That got him started on a long tirade about how the relationship was based on 'love', 'she doesn't believe in that junk' and how 'I wouldn't understand'. I took a little offense, lost my temper, we stayed quiet a few weeks, and then when we talked again the argument had devolved into that classic 'if you can't be happy for me, then maybe we just shouldn't be friends anymore' tact. I tried to just move past it and keep in touch with him and talk about other things, kinda like what I gotta do with Jamie now, but I swear Pheebs the guy had gone off the deep end."

"So you're not speaking to him?"

"I sent him an email four years ago and said if he was ever in Queens to look me up. We haven't talked since."

Phoebe was feeling worse and worse with making Gerald tell her these stories. As much as she wanted to hear how life had progressed without her, and as much as she wanted to know both the good and the bad, she could see that these experiences had left some serious scars on Gerald:

His father was dead...

His older brother resented him for his success...

His best childhood friend had cut off contact over a spat about love...

She had...

Phoebe hiccuped and tried to back up the conversation to a lighter topic.

"So, um, Mrs. Vitello left you the flower shop? You said it was open even after she left?"

Gerald smiled to show his gratitude with her decision to steer the conversation somewhere else. "Well she considered leaving the shop in my care, but I guess she remembered that little spat that Arnold and I got into when we were nine and how bad a job I did running the business alone. She ended up leaving me in charge of the finances, but she gave the uh… keys-to-the-kingdom", he emphasized the expression by making a quotation sign with his index and middle fingers, "to Eugene."

"Eugene? Kind, clumsy Eugene? Well he did seem like the kind of person who would enjoy working with living things and flashy colors. But do I detect a little bit of resentment in that tone Mr. Johanssen?" She teased.

He grinned mischievously. "A little. Just a bit a' frustration from realizing that I'm not good at something. I don't know, Pheebs, I'm good with numbers and keeping 'the books', and my sense of taste in art is fine when it comes to speeches and written works, but anything visual... I'm just out of my element. It sucks having to admit you're no good at something."

"Well, we've all got strengths and weaknesses." She put a placating hand on his shoulder.

"Hmm..." he grinned, "except Phoebe Heyerdahl, Madame Master of all trades."

She rolled her eyes and set her drink down. "Gerald I am not a master of any trade. And frankly I resent being categorized as such. I work hard and do many things and the hard work pays off, that's all."

"Ah Pheebs," he whined as he put his drink down as well. "When are you going to lay off the modesty act and accept that you're a genius?"

"As soon as you lay off the excessive compliments so I won't have to be modest."

"OK, how 'bout we recap on the last… three months. You said you were in Rome for three months so let's stick with that one timeframe. What were you up to?"

"I told you, studying Ancient Roman art in the transition between the Old Republic and the emerging Empire."

"Mm-hmm," he nodded slowly with a mischievous grin, "And was that what first brought you there?"

"Well no... I started out wanting to improve my literary knowledge about Virgil and Ovid and some other famous Roman writers after one of my superiors at the Agency wanted me to get acquainted with one of the Italian delegations he's associated with."

"And how long did you spend on that little bit of study?"

"...I had most of my materials in the first three weeks, but I kept gathering additional materials over the whole trip!" She defended.

Gerald grinned and nodded very slowly with lightly closed eyes. "And then?"

"And then I thought I would better understand the authors, and the cultural mentality, if I understood the period and what it grew into. So I started reading Scaevola and Frugi, and then graduated to later Imperial works by Suetonius to see transitions. It's not like I published any papers about any of it."

He shut his eyes as his grin grew even wider. He had to turn his head away for a moment before turning back to speak. "And how many papers on that subject did you have in the works before you left?"

Phoebe felt herself sliding into a corner, but seeing no alternatives just stuck with the truth. "...Three, but rough drafts, all of them. And only one even has a hope of making it into any historical journal!"

"Ri-i-i-ght..." Gerald drawled and grinned as he took another sip of his drink. "...and then?"

Phoebe screwed up her lip and with her eyebrows raised in a very haughty position delivered her reply. "Then, I was asked by another scholar to assist in writing a paper on the transition of Roman Art, and that was what I did the rest of my time there."

Gerald grinned again. "So just the writing then?... You weren't needed for anything else?"

"Well..." Phoebe's composure began to waver. He was getting to her, there was no denying it. "Well, the project leader was using forensic scientists to analyze the works she looked at – a lot of frescoes, statuary, ceramics and weapons... so I was employed to work with those teams too."

"And I'm sure that just involved looking things over with magnifying glasses." He teased.

Phoebe knew she was cornered between honesty and modesty, but refused to yield either stance. "Well I learned how to use a lot of spectrophotometers in college, and I part-timed in some research laboratories in grad school to stay fresh with the new techniques. So yes I proved myself useful in that part of the work too. But I'm not an expert – I was practically another lab-tech, really."

Gerald's smile never wavered for a second. "And after this little art lecture you're giving tomorrow I'm sure you're going to just sit back and take it easy for a little while then, huh?" He was having as much trouble hiding his snickers as she was keeping her face from turning pink.

"I'm going back to Kentucky to see mother and spend some time with her and family," she defended, but her resolve began to waver. "…and while I'm there I'm going to be writing a report about economic reform and its effect on middle American life... for Newsweek."

Gerald made no more pretense of a straight face and broke out in a rich and hearty laugh. He planted his head on the counter and chuckled through the varnish of the wooden bar.

Phoebe reprimanded him at once, casting her eyes around to make sure they weren't drawing attention. "Gerald, will you stop that. You're embarrassing me!"

Gerald sat up and continued to shake with humor. "Pheebs, the fact that you even have the time in your day to blink with all that going on..." and there he fell into laughing again.

Phoebe rolled her eyes and emptied her wine glass. She signaled the bartender to fill it again while Gerald sat there chuckling and Phoebe just looking at him as she shook her head in disapproval. Seeing that the humor had degraded into something that only he was taking pleasure in, Gerald backed down.

"OK, OK, I'll stop."

"Thank you." Phoebe replied with a huff.

The first round of drinks was finished, and a second came out. Gerald had to stifle a grin as he watched Phoebe gauge her drink, swirling the contents, tasting it lightly to detect the amount of alcohol, and relaxing her face only when she found the drink was unequivocally within the limits she had requested.

"So what are you looking to do besides all your coaching?" She asked.

"Well, I was thinking of applying to coach the Knicks next season," Gerald began jocularly. "But I'd probably end up getting a contract with the Celtics, and I'm just not self-loathing enough to handle that. The Harlem Globetrotters though…"

Phoebe nearly sprayed her beverage as she worked to contain her giggling. Gerald pretended offense by crossing his arms.

"Oh you think I'm not qualified? Not good enough to stand on the sidelines in the Garden or the Fleet Center?"

Phoebe composed herself as best she could and got her snorting under control enough to speak. "Well after you nearly hit me with the ball today I don't deny it's probably a better job for you than being a player."

"Oh Pheebs," he recoiled clutching his right hand to his left chest. "You cut me to the quick. Give me a compliment before my heart starts bleeding all over the floor."

Phoebe was ready with one. "You're more of a speaker and an actor, and you're great with numbers besides. I think you'd do great in business. I can see all of Wall Street bowing to the cunning intellect of Gerald Johanssen, Esquire."

"Now I think we're just getting into some crazy ideas Pheebs. I can do business, but I got no love for it. What good 's a job where you got talent and no passion?"

"So acting then? Or public storytelling? A librarian perhaps? You'd still get to do work with kids, and you could share stories all day long."

"I'll look into that." He said with a wistful smile.

The evening passed with more talk. Phoebe found herself so occupied with her conversation that she failed to notice when the bartender, now swamped with customers and unable to keep every micro-detail of Phoebe's list straight, started giving her drinks with more than her requested measures of alcohol. After another hour of talking, while sipping not-so-virgin drinks, Phoebe's face was beginning to turn red and her giggles gave way to paroxysms of laughter.

Gerald took a sip of his third drink and set it down with a little concern for his giggling friend.

"Hey Pheebs, I think maybe you've had enough."

The normally straight-as-an-arrow Phoebe, despite being significantly inebriated, set down her drink and nodded. Her ears were so swamped with noise that if she were to attempt to assent through speech she'd most likely find herself shouting. The only problem was she didn't know if the near deafness she felt was from the noises made by the boisterous atmosphere of the other diners and drinkers, or the thundering of her pulse in her own ears. She jerked her head a little too excessively toward the door, and Gerald nodded in assent.

Despite the visceral feeling of nausea that suggested the bartender had failed to fulfill her request as she had made it, Phoebe made sure to leave the generous tip she promised. As the two friends made their way outside, with Gerald holding Phoebe under his arm to keep her steady, Phoebe decided to take advantage of the close contact and snuggled in closer to her escort. So hard did she press against him, the couple started drifting toward the street.

"Hey Pheebs, I know a guy with a cab. Doesn't matter where he is in the city, a call right now and he'll be here in ten minutes to get you to your place. I swear the guy is so good he probably has a secret tunnel network to get around."

She nodded and winced as she felt a jostle inside her skull from the forward and backward motion.

"That's probably for the best," she agreed. Then she gave pause and issued a minor challenge. "Wait. You don't intend to just stick me in a cab late at night and hope that I'll just get to my room do you?"

Gerald, who had his cell in hand and was busy dialing, drew up and pondered a moment, then drew in his puckered lips as he continued to dial. After making the arrangement, he hung up and turned to address Phoebe.

"I'll make sure you get to your room. Don't worry, I may not be a prince, but I know how to treat a lady."

She smiled and leaned – fell – forward into his chest. She looked up at him and said suggestively.

"You always did."

True to his word, Gerald's friend swung by the curb inside of ten minutes and drove them to Phoebe's hotel so fast it seemed they had only just fastened their seat belts when they stopped in front of the hotel atrium. Gerald paid his friend and helped Phoebe through the door, nodding to the bellhop as they went. The ride in the elevator passed with Phoebe closing her eyes, resting her head against the side of Gerald's chest, and swaying ever so slightly to the sound of the elevator music. She had found that keeping a simple harmonic motion prevented the more uncomfortable side-effects of the alcohol from afflicting her. He helped her down the hall until they reached her door. Phoebe straightened herself enough to pull out her key card and use it to unlock the door. She turned the handle, but as she edged the door open she paused. Gerald wasn't sure what was going on, but waited for her to finish whatever she needed to do. As he stood there, Phoebe's mind, though still swimming, was running through a host of hypothetical scenarios about what she should do next. She could just turn around and tell him thanks for a great night, then go in, shower, and go to bed. She could invite him in and continue talking, or watch some movies like they did as teenagers, or do some of the other things they had done as teenagers...

For the first time that day Phoebe wasn't sure what she should do or say or how a given choice would pan out. Logically she needed the sleep to be ready for her day tomorrow, but there was no denying she was having a wonderful time in Gerald's company, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself as well. Even so, what were his thoughts right now? If she said goodnight would it hurt his feelings? If she invited him in, would he act the gentleman and decline? Would he be the best friend and stay for a while and then leave? Or would he be more like what he used to be?

All this flashed through Phoebe's mind in an instant, and though she wasn't entirely sure that her judgment was sound at the moment, she made a decision on the fly.

"Why don't you come in," she said.

Gerald's eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly and he seemed to hesitate just a moment, but then he nodded and Phoebe opened the door to admit the two of them. The suite wasn't ostentatious, Phoebe was a girl of simple tastes, but the room was easily comfortable for the two occupants. Seating themselves on the couch, Phoebe and Gerald surfed the hotel's movie options and decided to watch Toy Story 3. Gerald grimaced as he looked around the room while the movie started.

"Dang Pheebs. Look at us. Like rank amateur movie watchers." She began to smile and shake her head. He looked at her with a face that was half serious, half joking. "For real Pheebs. I mean when we were in high school we were pros at casual movie viewing. By the time we sat down to a movie, we had soda, popcorn, Tex-Mex, Pocky sticks, and Jelly Bellys. I mean we had a system, we had standards, and we were talented. If our younger selves could see us now."

Phoebe took a moment to mull that thought around in her head.

If our younger selves could see us now...

"Well, if you'd like, we can pause the movie and try to find a convenience store before we go any further. I'm not thrilled about microwaveable popcorn, and I doubt if we'd be able to find Pocky sticks, but we could improvise."

Gerald smiled. "Nah, we got the three most important ingredients," he said as he settled back into his seat. "The movie, the couch, and us."

Phoebe looked askance at him and smiled before settling into her little spot next to him. Even as teenagers he'd been tall enough that she could fit underneath his arm while lying down, and wriggling her way back into that position now brought her a great deal of comfort and nostalgic fondness. As the movie played on, Phoebe's head started to clear a little from the earlier drinking, although her senses were now dulled by the late hour and the slight jet-lag more than the lingering buzz. Even so, between the humorous lines of the movie, she found her mind settling on the earliest scene where the boy Andy was deciding whether to take his favorite childhood toys with him to college. She herself had left a lot of her life behind in Queens when her family moved back to Kentucky, much like Andy had left his old friends behind. Sitting next to her now was one of the things she had missed most these past few years, and being near him made her feel all manner of strange feelings and caused her to recall so many things from the past.

If our younger selves could see us now...

As the movie ended, Gerald stretched his arms over his head and made one tight squeeze with his eyes before opening them again and blinking fast to shake the sleep from them. He turned to look down at Phoebe as she angled her head to look up at him.

"Gerald..." she intoned.

"Phoebe..." he echoed.

After that, there were no more words spoken, since there were no tongues free to make speech, and no mouths left uncovered.

Author's Note: This is the part where you make a comment about the story. I know you can do it. Just push the button and say that you: - you hated it, - liked it, - thought it needs touching up, - think the plot should go somewhere else... or you can be creative and say something else.

And thanks for reading.