Lincoln Loud woke before dawn on the morning of August 19. He was groggy because he stayed up until the ungodly hour of ten, but he forced himself up anyway: Lying in bed all day like a nigger appealed to him as little as shoving nails in his eyes.

He started with a crisp Roman salute to his Hitler poster, then found some WWII German marching music on YouTube, which he listened to as he jogged in place. After counting to a thousand, he dropped and did twenty push-ups. It was his responsibility as a White Warrior to keep in peak physical condition. The fat, bulging wastes of space spilling over the sides of their Hoverrounds were enemies to the White Race just as much as Jews and blacks. How anyone could let themselves devolve into such a disgusting state was beyond him.

When he was sweaty and his muscles ached, he hit the shower. He was perturbed to see that his shampoo was gone, removed during his six month absence, probably thrown away like trash. He refused to use any girl shampoo, so he just went without.

Someone knocked on the door. "Are you going to be done soon?"

It was Lori.

"No," he called back. He was almost done, but there was no way in hell he was going to revert to the cringing, servile cuck he was before. No more scurrying through life because a woman wanted to use the bathroom.

To his surprise, she said, "Okay," and that was that.

To assert his dominance, he stayed in for another ten minutes. During that time, his mind turned to Ronnie Ann. He fondly recalled the soft curve of her face, the sparkle in her eye. He then thought of Bobby.

Shaking his head, he got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around himself, and went out into the hall. Lori was standing by the door with her arms crossed. When he came out, she smiled, "Morning, bro."

"Good morning," Lincoln said, raising one eyebrow. He expected her to be bitchy about not getting her way.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Okay."

"Good."

In his room, he dressed in a uniform of black pants, a brown short sleeved shirt, and his combat boots. He took a red swastika armband out of his dresser and slipped it onto his right arm. He admired himself in the mirror. He'd probably take the armband off before he went downstairs because mom and dad would flip, but he wanted his sisters to see him in it before. They deserved to see what a proud White Man looked like.

It was barely six, and breakfast wasn't typically served until after eight (unless they shook up the schedule while he was gone, which wouldn't have surprised him), so he decided to stretch his morning devotionals until seven. He read a few chapters from Mein Kampf and another from The Life and Times of a Racist, a thin paperback featuring a black and white photo of a klansman, his hood pushed back to reveal his face. At 6:45, he reached under his bed and retrieved one of the Ace Savvy comics. A man can't get by on Nazism alone, after all.

At 7:00, he went out into the hall. Luna and Lynn were waiting by the bathroom door. Luan was just coming out of her room. Lola and Lana were bickering about something. When he came out of his room, they all looked up. Luan blinked, and Lynn looked quickly away. Lincoln thought he saw Luna shake her head, and steeled himself for a stupid remark.

"Morning, Linc," Luan said.

"Good morning," Lincoln said.

"Uh, good morning," Lynn said without looking at him.

"Good morning."

The bathroom door opened, and Leni came out. "Good morning, Lincy," she said, seeming not to notice how he was dressed.

"Good morning."

For a moment, no one moved even though the bathroom door stood open, steam from Leni's shower still rolling out. "Bathroom's free," Lincoln said.

Lynn slipped in and hurriedly shut the door.

Satisfied that they had seen his pride, he went back into his room and changed into a black T-shirt. He got to the table just as the others were starting to come down the stairs.

"Morning, sweetie," mom said. "How was your first night back?"

"It was good," Lincoln said.

"That's nice."

Breakfast was the usual circus. Lincoln ate in silence, planning his day. The arcade sounded nice. Then maybe he'd grab a slice of pizza for lunch, then wrap up by paying that greedy old bastard Flip a visit. Lincoln didn't know if Flip was Jewish, but he was tight-fisted enough. He made a mental note to bring a marker with him so he could draw swastikas wherever he went.

With breakfast done, he went upstairs, grabbed a marker and a retractable baton he'd ordered the day before (just in case any minorities needed a crack in the head), and came back downstairs. Dad was putting away the dishes.

"Do you mind if I go out for a while?"

"Sure, son. Where you going?"

"The arcade, then maybe Flip's."

"Alright. Be back by dinner."

"Sure."

Outside, he climbed on his bike and rode it north along Franklin Ave. The sun was already bright, and the morning air was already hot. At the intersection of Franklin and Main, he turned right and followed Main for a mile before turning onto Oak. The arcade was at the end of the street, at the outer edge of a bad neighborhood. This fact was made painfully obvious by the loud bass heavy sound of jungle music emanating from a battered Caddy parked at the curb. A black man sat behind the wheel, and another stood in the street, his arms crossed, blocking the flow of traffic. Lincoln's grip tightened on the handlebars. Look at that spook, standing in the street like he owned it. And that music! It was eight-thirty in the morning!

Already mad, Lincoln parked his bar around the side and went in. Since the place just opened for the day, it was relatively empty. He bought a fountain soda from the snack bar and sought out Master Blaster, his favorite game. He played three rounds before he finished his soda and tossed the empty onto the floor. He played Ms. Pac-Man, S.T.U.N Runner, and Crusin' USA before hitting the bathroom. He chose the far stall, and when he was done pissing, he took the marker out and drew a giant swastika on the wall.

Back in the game room, he hit a few machines. Area 51 ate one of his quarters, and he kicked it. "Piece of shit!"

Sighing, he turned, and there, across the room, was Clyde, his so-called friend. He was standing in line for Master Blaster, his hands in his pockets and his gaze downcast. He looked up, saw Lincoln, and smiled.

Oh, God.

"Lincoln!" He jumped and waved.

Fuck this. Lincoln turned and started for the door.

"Hey, Lincoln, wait up!"

Lincoln went through the door and out into the hot morning. "Hey, Lincoln!"

Lincoln spun around, his hands balled into fists. "Leave me alone, Clyde. I don't have shit to say to you."

Clyde winced. "Why?"

"It's your fault I spent six months of my life in prison. It was your idea to steal that candy, and you let me take the heat. You're a piece of scum sucking nigger shit. Fuck you."

Clyde looked wounded. He took a step forward. "Linc..."

Lincoln threw a punch. It caught Clyde in the nose and knocked him to the ground. Clyde sat in a heap, blood trickling down his lip. Lincoln suddenly wanted to make him eat the curb, but instead he shook his head, made a disgusted noise, and left, climbing on his bike and riding away.

It wasn't until an hour later, while he ate pizza at Mario's and gazed absently out the window that he started to feel guilty. Maybe Clyde had it coming, but the look in his tearful eyes as he looked up from the ground, his lips covered in blood, bothered Lincoln. Even though things were different now, there was a time when he and Clyde had been best friends. Almost like brothers. God, they'd been friends since kindergarten. Then Clyde let him take the blame. It was ultimately Lincoln's fault for being a spineless, servile cuck, but deep down, even then, he knew that he would never have been able to stand by while Clyde did the same. How could Clyde do so and still say he was Lincoln's friend?

Still, the hurt look in his eyes...

Lincoln shook his head. He tossed the rest of his pizza in the trash and biked over to Flip's. The old man was behind the counter when Lincoln entered.

"Hey, I know you," Flip said, "you stole something in town. You better not steal anything of mine."

Lincoln stiffened. "I'm not gonna steal anything, old man. Calm your ass."

"You better not."

Lincoln reached into his pocket and touched the baton. It wasn't worth it, though.

Lincoln got a slushie and a candy bar. Outside, he finished the slushie and half of the candy bar, then climbed on his bike and rode off. Maybe he'd go to the park. He liked the park.