You don’t have to go to heaven to realise this.
You don’t have to be dragged through that endless cycle the Buddha spoke about just to get the hang of it. You don’t have to get down on your knees. You already know: the world is full of giants. People who are smaller than their names. Giants. People who consider themselves an event, written in bold, floating at the top of the paragraph. People with faces pushed to the front of the internet. People who can rewrite history with the numbers they own. But they are giants, and like all giants, they know: they cannot actually move the Earth. With every step they take, they are reminded: their names do not add any weight, and the ground does not actually shake.
Giants.
1988, Toronto, Canada, 01:35a.m.
“Yeah, well, u-shually he’ll just come o’ down and chewse a girl.”
“Is that really what’s going on here?”
“Yes-sir. And they’s gonna be real secretive about it, too. You best off catchin’ that same taxi home, they ain’t gon’ let you’s in the biyeldin’ roun’ this tyme a’ night.”
There was silence in the reception-room of the office tower.
“How come you know all about this?”
“What, you’s think they’d put sum’ normie security dee-tail, on this desk, roun’ this tyme a’ night? Hell nah. They’s got ta tell me. Im’s as invol’d as the rest o’ them. Wha’ss at they say? Guilty by asso-see-ach’un.”
“You go up to these parties?”
The security guard broke into fits of laughter. “Heee-yelll nah! I’s don’ want nothin’ to do with it. I’s just need the pay. I see the girls come on in, I see the girls leave, us’ally they’s bein’ carried by some-how or some-such, and they pay me to not say nothin’. I’ss good pay, and I ain’t got too many offers, on account’a my history n’ what-not.”
Benny felt thoroughly strange. “So, why are you telling me all this?”
“I 'on know. You’s a funny lookin’ fella, an’ I’m bored, shit.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Only if you tell…”
Benny knitted his brows; inside him, a strange determination was brewing.
“What if I tell?”
And with this, the guard broke into fits of laughter again.
2023, Montreal, 02:45p.m.
“Our visiting hours aren’t until four o’clock today, sir.”
“I know, I know, you’ll have to forgive me, I got a taxi here straight from the airport.”
“Besides, the individual you are requesting to see… the fact that he is being held here is not public information. May I ask how it is that you are aware of his location?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Sir, I’m afraid if -”
“Look, hear me just for one second. I actually don’t care if I can see the man. In all honesty, I’d rather not. It’s been a long time since I saw him last and I’d be just fine keeping it that way. What I’d like to know is what the cell facilities here are like.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d like to know what the cell facilities here are like, please.”
The woman stared at him confusedly. There was something peculiar about this man - smartly dressed, but tired-looking, and certainly a foreigner.
“I’m not able to disclose that information…”
“Come on,” said the man. “I swear all I want to do is talk about this very strange topic, and then, I’ll leave. Surely you must get bored sitting here all day. All I want to do is know what it’s like in these cells. Tell me whatever you like, or tell me whatever you can, I don’t mind.”
There was a warmth in his eyes which confused Lara. But she felt that there was nothing to be threatened by, at least, so began talking.
“Well, uh…” she tapped her pen on the desk. “… it’s two to a cell, all men in here. The cells are maybe six by ten feet, I guess? I’m really just a receptionist…”
“Do go on,”
“Well, not much else happens. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at noon, dinner at six, every day, repeats like clockwork. We keep people here as long as is needed. Shared toilets, shared showers. Bunk in each cell, two chairs and some blankets. That’s really about all I know.”
“Is he in a wheelchair all day?”
“What? Oh, yes, he is... and he’s always complaining about the cold…” Lara realised she had become too comfortable. “But that might be too much for me to share, damn it.”
“No, no, don’t worry, I’m not writing any of this down.”
“I really shouldn’t be talking to you, sir,” said Lara, regaining composure.
“That’s alright. I’m quite alright with just that. I’ll be leaving now.”
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I may have said too much here. I would ask that you don’t tell others about our discussion here.”
The man laughed comfortably; Lara felt reassured.
“Me?” he chuckled, a funny sort of smile on his face. “Who am I going to tell?”
read the original story (BBC News):
Peter Nygard: Fashion mogul guilty of sex assaults - BBC News
The views expressed in this publication do not reflect the views of the author. The stories themselves are based on imagined events. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is fictitious and should not be taken as representative.
Visited Montreal in '74. Seemed quite nice. Who knew?
Nygard the name today!? Who shall it be tomorrow? We have had EPSTEIN---WEINSTEIN--ROYAL ANDY--ROYAL CHARLES---SAVILE--MAXWELL---HARRIS--TRESTRAIL--HAMILTON---MOUNTBATTEN--etc and all with links to UK ROYAL FAMILY in one way or another? Northern Ireland had the Kincora scandal. At present there is an inquiry or cover up regarding sex abuse in Scotlands children homes/private schools etc and one of the worst was St Margarets in Elie Fife. A good book to read is by Sandy Reid and called NEVER TO RETURN! Spells out the evil in society from top to bottom!