Waves of color dark and Light, Ebbs and flows of humanity both wrong and right. Storm tossed regions filled with fear and fright, violence swells up and settles down like frothy waves against the rigid Shore. The people of the world formed their own ocean, flowing from Rivers into a sea of humanity. We mix and blend ourselves finding the way into one commonality. Like the ocean we toss and turn and swirl, having periods of calm and periods of ravage storm, but as the water that joins into the sea, we are joined one to another in humanities great ocean.

I have traveled a long and dreary path. Soon it will be time for me to part ways. The sun is getting ever lower on the horizon, but the end to this journey is now crystal clear. For good or ill, I have done the best that I could. Now this weary Mariner will take one last journey. Into the Setting Sun as the last Light of Day fades, from my labors and toil I will soon take a rest. How long I will stay at peace, I do not know. For now I will be content, and wait to see what comes next. for the current path that I walk, upon it these are my last days.

The lights are blinking and the tinsel glistens in the night like silver strings. People are shopping for their loved ones and anticipating the things that they will be given. The world looks on as we celebrate our good fortune. As we share our love with those close to us, let us not forget what it really means. When you see the cold, offer them something warm. When you see the hungry, give them more than they can eat. When you see the homeless, offer them a place to stay. Help someone out in the season of giving, and perhaps the world will be a better place.

Donning lace and silk, walking with the scent of Roses and Lilacs. Looking on faces hidden beneath the masquerade that plays the part of life's theater. Each movement is calculated and each step is intentional. Showing a little of this here a little of that there, as your breast heave in a tightly woven tapestry designed to draw in the eyes of the beholder. A master piece painted for the pleasure of the affluent and the powerful. Sitting slightly next to those who hold the reigns of power, politely laughing when it is called for, lips painted a luscious hue of red or pink, tempting like some forbidden fruit. Bowing graciously to the invitation, accepting the offer to dance. Even if there is no music, the quarry has taken the bait of seduction and the dance begins. Polite at first then more passionate, each touch intentional, each glance designed to draw in the beholder of the superficial beauty. A taunt to make the powerful want what they do not possess and cannot readily buy. The first kiss, then passions release as your trade is plied and your craft is perfected. Little by little the rich and powerful are drawn, until the negotiation is complete and you succumb to the inevitable passion that you must endure. Whether for necessity or a grander design, you release yourself into the arms of your lover. Giving away the secret that you have kept, you wait for the intrigue to be over. Now that your trap is sprung, you need only feign interest, if none is truly there until the quarry has surrendered to your wiles and the seduction of power is done.

As I walk along the journey of my life, I often stop by the way. In places where there are dark patches, I pull up the ugly weeds and plant a seed. When I see the barren places, I never know what seed will be needed, but what ever is needed I always have at the ready. Some places need seeds of hope while others may need joy. In some patches of life there is a need for wisdom and in others friendship. What ever the need along the way, I sew a seed. I am just a humble traveler walking along the way. A seed sower by my trade, planting things that people need, in hope of a harvest that I will not see, but that one who comes after me will reap the benefit of my breaking ground in the lives of so many who are in need.

An old servant sat quietly waiting on the young kings beckon call. The young ruler was impetuous, while the old servant came slowly. The king would make a declaration and then quickly change his mind. The old servant would just wait quietly until the next proclamation came. Days passed then month and years and the old servant grew even more tired and Gray. The once young king was now older and had lost some of his vigor. While the old servant sat quietly in his place awaiting the kings beckon call. One day the king called and someone else answered to his whim. He asked where is my servant, the young man said I am he. The king cried you are not my servant, the old man waits on me. The young man said yes that is what he did, but now he is gone you see. I am his grandson and now I will answer your call. For death has taken away my grandfather and he has left me to come at your beckon call. The king was disturbed and shaken, a dark shadow fell over him that day. For finally he realized that one day death would come for him too and that someone else would take his place.

Not seeking fame and fortune, but looking to heavenly things. Holding fast to the way of service, taking each day as it comes. While denied earthly rewards, with caring hands you give of yourself. Not giving a thought of your sacrifice, but looking towards the welfare of others. In all things being humble and seeking the well being of the less fortunate. All for the cause of heaven, to show that unconditional love truly exist, in a servants life.

In the dark places of my being, I hide my deepest fears. I bury my regret  my hatred and my dark desires. I keep the places shut up tight, so that they cannot see the light of day. I battle with my demons both when I am awake and in my dreams. When I sleep I go to my darkest desires and live what in reality would be another persons nightmare. I walk into the shadows of my soul and wake in a cold sweat. I take the feelings into the waking world, where I struggle to keep them in check, now knowing what might slip out. I can only keep the lid tightened down so long, before what lies in the shadows of my soul will find it's way out. Then all of my secrets will be made manifest as the shadows of my soul open to the light.

Look its over here, no its over there. The old bait and switch, a classic con. In politics that is all you get, a promise vaguely made then switched for something not even close to what they said. What do words really mean anyway. Talk and talk and talk some more until your so weary you forget where the ball is. Look its over here no its over there. The old shell game, a favorite of politicians everywhere.

The sun rises quickly and then traverses the sky, the winter Solstice has arrived. The earth is suspended between seasons, as it slowly begins it's journey back to the light. In the length of night, life still remains. People indulge in winter slumber, while others celebrate the end of the long bleak winter as the impending spring comes. In cycles that predate the age of men, we really have no part to play. Only to be covered in the lengthy night and to live the shortest day.

I sit on my front porch quietly and watch the rain drops fall. I see glints of faint light through thinning Grey clouds. I look at the rain as it sparkles like a thousand diamonds coming from the sky. Silver lights dazzle me in a spectacular show of natural wonder. I look at the beautiful silver tapestry that is painted in the sky. I reflect on my life and what is still to be done. I feel so small compared to greater scheme of things. I let myself blend into the wonders of nature and become a part of the tapestry like the silver in the rain.

Oh my head, oh I am bitten. There is a serpent in the bottle I drank from last night. The red wine and the tequila did not mix well. How wonderful the party was, then the sun came up. Now a serpent is coiled around my brain. I feel it squeeze and bite every time I try to think. Oh how the snake in the bottle is biting me, I should learn not to mix those drinks.

Ol' Joe comes creeping around,with helping hands and a cheesy smile. He wants to make sure women are all well, so if he gets real close, he will give you a smell. Ol' Joe likes to sniff the air, he likes to hold his women tight and smell their hair. So people may say Joe is creepy, but mostly he is just sleepy. For you see Joe really does care, even though his memory is sometime not there. So be careful when Joe comes around, if he forgets you he may think it would be nice and old Joe might sniff you twice.

Whiter than the sage grass seed of the fall field. Sitting in an Evergreen tree. Silent hunter proud and long lived. Keeper of the forest secrets, wise one that pursues the winter hare. Being seen only when it pleases you, you sit and wait in patients until the winds call for you to fly. On wings as silent as the frozen river, you glide down to find your prey. Then back into the misty sky as the specks of snow hide your escape. Always watching and seldom speaking, unless you have wisdom to impart. Oh Snowy Owl, sentinel keeping watch in the cold.

Huddled with anticipation of pain and loss, the brave and fearful alike band together awaiting the unwelcome moment. Courage is a scarce thing among the trenches as one by one men crouch to move forward. Across a barren landscape, that is more like the backyard of the grim reaper, they jump out of their holes like frightened rabbits dashing forward into the smoke and chaos. Shouting and wailing can be heard as bullets move by making no sound until they strike something. Valiant though their efforts are, the soldiers are little more than fodder for a cannon that is not pointed at those who started the unreasonable slaughter, but at the common man who was content to work at a trade until rousted from his warm abode and cast into the mud and blood next to his comrades. Now as the smoke settles, men who have long forgotten how to tie their own shoes heave their large masses on to  a table as the groan about the horrors of war, all the while indulging in worldly pleasure as the common fall spilling blood for nothing that affords them any good will. The ones who make the bullets prosper and the politicians speak of how great the sacrifice was, of the common man, while their dogged forms rest safely behind walls of stone and steel many miles away from the harm, an their offspring are not picked to wield the sword or take the harm as these men test out their new machines of war. So onward goes the common soldier, into the fray and the slaughter. Fighting for someone else's ideals, while they give little in the way of thought to his sacrifice, except when it suits their nefarious purposes or is expedient to keep those who remain content that the loss of their love ones were not in vain.

No grave stones were erected. No names were given out. The war has ravaged millions and there has never been a shot heard. One by one the victims are slaughtered and the mothers do not always grieve. Some simply say I am glad it is over and walk away relieved. Yet there is a record of all who were not begotten. In Gods kingdom they are written down, the souls of the abort children that God has not forgotten. Each one he truly knows by name. They sit about his throne waiting for that faithful day, when the one who did not want them and the one who took their life will stand before the father and give account for the decisions made.  No one can say how they will stand when the unknown souls are finally named.

Water is added to a ***, just as ideologies are added to a society. Heat is applied and numerous ingridents are added to the ***. In a similar way people are mixed together and sometimes have heated disagreements. The content of the *** will boil, just like opinions and tempers among diverse people in the same society, but the boiling of the water and ingridents blends the essences of each individual thing. Then it cools off a bit, and it creates a soup with a rather unique flavor. Wouldn't it be wonderful if people could be more like soup?

In a dream I walked beyond the constraints of the physical world. I saw the heavens open up and watched the stars being born. I walked along a glowing path into another world, I looked back and saw myself sitting while I was moving without thinking about it. A dragon flew by and roared at me, a winged horse landed in front of me and nuzzled me. I saw a new world where there were no scars or imperfections, only clear air and pure water flowing from Mountains covered in pristine snow. I wandered backwards and forwards in time. I saw my own mistake and spoke with amazing people. Finally, I felt myself slowly drifting backwards into my own body. I once again was lost in my own pail existence. For a moment I was free to explore so many amazing things. I could see how one could want to be free of this world so that they could explore what is to come.

Oh the shameful thing! Oh the blot on my pride. How can I face it? Such ugliness and it is not easily cleaned away. Oh the horror of it all, to face the blight of such a thing. Normal laundry will never get it out, I guess it will have to be dry cleaned.

Two glasses sit empty on the table. They bear the marks of last night. From the hue of red wine to pink lipstick, they tell of a wonderful time. From when we toasted to things that we can't remember until you kissed me passionately. The glasses tell the tale of what transpired between you and me. Once we drank only as friends, but that moment has passed. Because of the wine that stained the glasses, we have become intimate at last The glasses witnessed you laugh and they saw you cry. Your tears are on both of them as we both released what we held inside. So as we sleep silently entwined in each others loving embrace. The stained glasses wait silently to bear witness to what will come next.

I look at the colors in the window of a small chapel. I see the image of a man kneeling by a rock. I look as the sunlight drifts through and highlights the dust that swirls in the air. I sit here silently beneath the colorful shadow looking for answers. I see that my life is like the window, full of different shades and hues. Some are darker than others and they do not always fit precisely together. Just as the image of the man kneeling by the rock is not a precise one. So I look at the image and I ask how he does it, sitting there day in and day out. As if the glass could speak to me, I just sit with longing wishing I were the stained glass window. A transparent fixture through which people could see dimly not feeling or caring what others think, just an image for people to admire and something to collect dust and not feel a thing.

Jewels twinkle above a blue sphere that is filled with all manner of people. We look at them and grasp for hope, sometimes wishing on one of them. We stare in wonder as they pierce the veil of the night sky. While below we are caught up in our problems that compared to the stars, are really petty and small. If we would take a moment and realize just how vast creation is, then perhaps we would return to peace and wonder and begin to reach for the heavens again.

Behold the celestial light as it shines down on the earth. See the faint twinkles of the pin points that show through the curtain of night. Look at the faint distant glimmer of stars beyond counting. See each one and count them if you can. Watch how they sparkle and shine as jewels through the veil of darkness. Some as fixed points to guide us, others as glimmering and fading light to confound us. Take stock of the multitudes and wonder, is there someone out there on a world around another star looking at our faint sun as it shimmers and twinkles wonder the same thing we might, is there other life among the stars of heaven.

Now comes the night and the veil is drawn to a close. The mortal shell is dispensed with and the final secret is revealed. Hearts stop for fear of the unknown, oh the sword of the reaping has come. In faith some go forth, others in sheer terror. For those who believe, it is but a passing, but for others a horrific tale of woe. At the moment that your last breathe is drawn, you now face the reality of what you hold most dear. All thoughts of family and friends are set aside, all mortal pursuits are forgotten. In this moment, you are tested and made to know a truth. The truth of your own self is brought upon you. When death comes will it sting or bring sweet release. Only the individual can say for sure. The one thing that is certain is that all people will face the end. How that end will be dealt with is up to each of us alone.

Monolithic trees standing silent as if frozen by time. Stone giants rising into the sky, reaching for something that I cannot see. Petrified remembrances of a time long past. A connection to what once was and may never be again. Animals run among the monuments and birds light upon their frozen limbs. The sun reflects off of their crystalline bark as I walk among them. So much is preserved and so much is forgotten, in the stone forest where petrified trees wait quietly for another day to pass.

It was planted by a family in the first part of spring. It grew up slowly and witnessed children maturing. It sprouted branches and reached to the sky. It endured many storms. It kept birds and squirrels safe and warm. It held a tire swing and watched grand kids play. It was carved on a few times with words lovers could not say. It stood as a guardian of many secrets that it keep still today. If only the tree could talk what might it have to say. Imagine the things that it has seen and many things that it knows all too well. Oh the stories a tree could tell.

The thunder rolls and shakes the windows, the rain drops fall down. The dark clouds obscure the light of a new day. I look for a cup of coffee and watch the leaves fall as the storm washes them off their branches. The colors are taken from the trees, leaving them barren and clean. This is how I wish to feel. The pains of my emotional storm have shaken my very being and now I wish to refresh and start anew. So I will settle myself, and enjoy the day, though dark it may be. For the day and my emotions are the same, both are a product of the storm.

Tensions boil over as poverty creeps into neighborhoods. The perception of social injustice fills the news. Violence leaves already shatter families ripped and torn apart. Liars make promises they have no intention of keeping as cities burn to the ground. The seams of societies fabric begin to fray and tear. Pressure percolates under surfaces until threads begin to break. The strain becomes too great and everything explodes in chaos as those in power look on from their fortified Ivory towers waiting for the whole thing to be broken so that they can sweep up the pieces and throw them away. Then come in and rebuild it and fill the pockets full of gold while people scrounge in the streets half starved as they buckle under even more pressure as they see the inequality of a system that is broken and simply repeats itself.

The streets run red with blood. The war has at last come home. The watchman has failed and the battle is on our door step. In a fight for our live even our way of life. We unfold our armor and raise our banners in preparation for what may be our last fight. In the halls of reason, our words have failed. The tide of carnage is too great, the hope of peace has sailed. So gird your ***** for battle, stand for the innocent that cringe in fear. Let ring the battle horn and see that battle is near. From corner to corner through out every street, let our prayers rise up and shake the heavens until our enemies suffer defeat. Let our nation be returned from the hand of the oppressors and the deceitful, let righteousness once again prevail. Let not the streets run again red with blood, let not our faith fail.

No one is exempt from the scorching rays of the sun. It burns the earth and turns us all, baking our skin. So what contempt it is for one person or group to think that they will escape the ravages of natures revenge for the way we have treated her.

Everything has a button, or what some call a switch. I am no exception. As a child I found that my switch was used often, when I would not listen or behave. My grand mother would pluck it from a Peach Tree or any available bush. Sometimes the switch would make me go fast and sometimes it would make me go slow. Sometimes it would make me run in circles and others just roll around on the floor. The switch was not pleasant, but when my switch was tripped, I would always have a reaction, as it corrected me for what I did wrong.

A Rose sits high on her breast and a snake slithers up her thigh! She has a heart tattooed on her arm and an evil smile on her lips. In the small of her back the dark wings can take you on a trip. A vine swirls around her ankle with the names of those she holds dear. She has forever yours tattooed just below her ear. She walks casually by and gives you a longing stare. Her wrist has the words Devil May Care. She has long blood Red nails and on her fingers she has love and hate. She loves to make your girlfriend jealous, she is the woman they will love to hate. Across her slender stomach she has no inhibitions tattooed colorful and clear. She has wanton sinner tattooed on her inner thigh. If you see what is next then it is obvious you are her kind of guy. So if you want to get lost in lust, just let her catch your eye. You will follow the map of ink to sinful pleasure and she will rock your world. Be wary of the danger of the tattooed girl.

My eyes are dry and my soul is empty. I weep until the ground is white with salt. Perhaps it would be better if I could drown in my own sorrow. Perhaps if I could remove my emotions, then I would be as the dead. Where ever I go I bring sorrow. I can even darken the Sun. So I will go and find a place of seclusion and there in the dark I will weep. Then the tears that I cry will harm no one but myself and perhaps if I am alone I will simply fade away.

When the rain falls on the earth, God is crying for his children. Sometimes his tears sweep over and wash away things. Some things are wicked and some are not. In the heartbroken state, the tears fall from heaven. Then when there are no more tears to be cried, the rain will stop and a dry spell will come. In that time, we ask why we suffer, but in truth our sorrowful ways has caused God to have no more tears, and the rain that gives life to cease, so we are the cause of our own fates.

The sun shines on the grass and trees. The flowers bloom and the birds sing. Yet all I can do is be somber and weep for there is no joy for me. While others are relishing in the warmth of a Mid Summers day, I am nursing a broken heart and cannot find much joy. I weep morning noon and night, my soul torn to shreds by you. So while you are off enjoying a tropical paradise, I will be here weeping the tears of summer because you left me so empty and alone.

If the ocean lacked any salt, my tears would fill it back up. If I had cried in the desert, it would have become the garden of Eden. With a heart that you broke into pieces, I shed tears until the rivers overflowed. No peace could be found with the way you left me. I have cried my eyes dry and red. I have carried a torch for you way to long. If ever decide to find me, just follow the damp footprints that are stained with the tears that I have cried.

We can put a man on the moon and grow food in the freezing cold. We can make fuel out of grass and light up the darkest night. We can clean up water and shield ourselves from the sun. We can talk to each other in a few seconds of time and share ideas around the world. We can give back lost limbs and cure that which could not be cured.  With all that we can do, why can't we get along?

Take a needle and some thread, put two lives together and begin to heal a wound. It doesn't matter which lives they are, any two will do. Once the stiches are in place, each one filled with love and understanding. Then you can begin to mend the tattered world a few lives at a time.

There were 3 kings who lived their lives. Each was wealthy and thought he was wise. All 3 of them were life long friends, they stood by each other through thick and thin. Then one day a light appeared, what an amazing thing the said. So from the greatest of the kings to the least of the 3 they followed the light seeing where it would lead. Then amazement they came upon two strangers and a small shivering child that lay in a manger. What a miraculous thing this is they said. They brought their gifts and bowed their heads. So having seen and understood such a wondrous thing, they were that much the wiser, these 3 kings.

Vanity is an infection that distracts from the truth. Superficial beauty fades like leaves on a tree in Autum. Wealth blinds the eye to justice. Silver and gold turns away true judgment. Those who have can buy judgment, while the poor have no recourse. All things come to an end, kingdoms collapse and empires fall. Death is the one true equality. All face this judgement, an no mortal can escape it. No matter what trappings the world has given us.

I started as a seed falling into the wind. I drifted along until I found the ground. The sun shined on me and the rain fell. I burst open and sent a root into the earth. I pushed up and down, my sprout reaching for the sky and for the deep cool earth. I drew strength and grew. Once or twice I was cut back, but I kept going. Months passed then years, birds began to sit I my branches and people rested under my shade. I watched the seasons pass until I could almost touch the clouds. I sprouted blossoms and shed my own seed into the wind. Now I see in the distance other trees like me. Perhaps one day our roots will meet and our limbs will touch. Then we can tell our stories about how we  became a tree.

I started as a seed floating on the wind. I fell from a tree and sailed until I touched the ground. I felt the cool earth and the warm sun. Then the rain came and I burst open. My roots pushed down and my sprout pushed up. I stretched towards the sky and into the cool deep soil. Spreading outward and downward, I embraced the life I was given. Despite the fact that I was cut back once or twice, I continued to grow. Then one day birds were able to rest in my branches and people were able to sit under my shade. I then put forth blossoms of my own. I produced seeds that flew into the wind. I know not where they went. As time passed, I saw new life growing not far from where I sit. New saplings reaching out in both directions. Perhaps one day our limbs will touch or our roots will cross over each other. Then we can tell of our journey. How each struggled and came to be, how each of us became a tree.

From many wild vines come many bitter grapes. Only from a vineyard that is well tended and nurtured will you find sweet fruit. As it is with earthly fruit, so it is with the spiritual fruit. Only from the true vine of Christ will the grapes of righteousness come with the sweet savor that only redemption can bring to the soul.

To be honest with ones on self is the hardest thing to do. Looking at our own faults often makes uncomfortable. To admit that we are less than we think we are is the first step to our own humility. When we judge ourselves, we are more critical than anyone else will be. The problem lies in the fact that we want to dismiss our faults and project our imperfections on another. When in fact we should be listing our deficiencies in order to remind ourselves everyday that in truth we are no better or worse than another person. It is simply that we must acknowledge the truth about ourselves.

No good work can pay the debt, no self sacrifice can ever be enough. All of the prayers will avail you nothing. No thing of great price can purchase the eternity. Only through humility and profession of the one begotten, will you receive the gift that is given freely. Only when you are covered by the blood, will you receive salvation from the one who died for us all.

You see the images on the T.V. and you think you know what it's about. Hollywood sells an ideal but none of it is real. The stories cannot relate the way it really feels. When you get caught up in the game, then you hit a brick wall, it is not what you think. One moment you are living a mile a  minuet, the next you come to a dead stop. You wake up one morning and your sitting idle in a cellblock. You have some person walking around with a set of keys. The officer now controls your freedom, your choices are taken away. You look back on how fast the good times went. You see the easy money and wasted time that you spent living on a fast track to no where. The door has closed behind you and now your there. The paint ages along with you as you watch the drab walls and steel bars, you can hear sounds of the outside world when you do get to the yard. Now a decade in, you are frozen in place. You are like a stone just sitting waiting for something to come along. The cracks in the paint remind you of how many coats have been put on since you got into the cell. The truth about doing the time, is that it can be a living hell.

We strive to live on a path, but often we are diverted this way and that. What we thought we could achieve, is often sidetracked. Try as we might our human selves gets in our own way. Frailty, pain and our own mistakes happen to the best of us. Perseverance and sacrifice are not ingrained in us but must be learned. Through trial and error we figure things out. Some will learn faster than others and some will never get it right. Trying to figure out a path or goal that will work as planned is often impossible. All we as humans can do is move forward and hope to learn from the past missteps. This is the basic truth of life.

Sacrifice and heart break, sorrow and tears, loss and longing are the stark truths that lay in love. Poets talk of smiles and warm sunny days yet this is only a dream. Love is a mother comforting a sick child. Love is a labor of long hours in a job no one wants to do. Love is giving without the hope of receiving. Love holds many mysteries and many truths. It lets us find out who we are and what we are not. It defines us and breaks us, it binds us and divides us. These are the many things hidden in love.

Many battles must be fought and many must fall. Ideas are pushed and can mature into violence. At the end of the terrible rampage, there is always a victor, though the cost of the victory might be too high to count.Time takes away the memory of the carnage, and those who failed before will always bring forth their failed ideas in a new philosophy. Human mortality is but a flicker of light in the vast span of infinite time. What we call written history is but a shadow of past things. People die off and memories fade as the veil of time glosses over the past troubles with a mist of forgetfulness. Only truth survives the white washing of facts. Despite the best efforts of those who failed before, their actions will again bear out the fruit of their lies and the truth will once again prevail,but at what cost that we will forget in a generation or two?

I drove my car as far as it would go, 100 thousand miles I had let it go. With only the most basic of work, because often I was flat broke. Then my shocks went out on a date and one pothole and my girlfriend banged her head. I was mortally terrified, because I thought she was dead. With only a large goose egg on the top of her head, at the hospital she said she loved me but that we could no longer date, not until I fixed my car. I whined and asked can't it wait. She gave me stern look as the nurse pushed her towards the hospital door, where she got into a cab and at that she said no more. So in utter frustration, I finally gave in and decided to visit the dealership for the service I had been putting off. If I had know what I was in for, I would have bought another car, it would have been cheaper than a tune up by far. When I entered the service bay, the floors were squeaky clean, the service attendant was very nice and I thought this isn't as bad as it seems. They filled out some paper work and I said what the heck, I signed my name on the dotted line and said give my car a check. I sat in their waiting room as if it were a delivery date. Then after two hours I met my mechanic, he said hi my name is Nate. He begin to explain to me all of the ends and outs, I barley understood half of what he was talking about. When at last he had finished, he said will all of this be ok, I just nodded a confused yes and he said great we'll get on it right away. For 2 more hours I sat in the waiting room, hoping that the nightmare would be over soon. Just I was about to fall asleep, a voice rang over the loud speaker for me to come to she service desk, from that point on, I can scarcely remember the rest. I saw the friendly attendant in the area with nice clean floors, when she handed me the service ticket it nearly reached to the door. In utter shock, I didn't now how I was going to pay, then as by magic she had my wallet and a credit card and she said we'll take care of this right away. So with my vehicle up to code and all of it's problems fixed. I no longer have a girl friend and I have no desire to date. For once I get my card paid off from the service on my car. I am pretty sure that I will be able to take a trip from here to Mars.