They made way for him. This way and that, boys suddenly clearing their throats and looking down, stepping out—spilling out— to the sides of him, his periphery. Some even pressing up against their own lockers as he strode past. The boldest among them attempted affirmative head nods and opened up with other opportunities of physical validation. But fists remained un-bumped, hands remained un-dapped and the hopeful lights in their eyes were cast downward, as their efforts brooked no change in that calm face as cool as ice.

The girls performed their own rituals but were no less desperate in their performances, some attempted to walk alongside him books clutched to chest, chattering away, fidgeting, tucking locks of hair behind their ears with a forefinger in one smooth C-shaped motion. Smooth like he was. Smooth like the tinted surface of his reflective black lenses. Showing images of the world around him and if you made the mistake to look. Caught yourself distorted, round, imperfect in those blackened pools well then, that was your problem.

Nobody could keep up with him, and it was only a matter of time with his long strides. That time always came sooner rather than later and eventually the hangers-on could do nothing but sigh, swoon, or curse their cowardice to his back, which was shielded from their affections with a blue leather jacket not worn, but hung by his crooked forefinger angled over his right shoulder. It swayed as he walked. Steady, timely, like a pendulum. On his way, he passed by a freshman. The Reign machine had eaten the little man’s dollar. Much like him the vending machine appeared unshakable, at least by the hands of this kid. So he stopped his stride for a moment and with his body still facing forward, took a few gliding steps backward toward the machine. The freshman was too upset to notice his presence yet and was startled when one swift donkey kick backward was all it took for his Reign and several dozen more to come tumbling out of the reception chute.

In no time kids were gathered scrabbling for the few cans left, and when the freshman withdrew from the fracas to thank his savior, clutching an ice cold Reign to his chest, his good samaritan was already too far down the hall to be seen.

“Aw shucks how am I going to carry all of you?” asked Jack Allison of all his books. He was a freshman standing before his locker farther down the hall. He was speaking to a rather large stack of Star Wars EU novels he had over zealously selected from the library. The stack was higher than head-height. “Well, you know what they say, leave no book behind!” and then Jack artfully kicked the locker shut with a foot, and spun around to walk right into a force of nature. Jack, his glasses, and his books went everywhere. Dazed, slightly blinded and on the ground, Jack didn’t know what hit him, but he could see and think well enough to know a stranger was knelt down beside him, gathering his books. “Thank you intrepid hero, what do I call thee brave sir?” The stranger handed Jack his glasses and he hastily fixed them to his face.

“Van.” said the stranger and Jack balked, eyes wide. He scrambled backward on his hands.

“V-V-Van? The B-b-bad boy of producing!?” “Just a name little man.” said Van and he stood, the fluorescents above caught the silver rims of his sunglasses. He turned his back to Jack, blue jacket swaying over crooked finger. Jack stared up at him in awe as he strode away. Then shook his head and shot to his feet.

“W-wait, Mr. Van, sir, dude!” Van stopped without turning. “ I think..” said Jack “I think maybe we should work together!” Van laughed, though from anyone else it would have been considered a breathy exhale.

“You know what little man...” said Van as he turned, extending a hand. “I like your style.”

Topics discussed on today's episode include: Gavin Newsom, Free Guy, Afghanistan Withdrawal Deployment, The Ongoing Infrastructure Week, Notes from Van and more!