Pedestrian accident attorneys cherry hill
It’s funny how bed bath and beyond states All Sales Are Final, yet when they decide they rang something up to cheap, because they tagged it wrong, they quickly refunded my money in cash! No refunds, no exceptions??
2023.06.05 05:22 Cultural_Election_56 It’s funny how bed bath and beyond states All Sales Are Final, yet when they decide they rang something up to cheap, because they tagged it wrong, they quickly refunded my money in cash! No refunds, no exceptions??
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2023.06.05 05:07 TheRed_Knight My first good knuckleballer SP, Dusty Walker
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2023.06.05 04:27 jchutney Been working on my first map for a custom city I’m creating. Made it on my phone so it’s not perfect but I feel it’s very functional
 | A LINE - Green submitted by jchutney to TransitDiagrams [link] [comments] B LINE - Yellow C LINE - Red D LINE - Blue E LINE - Orange DOWNTOWN LOOP - Pink UPTOWN LOOP - Purple MAIN STREET EXPRESS - Cyan MILLENNIUM LINE - Gold CENTURY LINE - Burgundy |
2023.06.05 04:16 goflames93 Car Accident in Poorly Designed Gas Station Parking Lot: Is the Business Liable? Seeking Advice
I was turning out of the gas station parking lot to go left. I looked both ways not seeing another vehicle and got clipped by a truck speeding. Witnesses told me the truck turned right at their light and was speeding my direction. If anyone is familiar, this is the parking lot at Bucees in alabama. It’s very poorly designed and I was informed by the police that they respond to accidents there all the time, two prior to mine that day. Also, because it’s a known accident area, the business has traffic control for this intersection. They were let go early that day. At what point is the business liable for anything? I heard Alabama is an at fault state so I believe I will be a percentage liable along with the truck. I want to know if it’s worth speaking to an attorney about the business being liable.
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2023.06.05 02:31 eiramired Ignite the Ashes Chapter 6 - From the Ashes
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Chapter 6 - From the Ashes
Winrow, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein, Year 991
She remembered the sounds of screaming. That day came to her in flashes of disjointed images and sensations. In one moment, there was the usual constant chill of the facility, and then in the next there was a burning heat spiraling outwards, climbing up the walls and dying the grey into red.
She remembered twisting shadows and contorted figures. Those magicians, distant and immoveable figures for so much of her life, collapsed to their knees and choked on smoke.
She remembered smaller figures writhing in the flames. A hand crushed beneath debris reaching towards her. A smoking corpse she couldn’t recognize.
She still wondered, sometimes, lying on the cot and staring up at the wooden ceiling, if it had been Tom or Ben. She would focus on the little details of the figure, laboring over the smoking limbs and the exact hunch of the shoulders. She never did know for certain.
She supposed it didn’t matter in the end.
—
Joan inhaled, tightening and loosening her grip on the tray of food she was carrying with her. Once she was done mentally preparing herself, she pushed back her shoulders, gripped the door handle, and turned it.
The door opened with a loud creak. Joan had decided to leave it unoiled on purpose; Amara never responded to knocks, so the least she could do was give a very obvious advance warning when she entered the room.
Joan plastered on a large smile, ignoring the numbness that had been growing on one side of her face, and stepped over to the figure seated on the bed. Amara didn’t even turn, her eyes fixed on the open window and the flowing curtains. It was a bright day, the towering white clouds drifting peacefully across a vast expanse of blue. The sight was particularly welcome after a week of non stop rain.
“Good morning,” Joan said in her most cheery voice. She set the tray down on a small table placed beside the cot. Slowly, Amara turned her head to stare at her. Joan swallowed.
Ever since Amara had woken up, she’d barely spoken or even acknowledged her surroundings. All her movements were dulled, as though she was wading through water, and Joan had yet to see any true reaction from her.
Even when she’d first quietly explained what had happened, that the building was gone and that there weren’t any other survivors, Amara had just listened quietly, perfectly still and unmoving. When Joan had finished speaking, all she’d said was, “Can I see the ruins?”
Joan hadn’t known how to respond to that. Part of her suspected she still hadn’t fully processed what had happened and seeing the destroyed building might provide closure, but she also had to be honest and tell Amara that she was in no condition to move. Amara hadn’t responded to that, but she would still ask, every now and then. Those were the only times she would speak without first being prompted. Besides that, she only ever answered in short, clipped sentences, never referring to Joan by name and never saying more than necessary.
When Joan had confided in Leila, the watchman had made a sympathetic noise and shaken her head. “Poor thing must be in shock,” she’d said.
It was the most obvious explanation and the one Joan had immediately jumped to as well. And yet, the longer she spent around her patient, the more she started to wonder if that initial assessment was wrong.
Despite how dulled her movements seemed and how little she spoke, Amara’s eyes never had the same look to them. Even when she stared off into the distance, there was a constant sharpness there, a hardness that seemed at odds with the rest of her behavior.
Even now, seated on the hospital cot, Amara studied her with that same uncanny perceptiveness, a gaze that always made Joan feel like she was being judged. She forced her own eyes to remain steady instead of darting away like her first instinct was. She briefly considered how absurd it was for her, a former Rose, to be intimidated by an injured patient who was probably half her age and barely old enough to no longer qualify as a “girl.”
Joan cleared her throat, the sound seeming to echo in the pervasive silence.
“How are you today?”
A silent stare was her only answer. Joan suppressed the urge to sigh, instead keeping her smile plastered on. She nodded at the tray of food and stood again.
“Well, if you need anything, I’ll be right there doing work.”
Some time after Amara had woken up, Joan had gotten some neighbors to help her move a table into the patient room so that she could keep an eye on her while working. Amara hadn’t voiced any complaints about it, and it made Joan a little less uneasy, so she’d stuck with the system.
Joan settled down in her seat, squinting down at the stack of letters. She didn’t start reading, however, until she heard the familiar clink of silverware as Amara finally ate. Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she leaned over the table and began to work, ignoring the sensation of eyes on her back as she did so.
—
“You’re healing well,” Joan commented as she carefully inspected an unwrapped wound. She was sure to move slowly and with deliberate gestures, not missing the way Amara’s eyes followed her hands whenever she checked her injuries.
As Joan moved on to the next bandage, she once again considered how lucky Amara was to have survived the explosion. Though she hadn’t seen the building collapse herself, a few of the onlookers had told her that it was sudden and violent. “What do you think happened?” one of them had asked. Joan had told him that she didn’t know. Truthfully she suspected it had been an experiment gone wrong, but she hadn’t wanted to reveal Amara’s secret. As far as the other villagers were concerned, the building was just a lone orphanage that had suffered an unfortunate accident.
“Can I see the ruins?”
Joan frowned. “Not yet,” she said slowly. “Not until all your bones are healed.”
When she looked up again, Amara had turned her head away and was staring at the sky again. Joan sighed and continued the check up.
—
A knock sounded from down the hallway. Joan set down the shirt she was patching and stood with a frown.
“I’ll be right back,” she said before rising and hurrying to the door.
When she opened it, she found not another patient, but Leila still in her watchman uniform. She blinked at the woman, eyes briefly darting over to the basket she was carrying, then back up.
“Leila, it’s good to see you. What’re you doing here?”
“I was patrolling around the area and thought I’d stop by. Here.” She raised her hand and passed the basket over. Joan took it and peered down at its contents. Inside, she found various ripe fruits, some bright flowers that Leila must’ve gotten fresh from the florist, and a small pouch that, when opened, contained an array of glinting coins. Joan’s eyes widened.
“Leila, you didn’t have to—”
“They’re from the watchmen,” the other woman interrupted. She smiled. “I told them I was stopping by and they pooled together some money to help out.”
A warm feeling rose in Joan’s chest. She swallowed, carefully closing the pouch again and setting it back inside the basket beside a bright yellow blossom. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Please tell them thank you for me.”
Leila reached out a gloved hand and patted her shoulder. “After all the times you’ve had to heal us, this is the least we could do,” she joked. She glanced behind Joan at the hallway and lowered her voice. “Speaking of which, how’s she doing?”
“She’s healing well,” Joan said. “I estimate she’ll be able to walk around within the month.”
“You really do work miracles.” Leila shook her head and stepped back. “I ought to get back on patrol. Remember, if you ever need anything, you can ask me.” With a wave, the woman turned around and walked away.
Joan watched her retreating back, shaking her head with fondness before moving to close the door. Basket carefully balanced in her hands, Joan made her way back down the hallway and to the patient room.
“I’m sorry about that, Amara,” she said as she stepped through the doorway. “Leila visited and—”
Joan’s voice cut off.
The cot where Amara usually sat was empty, the wrinkled sheets haphazardly pulled aside. Joan’s eyes darted frantically around the room, landing on her desk table, where her sewing box was overturned, its contents spilled across the table, chair, and wooden ground. Fabric strips, threads, pins, cushions of needles.
And there, a few feet away from the desk, she could just barely make out the top of a head poking out from behind the bed.
The basket fell to the floor.
“No no no—”
Joan didn’t think, immediately sprinting towards the back of the room, cursing herself for being so stupid. Am I too late?
“Amara!” Joan called, stumbling as she leapt onto the cot and peered over in dread, her heart pounding against her ribcage.
There, seated on the ground with her back supported by the bed, sat Amara. She turned her head to face her, and Joan saw that in one hand she held a gleaming pair of scissors and in the other, a thick bundle of wavy hair that lay half scattered across the ground, blown around by the wind billowing into the room.
“You’re back,” Amara observed. Her gaze was as sharp and perceptive as ever.
Joan’s eyes rapidly scanned her, but there were no new injuries to make note of. The only change was her hair, which had been cropped short so that it sat in an uneven line below her chin.
All at once, the tension bled away and Joan slumped down.
“You cut your hair,” she said weakly. Her head throbbed, and she absentmindedly rubbed at it.
“Yeah.”
Joan released a long breath and slowly straightened. She closed her eyes for a moment, calming her rapid heart rate. When she spoke, she forced her voice to remain as still and calm as possible, though she couldn’t entirely mask the slight tremor in her voice.
“Amara, the next time you want to cut your hair or—or do anything, please tell me first. Please.”
Amara stared at her, quiet for a long time. She shifted her position, and for the first time since she’d woken up, something in her eyes changed.
“Okay,” she said.
—
It was a windy day. Joan shivered and pulled her cloak closer, but she didn’t remove her gaze from the figure walking just beside her.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Joan asked. Amara just nodded, not even turning to look her way, and Joan sighed and shook her head. She faced forward as well, eyes following the dirt path and remembering the last time she’d walked along it.
The closer they got to the ruins, the more Joan’s unease grew.
Amara had continued to heal at a rapid pace, and when she’d first started being able to walk around on her own, she constantly did so, moving with a silent, steady determination. The end result of that persistence had led them to their current situation, on the road to the ruins, Amara with only a few bandages left on her skin and walking by herself, albeit a bit slowly, and Joan, whose eyes kept darting over, watching for any reaction.
As far as she could tell, there were none. Amara moved with remarkable calm, shoulders relaxed and eyes steady.
Joan exhaled and kept walking. Ever since the scissors incident, as Joan had dubbed it in her head, Amara had started speaking more. She was still mostly quiet, but she seemed a little more engaged, more interested in her surroundings. She’d even requested Joan teach her how to read, after Joan had given her a tour of her little home and shown her the library. When Amara was sitting there quietly, listening as Joan taught her basic letters and spelling, Joan could almost tell herself that she was just an ordinary, curious young woman if not for the array of scars on her skin. Joan had tried to heal them, but form magic couldn’t alter colors, and so the marks still lingered.
That near normalcy, however, was where the doubts had begun. Initially she’d assumed Amara wanted to see the ruins to give her closure so that she could move on, but what if it had the opposite effect? Joan wasn’t a fool, she knew Amara’s behavior was in no way normal. She had to be repressing things, or perhaps the truth hadn’t really settled yet. What if seeing the ruins caused her to break down?
The longer they walked, the more the doubts grew. Joan quickly became lost in her thoughts, so much so that she didn’t immediately notice when they stopped walking
“Which way?”
Joan blinked and looked up, seeing that they’d reached a familiar fork in the road. Her heart sank and she swallowed. “Left,” she said, voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “It… it’s just past that hill.”
Amara nodded and turned without hesitation, slowly making her way up the slight incline in a steady rhythm. Another breeze blew past them, carrying scattered tree leaves with it. Joan watched Amara reach the hill top and begin descending until she’d disappeared from view.
Joan stared at the path, limbs suddenly heavy. She tightened her grip on her cloak.
“Get it together,” she muttered. There was no reason for her to be so nervous, she told herself. It was absurd, after all the things she’d already seen throughout her life. But Amara had an uncanny ability to make her feel like a lost child again, someone completely out of her depth.
Joan waited a little longer, listening for any sounds, but there were none besides the wind and rustling flora surrounding them. And so, after a deep breath, Joan lowered her head and made her way over the hill.
When she looked up again, the ruins were in sight. She slowed her pace as she approached.
Where once a simple sturdy grey building had stood, there now lay a pile of debris. Only the bottom sections of the buildings remained standing, jutting out from the ground like broken blades. Charred, splintered wood lay strewn about the grass, and large chunks of shattered stone formed crude boulders.
Surrounding the ruins, colorful blossoms grew in bright patches. Originally someone had suggested burying the bodies—at least the ones they’d been able to recover—there. But Joan had shuddered at the thought of forcing the experiment victims to rest eternally near the broken facility, so she’d requested they move them to Winrow’s graveyard instead. Thankfully people hadn’t questioned her, though the move in the burial site hadn’t stopped people from planting flowers around the area as a memorial.
Joan’s eyes scanned the ruins, finally landing on a single figure standing just in front of the collapsed building. Slowly, Joan approached until she was a few feet away, her footsteps crunching as she stepped over debris.
Amara’s back was turned to her. She didn’t move, simply standing there staring at the destruction before her. The wind blew her now short wavy hair against her neck, and her cloak billowed. The movement caught Joan’s eye, and she caught a glimpse of Amara’s hands hanging at her sides, balled into tight fists that shook barely perceptibly.
Joan opened her mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say. Hesitant, she took another step forward.
And then, all at once, the trembling stopped. Slowly, Amara’s fingers loosened, uncurling themselves until they hung limply at her sides. She raised her head, lifting her face towards the deep blue sky. Joan saw her whole body breathe as another wind blew past them, as though she was trying to fill her lungs with as much air as possible.
A few seconds passed, and Amara’s shoulders fell as she exhaled. Her head lowered back down to eye level, and slowly, she turned around.
Strands of hair lay strewn haphazardly against her face, mussed and twisted by the wind. Her posture was perfectly relaxed and casual, not a trace of tension in sight. The scars running up her arms seemed almost to move in the shifting shadows cast by her cloak. Her sharp eyes, a bright green that gleamed in the sunlight, were piercing.
But what caught Joan’s attention the most was her smile. It was bright, unreadable, and utterly unfamiliar.
“Joan,” Amara said, voice calm. “Let’s go back.”
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Chapter 6 - From the Ashes
Winrow, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein, Year 991
She remembered the sounds of screaming. That day came to her in flashes of disjointed images and sensations. In one moment, there was the usual constant chill of the facility, and then in the next there was a burning heat spiraling outwards, climbing up the walls and dying the grey into red.
She remembered twisting shadows and contorted figures. Those magicians, distant and immoveable figures for so much of her life, collapsed to their knees and choked on smoke.
She remembered smaller figures writhing in the flames. A hand crushed beneath debris reaching towards her. A smoking corpse she couldn’t recognize.
She still wondered, sometimes, lying on the cot and staring up at the wooden ceiling, if it had been Tom or Ben. She would focus on the little details of the figure, laboring over the smoking limbs and the exact hunch of the shoulders. She never did know for certain.
She supposed it didn’t matter in the end.
—
Joan inhaled, tightening and loosening her grip on the tray of food she was carrying with her. Once she was done mentally preparing herself, she pushed back her shoulders, gripped the door handle, and turned it.
The door opened with a loud creak. Joan had decided to leave it unoiled on purpose; Amara never responded to knocks, so the least she could do was give a very obvious advance warning when she entered the room.
Joan plastered on a large smile, ignoring the numbness that had been growing on one side of her face, and stepped over to the figure seated on the bed. Amara didn’t even turn, her eyes fixed on the open window and the flowing curtains. It was a bright day, the towering white clouds drifting peacefully across a vast expanse of blue. The sight was particularly welcome after a week of non stop rain.
“Good morning,” Joan said in her most cheery voice. She set the tray down on a small table placed beside the cot. Slowly, Amara turned her head to stare at her. Joan swallowed.
Ever since Amara had woken up, she’d barely spoken or even acknowledged her surroundings. All her movements were dulled, as though she was wading through water, and Joan had yet to see any true reaction from her.
Even when she’d first quietly explained what had happened, that the building was gone and that there weren’t any other survivors, Amara had just listened quietly, perfectly still and unmoving. When Joan had finished speaking, all she’d said was, “Can I see the ruins?”
Joan hadn’t known how to respond to that. Part of her suspected she still hadn’t fully processed what had happened and seeing the destroyed building might provide closure, but she also had to be honest and tell Amara that she was in no condition to move. Amara hadn’t responded to that, but she would still ask, every now and then. Those were the only times she would speak without first being prompted. Besides that, she only ever answered in short, clipped sentences, never referring to Joan by name and never saying more than necessary.
When Joan had confided in Leila, the watchman had made a sympathetic noise and shaken her head. “Poor thing must be in shock,” she’d said.
It was the most obvious explanation and the one Joan had immediately jumped to as well. And yet, the longer she spent around her patient, the more she started to wonder if that initial assessment was wrong.
Despite how dulled her movements seemed and how little she spoke, Amara’s eyes never had the same look to them. Even when she stared off into the distance, there was a constant sharpness there, a hardness that seemed at odds with the rest of her behavior.
Even now, seated on the hospital cot, Amara studied her with that same uncanny perceptiveness, a gaze that always made Joan feel like she was being judged. She forced her own eyes to remain steady instead of darting away like her first instinct was. She briefly considered how absurd it was for her, a former Rose, to be intimidated by an injured patient who was probably half her age and barely old enough to no longer qualify as a “girl.”
Joan cleared her throat, the sound seeming to echo in the pervasive silence.
“How are you today?”
A silent stare was her only answer. Joan suppressed the urge to sigh, instead keeping her smile plastered on. She nodded at the tray of food and stood again.
“Well, if you need anything, I’ll be right there doing work.”
Some time after Amara had woken up, Joan had gotten some neighbors to help her move a table into the patient room so that she could keep an eye on her while working. Amara hadn’t voiced any complaints about it, and it made Joan a little less uneasy, so she’d stuck with the system.
Joan settled down in her seat, squinting down at the stack of letters. She didn’t start reading, however, until she heard the familiar clink of silverware as Amara finally ate. Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she leaned over the table and began to work, ignoring the sensation of eyes on her back as she did so.
—
“You’re healing well,” Joan commented as she carefully inspected an unwrapped wound. She was sure to move slowly and with deliberate gestures, not missing the way Amara’s eyes followed her hands whenever she checked her injuries.
As Joan moved on to the next bandage, she once again considered how lucky Amara was to have survived the explosion. Though she hadn’t seen the building collapse herself, a few of the onlookers had told her that it was sudden and violent. “What do you think happened?” one of them had asked. Joan had told him that she didn’t know. Truthfully she suspected it had been an experiment gone wrong, but she hadn’t wanted to reveal Amara’s secret. As far as the other villagers were concerned, the building was just a lone orphanage that had suffered an unfortunate accident.
“Can I see the ruins?”
Joan frowned. “Not yet,” she said slowly. “Not until all your bones are healed.”
When she looked up again, Amara had turned her head away and was staring at the sky again. Joan sighed and continued the check up.
—
A knock sounded from down the hallway. Joan set down the shirt she was patching and stood with a frown.
“I’ll be right back,” she said before rising and hurrying to the door.
When she opened it, she found not another patient, but Leila still in her watchman uniform. She blinked at the woman, eyes briefly darting over to the basket she was carrying, then back up.
“Leila, it’s good to see you. What’re you doing here?”
“I was patrolling around the area and thought I’d stop by. Here.” She raised her hand and passed the basket over. Joan took it and peered down at its contents. Inside, she found various ripe fruits, some bright flowers that Leila must’ve gotten fresh from the florist, and a small pouch that, when opened, contained an array of glinting coins. Joan’s eyes widened.
“Leila, you didn’t have to—”
“They’re from the watchmen,” the other woman interrupted. She smiled. “I told them I was stopping by and they pooled together some money to help out.”
A warm feeling rose in Joan’s chest. She swallowed, carefully closing the pouch again and setting it back inside the basket beside a bright yellow blossom. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Please tell them thank you for me.”
Leila reached out a gloved hand and patted her shoulder. “After all the times you’ve had to heal us, this is the least we could do,” she joked. She glanced behind Joan at the hallway and lowered her voice. “Speaking of which, how’s she doing?”
“She’s healing well,” Joan said. “I estimate she’ll be able to walk around within the month.”
“You really do work miracles.” Leila shook her head and stepped back. “I ought to get back on patrol. Remember, if you ever need anything, you can ask me.” With a wave, the woman turned around and walked away.
Joan watched her retreating back, shaking her head with fondness before moving to close the door. Basket carefully balanced in her hands, Joan made her way back down the hallway and to the patient room.
“I’m sorry about that, Amara,” she said as she stepped through the doorway. “Leila visited and—”
Joan’s voice cut off.
The cot where Amara usually sat was empty, the wrinkled sheets haphazardly pulled aside. Joan’s eyes darted frantically around the room, landing on her desk table, where her sewing box was overturned, its contents spilled across the table, chair, and wooden ground. Fabric strips, threads, pins, cushions of needles.
And there, a few feet away from the desk, she could just barely make out the top of a head poking out from behind the bed.
The basket fell to the floor.
“No no no—”
Joan didn’t think, immediately sprinting towards the back of the room, cursing herself for being so stupid. Am I too late?
“Amara!” Joan called, stumbling as she leapt onto the cot and peered over in dread, her heart pounding against her ribcage.
There, seated on the ground with her back supported by the bed, sat Amara. She turned her head to face her, and Joan saw that in one hand she held a gleaming pair of scissors and in the other, a thick bundle of wavy hair that lay half scattered across the ground, blown around by the wind billowing into the room.
“You’re back,” Amara observed. Her gaze was as sharp and perceptive as ever.
Joan’s eyes rapidly scanned her, but there were no new injuries to make note of. The only change was her hair, which had been cropped short so that it sat in an uneven line below her chin.
All at once, the tension bled away and Joan slumped down.
“You cut your hair,” she said weakly. Her head throbbed, and she absentmindedly rubbed at it.
“Yeah.”
Joan released a long breath and slowly straightened. She closed her eyes for a moment, calming her rapid heart rate. When she spoke, she forced her voice to remain as still and calm as possible, though she couldn’t entirely mask the slight tremor in her voice.
“Amara, the next time you want to cut your hair or—or do anything, please tell me first. Please.”
Amara stared at her, quiet for a long time. She shifted her position, and for the first time since she’d woken up, something in her eyes changed.
“Okay,” she said.
—
It was a windy day. Joan shivered and pulled her cloak closer, but she didn’t remove her gaze from the figure walking just beside her.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Joan asked. Amara just nodded, not even turning to look her way, and Joan sighed and shook her head. She faced forward as well, eyes following the dirt path and remembering the last time she’d walked along it.
The closer they got to the ruins, the more Joan’s unease grew.
Amara had continued to heal at a rapid pace, and when she’d first started being able to walk around on her own, she constantly did so, moving with a silent, steady determination. The end result of that persistence had led them to their current situation, on the road to the ruins, Amara with only a few bandages left on her skin and walking by herself, albeit a bit slowly, and Joan, whose eyes kept darting over, watching for any reaction.
As far as she could tell, there were none. Amara moved with remarkable calm, shoulders relaxed and eyes steady.
Joan exhaled and kept walking. Ever since the scissors incident, as Joan had dubbed it in her head, Amara had started speaking more. She was still mostly quiet, but she seemed a little more engaged, more interested in her surroundings. She’d even requested Joan teach her how to read, after Joan had given her a tour of her little home and shown her the library. When Amara was sitting there quietly, listening as Joan taught her basic letters and spelling, Joan could almost tell herself that she was just an ordinary, curious young woman if not for the array of scars on her skin. Joan had tried to heal them, but form magic couldn’t alter colors, and so the marks still lingered.
That near normalcy, however, was where the doubts had begun. Initially she’d assumed Amara wanted to see the ruins to give her closure so that she could move on, but what if it had the opposite effect? Joan wasn’t a fool, she knew Amara’s behavior was in no way normal. She had to be repressing things, or perhaps the truth hadn’t really settled yet. What if seeing the ruins caused her to break down?
The longer they walked, the more the doubts grew. Joan quickly became lost in her thoughts, so much so that she didn’t immediately notice when they stopped walking
“Which way?”
Joan blinked and looked up, seeing that they’d reached a familiar fork in the road. Her heart sank and she swallowed. “Left,” she said, voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “It… it’s just past that hill.”
Amara nodded and turned without hesitation, slowly making her way up the slight incline in a steady rhythm. Another breeze blew past them, carrying scattered tree leaves with it. Joan watched Amara reach the hill top and begin descending until she’d disappeared from view.
Joan stared at the path, limbs suddenly heavy. She tightened her grip on her cloak.
“Get it together,” she muttered. There was no reason for her to be so nervous, she told herself. It was absurd, after all the things she’d already seen throughout her life. But Amara had an uncanny ability to make her feel like a lost child again, someone completely out of her depth.
Joan waited a little longer, listening for any sounds, but there were none besides the wind and rustling flora surrounding them. And so, after a deep breath, Joan lowered her head and made her way over the hill.
When she looked up again, the ruins were in sight. She slowed her pace as she approached.
Where once a simple sturdy grey building had stood, there now lay a pile of debris. Only the bottom sections of the buildings remained standing, jutting out from the ground like broken blades. Charred, splintered wood lay strewn about the grass, and large chunks of shattered stone formed crude boulders.
Surrounding the ruins, colorful blossoms grew in bright patches. Originally someone had suggested burying the bodies—at least the ones they’d been able to recover—there. But Joan had shuddered at the thought of forcing the experiment victims to rest eternally near the broken facility, so she’d requested they move them to Winrow’s graveyard instead. Thankfully people hadn’t questioned her, though the move in the burial site hadn’t stopped people from planting flowers around the area as a memorial.
Joan’s eyes scanned the ruins, finally landing on a single figure standing just in front of the collapsed building. Slowly, Joan approached until she was a few feet away, her footsteps crunching as she stepped over debris.
Amara’s back was turned to her. She didn’t move, simply standing there staring at the destruction before her. The wind blew her now short wavy hair against her neck, and her cloak billowed. The movement caught Joan’s eye, and she caught a glimpse of Amara’s hands hanging at her sides, balled into tight fists that shook barely perceptibly.
Joan opened her mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say. Hesitant, she took another step forward.
And then, all at once, the trembling stopped. Slowly, Amara’s fingers loosened, uncurling themselves until they hung limply at her sides. She raised her head, lifting her face towards the deep blue sky. Joan saw her whole body breathe as another wind blew past them, as though she was trying to fill her lungs with as much air as possible.
A few seconds passed, and Amara’s shoulders fell as she exhaled. Her head lowered back down to eye level, and slowly, she turned around.
Strands of hair lay strewn haphazardly against her face, mussed and twisted by the wind. Her posture was perfectly relaxed and casual, not a trace of tension in sight. The scars running up her arms seemed almost to move in the shifting shadows cast by her cloak. Her sharp eyes, a bright green that gleamed in the sunlight, were piercing.
But what caught Joan’s attention the most was her smile. It was bright, unreadable, and utterly unfamiliar.
“Joan,” Amara said, voice calm. “Let’s go back.”
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2023.06.05 02:22 Just-Strawberry4742 Help me figure out which car is the best deal please :)
Hi Reddit,
So my poor Malibu got totaled from hitting a deer, rip. While I did love the Malibu it’s the second one I’ve totaled from a freak accident that was not my fault lol, so I’m staying away from them. Call me superstitious. Anyways I’m looking for something AWD with decent gas mileage. I’m trying to stay under 25k as well. Here are my options so far,
-2019 Mazda CX5 for $24,994 with 46,582 miles -2020 Subaru crosstrek for $24,950 with 27,000 miles -2017 Infiniti QX30 for $22,995 with 28,466 miles -2020 Chevy equinox for $22,698 with 54,134 miles -2017 Buick encore for $19,500 with 38,035 miles
I know everyone hates Chevy but my family has never had issues with them but doesn’t look like the best option out of these. I’ve read many people prefer the ride and features of the CX5 more than the crosstrek but I like both a lot and the crosstrek is a lot lower on miles. The Buick is cheap and I haven’t heard much bad things about it. As for the Infiniti there really isn’t too much online about it other than roasting it for it’s design lol.
Size wise they look/sound similar and I just need something for a daily commute of 30 miles, plus road trips/camping. I know technically they’re different classes of size but idc about that. Our winters are nasty and with camping we do go off road a bit so that’s the main reason for Awd. The amount of iced up hills here in the winter is insane. I also looked into an Impreza and decided I would probably mess something up with how low to the ground it is lol. Let me know what you guys think of these and which is the best deal/choice please!
Also the market for Toyota and Honda is insane rn and I’m trying not to get something w 100,000 miles on it already.
submitted by Just-Strawberry4742 to whatcarshouldIbuy [link] [comments]
So my poor Malibu got totaled from hitting a deer, rip. While I did love the Malibu it’s the second one I’ve totaled from a freak accident that was not my fault lol, so I’m staying away from them. Call me superstitious. Anyways I’m looking for something AWD with decent gas mileage. I’m trying to stay under 25k as well. Here are my options so far,
-2019 Mazda CX5 for $24,994 with 46,582 miles -2020 Subaru crosstrek for $24,950 with 27,000 miles -2017 Infiniti QX30 for $22,995 with 28,466 miles -2020 Chevy equinox for $22,698 with 54,134 miles -2017 Buick encore for $19,500 with 38,035 miles
I know everyone hates Chevy but my family has never had issues with them but doesn’t look like the best option out of these. I’ve read many people prefer the ride and features of the CX5 more than the crosstrek but I like both a lot and the crosstrek is a lot lower on miles. The Buick is cheap and I haven’t heard much bad things about it. As for the Infiniti there really isn’t too much online about it other than roasting it for it’s design lol.
Size wise they look/sound similar and I just need something for a daily commute of 30 miles, plus road trips/camping. I know technically they’re different classes of size but idc about that. Our winters are nasty and with camping we do go off road a bit so that’s the main reason for Awd. The amount of iced up hills here in the winter is insane. I also looked into an Impreza and decided I would probably mess something up with how low to the ground it is lol. Let me know what you guys think of these and which is the best deal/choice please!
Also the market for Toyota and Honda is insane rn and I’m trying not to get something w 100,000 miles on it already.
2023.06.05 01:14 Vast_Pay_3711 Not sure if it's been posted yet but, dudes a fucking idiot.
 | submitted by Vast_Pay_3711 to u/Vast_Pay_3711 [link] [comments] |
2023.06.05 01:13 pacificinjurylawfirm Debunking Common Myths Surrounding Bicycle Accident Injuries and Compensation
Title: Debunking Common Myths Surrounding Bicycle Accident Injuries and Compensation in Oregon
Hey fellow Redditors! As an attorney at Pacific Injury Law Firm, I've come across numerous misconceptions regarding bicycle accidents and the rights of cyclists here in our beautiful state of Oregon. Today, I'd like to take a moment to debunk some common myths we encounter and provide valuable information for all you cycling enthusiasts out there.
Myth #1: Cyclists are always at fault when involved in an accident with a motor vehicle. In reality, Oregon law treats bicycles as vehicles on public roads (ORS 814.400), granting cyclists the same rights and responsibilities as any other road user. Thus, if a motorist causes an accident due to negligence, they may be liable for any resulting injuries or damages.
Myth #2: If you weren't wearing a helmet during an accident, you cannot receive compensation. While helmets significantly reduce the risk of head injuries (ORS 814.485), not wearing one doesn't automatically disqualify you from seeking compensation under Oregon law. Although contributory negligence could be considered in some cases, our comparative negligence rule (ORS 31.600) allows injured cyclists to recover compensation even if partially at fault—as long as their degree of responsibility does not exceed that of the other parties involved.
Myth #3: Legal representation isn't necessary after a bicycle accident. Although minor cases can sometimes be resolved through negotiation with insurance companies or at-fault parties directly, many bicycle accident injury cases are more complex and require expert legal guidance from experienced personal injury attorneys who understand Oregon's intricate laws surrounding such incidents.
So remember—cyclists have just as much right to be on Oregon roads as anyone else! Don't let these misconceptions hold you back from understanding your rights and seeking justice if needed.
If you or someone close has been involved in a bicycle accident and needs assistance navigating the complexities of Oregon's legal system, do not hesitate to reach out to us at Pacific Injury Law Firm. We are dedicated to helping our clients achieve fair compensation for their injuries and losses. Give us a call at (971) 277-3811 or visit our website: https://pacificinjurylawfirm.com.
Learn more about debunking these common myths by reading our full blog post here: https://pacificinjurylawfirm.com/blog/debunking-common-myths-surrounding-bicycle-accident-injuries-compensation
Stay safe out there, and happy cycling! #PacificInjuryLawFirm
submitted by pacificinjurylawfirm to u/pacificinjurylawfirm [link] [comments]
Hey fellow Redditors! As an attorney at Pacific Injury Law Firm, I've come across numerous misconceptions regarding bicycle accidents and the rights of cyclists here in our beautiful state of Oregon. Today, I'd like to take a moment to debunk some common myths we encounter and provide valuable information for all you cycling enthusiasts out there.
Myth #1: Cyclists are always at fault when involved in an accident with a motor vehicle. In reality, Oregon law treats bicycles as vehicles on public roads (ORS 814.400), granting cyclists the same rights and responsibilities as any other road user. Thus, if a motorist causes an accident due to negligence, they may be liable for any resulting injuries or damages.
Myth #2: If you weren't wearing a helmet during an accident, you cannot receive compensation. While helmets significantly reduce the risk of head injuries (ORS 814.485), not wearing one doesn't automatically disqualify you from seeking compensation under Oregon law. Although contributory negligence could be considered in some cases, our comparative negligence rule (ORS 31.600) allows injured cyclists to recover compensation even if partially at fault—as long as their degree of responsibility does not exceed that of the other parties involved.
Myth #3: Legal representation isn't necessary after a bicycle accident. Although minor cases can sometimes be resolved through negotiation with insurance companies or at-fault parties directly, many bicycle accident injury cases are more complex and require expert legal guidance from experienced personal injury attorneys who understand Oregon's intricate laws surrounding such incidents.
So remember—cyclists have just as much right to be on Oregon roads as anyone else! Don't let these misconceptions hold you back from understanding your rights and seeking justice if needed.
If you or someone close has been involved in a bicycle accident and needs assistance navigating the complexities of Oregon's legal system, do not hesitate to reach out to us at Pacific Injury Law Firm. We are dedicated to helping our clients achieve fair compensation for their injuries and losses. Give us a call at (971) 277-3811 or visit our website: https://pacificinjurylawfirm.com.
Learn more about debunking these common myths by reading our full blog post here: https://pacificinjurylawfirm.com/blog/debunking-common-myths-surrounding-bicycle-accident-injuries-compensation
Stay safe out there, and happy cycling! #PacificInjuryLawFirm
2023.06.05 01:08 autobuzzfeedbot 25 "Cheating Death" Stories That Were So Intense, People Really, Really, Reaaaallly Wanted To Share Them
- "I messed up a jump skydiving. I was able to correct the situation and pull the pilot chute for my canopy, but I was very, very close to having my reserve go off. The reserves are generally reliable, but it’s still nothing I want to test. Landed fine and then got a very stern talking-to for pulling so low."
- "Just google 'Levey PCH,' then ask away…I’ll be very surprised if anyone can beat what happened to me. THANK WHOEVEWHATEVER you believe in for Apple, Scorpion, UCLA, and the LA County Fire Department and Sheriff's Department."
- "Minutes before it happened, I was under the Cypress structure that collapsed during the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake in California (which was a magnitude 6.9). I was traveling north underneath the double-layered structure and felt creepy and claustrophobic on the brightest day. I raced to get out, as I always did, because I hated being under it. After getting out, I felt like my tire had gone flat and started to weave around in my lane, then I noticed that everyone else was losing control and hitting their brakes too. That was the earthquake. I didn't find out until later about the collapse, and felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I'd never felt so close to death before."
- "I was rappelling off the top of the tallest building in Bangkok (200 meters, or 656 feet) as a promotional stunt. I was supposed to rappel down to the 10th floor, land on a small balcony, and then traverse over to another building. The wind shear off the building was enough to blow me 20–30 feet away from the side of the building. Picture a spider hanging by a thread in the wind. As I got close to the 10th floor, I noticed that my rope had been cut and no longer reached the balcony, let alone the ground. The rope was about 10 feet short of the landing. So, still blowing away from the side of the building, off and on I waited until I was just above the balcony and dropped the last several feet onto the deck. Super pissed but alive."
- "Going to school in San Francisco, I got off the bus to get cigarettes and a soda at a liquor store. I stopped at the trash can on the way out to open my cigarettes and soda and walked half a block up the street when a crane fell off the roof right where I'd been standing 30 seconds before. The crane operator was killed, and half a minute earlier, I would have been as well."
- "Although being an ironworker comes with its fair share of risk, as long as you don’t become too incompetent, things can be safe. But that is easier said than done, seeing as the days are long and the work is physically draining. One day, I was about 60 feet in the air rigging a beam to be lowered to the ground. I signaled the crane operator to 'cable up' (lift the beam), but the beam wasn’t budging. I decided to look down the beam to see what was wrong...BANG! Before I knew it, the beam broke free and came up at my face with about 2,000 pounds of force. It knocked off my hard hat and hit every edge of my safety glasses, missing the side of my face by a quarter inch. I thought I had died, it was so sudden. I should never have put myself in what we call 'the line of fire.' I’ll never forget how close my kids were to losing their father that day because I let my judgment slip. Still gives me goosebumps talking about it."
- "I got hit by a car and walked away with no injuries. The Sunday before final exams during my last semester of college, I went to the library at 6 a.m. to study. At 2 p.m., I needed a break and started walking back to my car. At an intersection, I stopped, made eye contact with the driver of a car at a stop sign, and started walking across the street on a crosswalk. The next thing I knew, I was up on the windshield of a Jeep Grand Cherokee. He hit the brakes, and I rolled off the hood of his car and landed on my feet. I was so freaked out that I told the guy I was fine and left. Later that afternoon, I went to the hospital to get checked out and had no injuries. The doctor told me to buy a lottery ticket on my way home because I was so lucky."
- "While I was doing the dishes, my hip bumped the dial on my stove, turning it to ignite, but I didn't notice, so the stove was leaking gas all night. In the morning, I could tell something smelled off, but I have a hard time smelling things, so I just figured it was some old cauliflower rice I had thrown out the night before. To deal with the smell, I lit not one, but two candles, one of which was right next to the stove. Later, after coming back from running errands, as soon as I opened the door, I felt instantly violently ill, like a migraine and the flu all at once. Probably 20 minutes later, I finally saw the knob on the stove and realized what was happening."
- "One time, I was watching TV in my lounge room and I was sitting on the floor eating. We have a really big TV and we had an earthquake, but I thought it was a train passing by. It wasn't. I ran out of the room as everything started to wobble, and the TV nearly fell on top of me."
- "I went to summer camp when I was 15, and for our last weekend activity, they took us to Martha’s Vineyard and rented us bikes. Now, I loved riding bikes in the park as a kid but had never ridden in the street. But since 'you never forget how to ride a bike,' I figured I could do it. I headed out and tried to go up a street that was very steep. I started to lose control of the bike, and I fell into the street in between a truck that was hauling a trailer (I fell in front of the trailer). I saw this huge wheel coming at me, and my leg was stuck from the fall. I screamed as hard as I could and hoped it wouldn’t kill me (others told me they heard it a few streets away). The driver luckily heard it and slammed on the brakes; I was scuffed up but otherwise fine. You can indeed forget how to ride a bike."
- "I got hit by a train. I was living and working at a college that has train tracks running through it and only a stop sign before you cross them at the vehicle intersection. You had to cross the tracks to leave campus. I was headed to the gym in July, and the windows were rolled up and the AC and radio were blasting. I’d crossed that crossing a thousand times, so I stopped a bit, passed the stop sign, and looked right, but the train was coming from the left. Its horn blew, but I panicked when I heard it, so I hit the accelerator but braked immediately. I was already on the tracks. It only hit my front end and dragged me about 200 feet down the tracks. I only had a broken rib, three cracked ribs, and a pretty gnarly cut on my finger. The people at the next crossing probably thought they saw someone die."
- "My last day of driver’s education class, we were just about back to school. We were all feeling pretty good because we’d passed our tests that day. I was in the rear driver’s seat and had a classmate driving, one next to me, and a teacher in the passenger seat. We went through a green light at LITERALLY the last intersection before school when a car blew through the red light going 55 mph and slammed into us on my side, just a few inches back from where I was sitting. It spun our car into the intersection and kept going! We were all concussed and had to be taken to the hospital, but that was it. When we went to retrieve my bags from the trunk of the wreckage at the salvage yard, the shop owner admitted he hadn’t answered my ringing phone because he didn't think we had survived, and didn’t want to break the news to everyone calling me. Two inches between me and being crushed alive. In driver’s ed!"
- "I was walking to class one day, and the shortest route went under a viaduct. It had been snowing and melting on and off for the past few days. The viaduct is about 100 feet high, and just as I was about to walk from under it and onto the pavement, a 6-foot icicle fell those 100 feet and smashed into the ground in front of me. Suffice to say, I took that as a sign not to go to my lecture and turned back home!"
- "I was asleep in the passenger seat of a car on a highway when we flipped going about 80 mph. We rolled a few times and landed in a ditch. Airbags did not go off, and I shattered the passenger-side window with my skull. I literally walked away from it and didn't go to an ER until a few hours later. I literally had a concussion and one teeny bruise on my right arm, but nothing else. The nurses told me that if I had been awake for the accident, my neck would have snapped and I'd have died immediately. Whenever I tell people, they're always stunned — imagine my reaction waking up to a missing side window and a crushed car and being fully functional! I feel lucky every day that I was asleep and still have my life."
- "There was one time my sister and I were driving down a long road with a huge cemetery. I thought it would be funny to hold my breath because people say if you don’t, the spirits of dead people will haunt you or something. When I held my breath, my sister slowed down to torture me. I was a little annoyed, but at the stop sign at the intersection, this car going really fast didn’t even bother to slow down. They even swerved into our lane, so my sister had to barely dodge. I swear, though, if my sister hadn't slowed down to torture me, we would have been in a bad wreck. Now I’m not annoyed that she did that, I’m lucky."
- "This isn't dramatic, but it's continued to impact my life on a daily basis. When I was 11, I was playing baseball with the rest of my gym class. We took a time-out to argue about who was batting next, and I stood behind home plate, staring into left field. Play resumed, and no one told me to move. The strongest guy in the class laid down a single...and hit me in his backswing...with the baseball bat...in the middle of my forehead. I suffered skull fractures and a brain bleed. To this day, I have anxiety driven by the traumatic brain injury. The neurologist said that the fact that he hit the ball saved my life. Had he swung and missed, I would have died."
- "I was in college and I had just finished my last class of the day. It was a short walk to my car that consisted of crossing a pedestrian crosswalk on the street separating the school from parking. On each side of the crosswalk were speed bumps so cars were forced to slow down. At this time of day, a good number of students were getting out of class, and a large herd of us started crossing the street at the crosswalk. There must have been 30 of us. I was stupidly looking down at my phone and was walking rather slowly. I didn’t realize that I was lagging behind. Everyone else was on the other side and I was still in the middle of the street. At the same moment, I noticed a freaking DUMP TRUCK whizzing by in front of me. It was probably 1–2 feet in front of me. Either he didn’t see me still crossing or he didn’t care. After I got to my car, all I could do was sit there in silence for a while and contemplate what could have just happened. Even as I write this, I shudder."
- "This is definitely not the craziest cheating-death story, but it was definitely scary. I was at a waterpark with my family, and I don’t do well with heat and stairs — something about the combination makes me faint. We went on a waterslide that uses tubes, and it was a long trek up. I apparently was so sick from heat exhaustion, I passed out as I was next in line and hit my head on the tube. If it weren’t for the tube, they aren't sure I’d be alive right now."
- "It was during Christmastime, and my mom, my little brother, and I all wanted to go look at Christmas lights near the middle school. There was a hill and then a lane where you would wait for the light to turn green and then you had to turn left. Well, the main light had turned red, so it was our turn to go, and thank god my mom checked before going, because if she hadn’t checked, a truck would have hit us, going like 60 mph, straight through the side of our car where my little brother was sitting."
- "I was 4 or 5, and we were living in Estes Park, Colorado. At that time, I was challenging myself to go closer and closer to a river they have there. I was caught by the current and would’ve run into several rocks and a waterwheel if it weren’t for my cousin, who reached down, grabbed my arm, and saved me."
- "I survived hitting an elk in the Canadian Rockies and going down a mountain 15 times end over end, stopping 20 feet short of a whitewater river. I gave myself first aid. Doctors said I would never walk normally again and I'd have brain damage. I sent one of them a picture of me with three gold medals around my neck."
- "In the fall of '15, I was riding my motorcycle to work on a foggy morning. A truck with an enclosed trailer ran a stop sign in front of me while I was driving on a 55 mph road. I was unable to stop, ran into the trailer, and was pinned underneath the trailer, being crushed to death. A farmer was on his dirt bike behind the truck going to meet another farmer for coffee who lived on the corner of the intersection. Once he realized I was pinned, he ran to get his friend and his friend's skid-steer loader. They then used the skid loader to lift the trailer off of me and began CPR. Luckily, right as they started, a sheriff's deputy arrived on scene and took over. I owe my life to those two farmers. If they hadn't acted, I would have died underneath the trailer, as there would have been no way for first responders to lift it off of me (it had thousands of pounds of equipment in it) in time."
- "I've always been handy with tools and taught myself how to do things; I've been changing flat tires for anyone who'll let me. However, one day when I was about 18 years old, my buddy came over to chill, and he had his dad's brand-new Tacoma. So we chilled for a couple of hours, and when it was time for him to leave, we noticed that his front tire was flat, so naturally, I volunteered to change it (no prior experience with independent suspensions). I placed the jack on the frame and started to go at it — lifted the car enough to take the flat out. But when the fully inflated wheel was fitted, it didn't have clearance. My first thought was to get a second jack. Half my body was underneath the car, putting the jack in, when I heard a creek, and the next thing I knew, the car slipped. The car ended up with the front end touching the ground, and I got a big scrape mark on my shoulder. To this day, I don't know how or why I did not die under that Tacoma."
- "I lived alone with my dog. There was a hole in my gas heater, so it was leaking carbon monoxide, but of course I didn't know that at the time. My dog woke me up one morning, barking and whining, and I thought she had to go out to potty. When I sat up in bed, I got so dizzy and thought I would throw up. I ended up passing out twice, once hitting my head on the bathroom cabinet, very close to my temple, and once hitting my chin on the toilet seat. I called my boss — the only phone number I remembered at the time. (This was before cellphones.) She called 911 and they came to get me. They figured out I had carbon monoxide poisoning, and I was in the ER for eight hours that day. The doctor told that when blood gases are at a certain amount, the victim goes into a coma, without fail. Mine were more than double whatever that number was. He said no matter how much my dog was barking, I should not have woken up."
- Finally, "I was at the beach with several of my friends, my sister, and my mom. Mom was sitting on the beach watching us. We were around 11–14, I believe, but no younger than 9. Kind of out of nowhere, we started getting sucked under the water in a rip current. I was being sucked under the pier and slammed my face into the barnacles. We were screaming for help, but at first, no one came. As I was being dragged under the water and coming up screaming for help, I could see people just staring and could hear my friends also screaming for help. Finally, people started jumping into the water to save us, including my mom. She jumped in and instantly got sucked into the current but managed to grab one of my friends. She used her body to shield him from the razor-sharp barnacles."
2023.06.05 00:45 Draculin Lang Jack
On first glance, Whickham appears to be a typical former pit village, a place of no consequence in the north east of England. But should you look closer, you would reveal a long and interesting folkloric history. And at the heart of that history, is Lang Jack.
Should you ever visit Whickham and ask about Lang Jack, you’d hear all the standard stuff. They’d tell you that he was incredibly tall, and inhumanly strong. They’d say he heaved stones from a quarry the next town over on his back and up the hill that Whickham sits atop in order to build his house. And lastly they’d tell you that you can visit him yourself, his monument is at the centre of the village, a great towering pillar holding up a bust of the man himself.
All of this is true, or so they say, but there’s more.
What they won’t tell you is that he was almost as famous for his anger as he was for his height. In fact, in a fit of rage he is reported to have tipped an entire cart of stones, horse and all, down an embankment, killing the poor animal and destroying the cart.
They also won’t tell you about his alcoholism, which destroyed his family, career, and liver, leading to his untimely death. He would often get so drunk that he would jump up and down on the spot, one part party trick, two parts act of vandalism when his heavy frame crashed through the wooden floorboards and he flopped into the cowshed beneath him.
But most importantly, they won’t tell you to visit his monument at midnight. They’ll never tell you this because they know the story of Ye Olde Lang Jack’s monument, they know the games they would play as children, and they know the fear that creeps into their chest when they remember the look on that contorted, dissolving stone face.
To tell the full story we have to go back in time, back to a time long after Lang Jack’s death, and long before his monument was moved. You see, the monument once sat in a very different part of Whickham, a place called Woodhouse Lane in Fellside. This area is much more rural, with sprawling fields around it in almost all directions. It sat beside a cottage, Jack’s cottage, the one he built with his bare hands.
The monument was first placed there in 1860, the same year of Lang Jack’s death. There has long been speculation that Jack was buried beneath the monument rather than in the churchyard like many other notable Whickham villagers. Peculiar for the time, Jack rejected the church, instead spending much of his time drinking and working as ‘hired help’ for businessmen who sought to intimidate and punish unruly workers, especially unionmen.
As a result of this speculation, the site of Lang Jack’s monument was a popular one among children and teenagers looking to spook themselves.
They would arrive, rocks in hand to hurl at the monument of Olde Lang Jack. Each child would take turns trying to strike the stone giant in the face as it smiled down at them from its 18 foot plinth. And if they missed, Ye Olde Lang Jack might just reach up with those long arms of his and snatch them deep down into the dirt.
Children played this game for years, and the stories of Jack’s grave spread like wildfire. Generation after generation the game was modified to fit the modern day, and as it was, so too did the stories of Jack mutate, and finally, with each stone throw, Jack’s face became more mutilated.
The years of wind, rain, sleet, and stones twisted Jack’s once charming and chiselled face into something much more unsettling. Corrosion took away his smug smile and replaced it with a sneer. Then it took his eyes, once kind, now they stare piercingly outward, as if a single glance could turn you to the very same stained and mossy stone.
This new face, and in particular the eyes, is what drew the children back. They gawked and pointed and groaned out chants they’d received from their parent’s childhoods. There were many variations, but most went something like this:
"Gangly Lang Jack, The Giant of Whickham
Who stood eighteen feet tall but that’s not all
So mighty and strong that they wrote this song
To tell all of Ye Olde Lang Jack.
He built our home with only his hands
The most beautiful village in all of the lands
Now he lies cold and dead underfoot
Hands grasping at nothing, his purpose kaput.
So chuck him a stone and give him a wink
Stare into his eyes and see if they blink
But watch where you step, the giant is sleeping
And listen carefully to Olde Lang Jack’s weeping."
They would dance around the monument to Lang Jack and sing this song, then dare each other to stare into his eyes. After that they’d throw their stones and more often than not be chased off by a local, giggling into the distance, off to tell their friends about their bravery under the stony gaze of Lang Jack.
This bravery didn’t last long. Soon the very sight of Lang Jack would strike fear into the hearts of the children of Whickham. No longer would children sing the song of The Giant of Whickham, they wouldn’t visit his grave or throw their stones, but most of all, no one would dare stare into Olde Jack’s eyes.
Fear like this was not the type that crept into the heads of sleeping children as they dreamt of the fun they’d had at Jack’s grave. Instead it was a very unnatural fear, a fear that came at a cost, and that cost was the life of a young girl named Mary.
Mary was brave, braver than most, and she wore that bravery like a badge of honour. So when some of the older girls dared her to go up to Lang Jack’s grave alone, she didn’t hesitate before agreeing. She even upped the stakes and decided that she would venture up in the evening, just as the sun was starting to set.
The night she chose was particularly blustery, the wind howled through the treetops as she made her way to meet Lang Jack. Polaroid camera in hand she pushed hard against the gale that saw fit to blow her back down the hill. But she was persistent, and so brave, so with each gust she only quickened her pace.
Mary rushed to the top of the hill, triumphant over the weather and ready to take on The Giant.
What happened next will forever be between Mary and Jack, and the two of them alone. A passerby claims to have seen a flash atop the hill before hearing a mighty crash. Thinking it was lightning they hurried back to their home. But beyond that, no one truly knows what happened that night.
Mary was found the next day, still clutching her camera. A single polaroid is said to have been found at the scene. Those who have seen it have described it as the frozen eyes of the devil himself. Although it is much more likely to have been a snapshot of Lang Jack’s face as the bust fell from atop the plinth and onto poor, brave Mary.
After that night the monument was moved to where it remains today. It was shortened to reduce the risk of another fatal accident, and placed where all of Whickham could see it, where there would always be someone to chase away the children.
The children who knew Mary, or knew her story, grew up fearing the statue. They forgot his song and denied ever throwing their stones. Time weathered their memories and before long they forgot why they were even scared in the first place. But their children remained curious, and some still met at the statue.
And so this brings us back to what they won’t tell you. They’ll never tell you to make the same mistake that so many have before. They won’t tell you to meet at Olde Lang Jack’s gravestone at midnight and stare into his eyes. And they won’t tell you to listen for his weeping and look for the tears streaming down his scarred face. But you’ll do it anyway, because how could you resist?
So the cycle goes on, and the stories continue to be told for years and years. All the while Jack cries on his plinth. Why does he cry? Nobody knows. Does he feel guilty for what happened to little Mary? Perhaps, or perhaps he mourns the man he once was. Before folklore changed him into the gibbering spector locked in the stone tower. Feared by many and ignored by most, only noticed by those who wish to see him weep.
submitted by Draculin to ChillingApp [link] [comments]
Should you ever visit Whickham and ask about Lang Jack, you’d hear all the standard stuff. They’d tell you that he was incredibly tall, and inhumanly strong. They’d say he heaved stones from a quarry the next town over on his back and up the hill that Whickham sits atop in order to build his house. And lastly they’d tell you that you can visit him yourself, his monument is at the centre of the village, a great towering pillar holding up a bust of the man himself.
All of this is true, or so they say, but there’s more.
What they won’t tell you is that he was almost as famous for his anger as he was for his height. In fact, in a fit of rage he is reported to have tipped an entire cart of stones, horse and all, down an embankment, killing the poor animal and destroying the cart.
They also won’t tell you about his alcoholism, which destroyed his family, career, and liver, leading to his untimely death. He would often get so drunk that he would jump up and down on the spot, one part party trick, two parts act of vandalism when his heavy frame crashed through the wooden floorboards and he flopped into the cowshed beneath him.
But most importantly, they won’t tell you to visit his monument at midnight. They’ll never tell you this because they know the story of Ye Olde Lang Jack’s monument, they know the games they would play as children, and they know the fear that creeps into their chest when they remember the look on that contorted, dissolving stone face.
To tell the full story we have to go back in time, back to a time long after Lang Jack’s death, and long before his monument was moved. You see, the monument once sat in a very different part of Whickham, a place called Woodhouse Lane in Fellside. This area is much more rural, with sprawling fields around it in almost all directions. It sat beside a cottage, Jack’s cottage, the one he built with his bare hands.
The monument was first placed there in 1860, the same year of Lang Jack’s death. There has long been speculation that Jack was buried beneath the monument rather than in the churchyard like many other notable Whickham villagers. Peculiar for the time, Jack rejected the church, instead spending much of his time drinking and working as ‘hired help’ for businessmen who sought to intimidate and punish unruly workers, especially unionmen.
As a result of this speculation, the site of Lang Jack’s monument was a popular one among children and teenagers looking to spook themselves.
They would arrive, rocks in hand to hurl at the monument of Olde Lang Jack. Each child would take turns trying to strike the stone giant in the face as it smiled down at them from its 18 foot plinth. And if they missed, Ye Olde Lang Jack might just reach up with those long arms of his and snatch them deep down into the dirt.
Children played this game for years, and the stories of Jack’s grave spread like wildfire. Generation after generation the game was modified to fit the modern day, and as it was, so too did the stories of Jack mutate, and finally, with each stone throw, Jack’s face became more mutilated.
The years of wind, rain, sleet, and stones twisted Jack’s once charming and chiselled face into something much more unsettling. Corrosion took away his smug smile and replaced it with a sneer. Then it took his eyes, once kind, now they stare piercingly outward, as if a single glance could turn you to the very same stained and mossy stone.
This new face, and in particular the eyes, is what drew the children back. They gawked and pointed and groaned out chants they’d received from their parent’s childhoods. There were many variations, but most went something like this:
"Gangly Lang Jack, The Giant of Whickham
Who stood eighteen feet tall but that’s not all
So mighty and strong that they wrote this song
To tell all of Ye Olde Lang Jack.
He built our home with only his hands
The most beautiful village in all of the lands
Now he lies cold and dead underfoot
Hands grasping at nothing, his purpose kaput.
So chuck him a stone and give him a wink
Stare into his eyes and see if they blink
But watch where you step, the giant is sleeping
And listen carefully to Olde Lang Jack’s weeping."
They would dance around the monument to Lang Jack and sing this song, then dare each other to stare into his eyes. After that they’d throw their stones and more often than not be chased off by a local, giggling into the distance, off to tell their friends about their bravery under the stony gaze of Lang Jack.
This bravery didn’t last long. Soon the very sight of Lang Jack would strike fear into the hearts of the children of Whickham. No longer would children sing the song of The Giant of Whickham, they wouldn’t visit his grave or throw their stones, but most of all, no one would dare stare into Olde Jack’s eyes.
Fear like this was not the type that crept into the heads of sleeping children as they dreamt of the fun they’d had at Jack’s grave. Instead it was a very unnatural fear, a fear that came at a cost, and that cost was the life of a young girl named Mary.
Mary was brave, braver than most, and she wore that bravery like a badge of honour. So when some of the older girls dared her to go up to Lang Jack’s grave alone, she didn’t hesitate before agreeing. She even upped the stakes and decided that she would venture up in the evening, just as the sun was starting to set.
The night she chose was particularly blustery, the wind howled through the treetops as she made her way to meet Lang Jack. Polaroid camera in hand she pushed hard against the gale that saw fit to blow her back down the hill. But she was persistent, and so brave, so with each gust she only quickened her pace.
Mary rushed to the top of the hill, triumphant over the weather and ready to take on The Giant.
What happened next will forever be between Mary and Jack, and the two of them alone. A passerby claims to have seen a flash atop the hill before hearing a mighty crash. Thinking it was lightning they hurried back to their home. But beyond that, no one truly knows what happened that night.
Mary was found the next day, still clutching her camera. A single polaroid is said to have been found at the scene. Those who have seen it have described it as the frozen eyes of the devil himself. Although it is much more likely to have been a snapshot of Lang Jack’s face as the bust fell from atop the plinth and onto poor, brave Mary.
After that night the monument was moved to where it remains today. It was shortened to reduce the risk of another fatal accident, and placed where all of Whickham could see it, where there would always be someone to chase away the children.
The children who knew Mary, or knew her story, grew up fearing the statue. They forgot his song and denied ever throwing their stones. Time weathered their memories and before long they forgot why they were even scared in the first place. But their children remained curious, and some still met at the statue.
And so this brings us back to what they won’t tell you. They’ll never tell you to make the same mistake that so many have before. They won’t tell you to meet at Olde Lang Jack’s gravestone at midnight and stare into his eyes. And they won’t tell you to listen for his weeping and look for the tears streaming down his scarred face. But you’ll do it anyway, because how could you resist?
So the cycle goes on, and the stories continue to be told for years and years. All the while Jack cries on his plinth. Why does he cry? Nobody knows. Does he feel guilty for what happened to little Mary? Perhaps, or perhaps he mourns the man he once was. Before folklore changed him into the gibbering spector locked in the stone tower. Feared by many and ignored by most, only noticed by those who wish to see him weep.
2023.06.05 00:41 SeaworthinessNew4295 Another post on the suburbia hell that is Cross Lanes, WV
 | The blue boundary is the census designated area of Cross Lanes, unincorporated. 10,000 people live within its borders. It is a relatively flat/rolling hills valley, which is why it started developing in the 60s as a suburb of Chalreston, WV; flat land is rare in WV and quickly fills up, as it did in this case. All of the good land to be developed on has been developed with low density housing and commercial real estate. submitted by SeaworthinessNew4295 to urbandesign [link] [comments] The red line is Big Tyler Rd, the one main road running through the town that all the subdivisions connect to. Essentially all of the businesses in Cross Lanes enteexit directly onto this road, as well as many single homes and slightly higher density rowhouses and apartments. The lower density subdivisions have single roads that arm off of it and into their respective developments. The bright blue dashes are the stoplight intersections. During rushhour, it typically takes 15-20 minutes to get from the farthest intersection to the interstate. Not in rush hour, it can take three minutes to travel the 2 mile stretch. Urban planner enthusiasts, what can be done about Cross Lanes, specifically congestion? This fall, our MPO is having a meeting to reevaluate the MTP. There is one committed project to help fight the congestion... adding another two lanes 😑. I'm developing a presentation to present to the council on how to improve quality of traffic in Cross Lanes; not just cars, but public transit, pedestrian, and cyclist traffic. I'm hoping to throw out some ideas so at least one will stick. My only idea so fat is to replace the intersections with roundabouts, but I need more input. Let's get some discussion going! |
2023.06.05 00:34 SPQRomanSparticus Do some inmates get what they deserve?
Back in 1997, a lawyer named Toby was convicted of Vehicular Manslaughter, sentenced to 15 years, up for parole in four. It was his second DUI. He stuck a 15 year old girl on a bicycle.
His defense attorney made a good argument, yes he was drunk at the time of the accident, but the victim darted out between two cars, while on a bicycle.
He had a bench trial. The judge didn't buy it. The judge didn't like that it was his second dui. The parents of the girl were were sad, hurt and wanted the maximum.
While in prison, he was sexually abuse by the White Supremacists. He fought back after taking some dude. He beat up their leader and shit on his face.
submitted by SPQRomanSparticus to shittyaskreddit [link] [comments]
His defense attorney made a good argument, yes he was drunk at the time of the accident, but the victim darted out between two cars, while on a bicycle.
He had a bench trial. The judge didn't buy it. The judge didn't like that it was his second dui. The parents of the girl were were sad, hurt and wanted the maximum.
While in prison, he was sexually abuse by the White Supremacists. He fought back after taking some dude. He beat up their leader and shit on his face.
2023.06.05 00:01 Effie9798 23 YZ450FX Power Mod
 | I got this bike before I was aware that the engine was not the updated for the 23 450f. I primarily ride sand dunes, St. Anthony in Idaho, and Little Sahara in Utah. I’m a bigger guy 6’6 280. I can get up almost any hill, and do it fairly quickly. I am looking to add some power for those steeper hill climbs (Choke Cherry). submitted by Effie9798 to Dirtbikes [link] [comments] What mods have you used that you felt a difference? Any good maps that I could replicate for sand riding? Thanks in advance. |
2023.06.04 23:50 glum_cunt What To Do?
Partner and child were involved in a traffic accident over 18 months ago. The lawyer we were recommended has completely ghosted us. Dozens upon dozens of requests for a case update have gone unheeded. His voicemail is full, doesn’t respond to email or text. Upon reading the contract my spouse signed there is a ‘termination fee’ if attorney is fired. His billable hours become due. But we can’t get any sense of how many hours he would claim he’s worked without talking to him. At some point soon the statute of limitations will expire if a lawsuit is necessary.
Fear, is that ghost attorney fees + new attorney cut of settlement will essentially negate any monetary cure we’d see.
Lawyers, would you cut and run or is there another way?
submitted by glum_cunt to legaladvice [link] [comments]
Fear, is that ghost attorney fees + new attorney cut of settlement will essentially negate any monetary cure we’d see.
Lawyers, would you cut and run or is there another way?
2023.06.04 23:38 maudes-muse Any idea why Art's Fest isn't at the Point this year?
Why shut down a whole lane on Ft Duquesne? There was always extra traffic control for all the pedestrian traffic around the point and I think they'd block some streets off, but it's new location is silly. It's all long and narrow. Can't bring a blanket and spread out up the hill. Anyone have the skinny on why it moved?
submitted by maudes-muse to pittsburgh [link] [comments]
2023.06.04 23:30 khoafraelich789 Driven: 2023 Chevrolet Colorado Proves Mid-Size Trucks Don’t Have To Suck
 | submitted by khoafraelich789 to CarInformationNews [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/nnacw9ecny2b1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=09591c58da67e45c700456841de4978e9c700d84 The redesigned Colorado combines a good ride with a nicer interior as well as an all-new turbo engine Trucks are as American as apple pie, but most of the attention has been focused on the full-size segment. It’s been that way for decades, but smaller trucks have finally stepped into the spotlight. The Ford Maverick and Hyundai Santa Cruz revived the long dormant compact segment, while 2023 is shaping up to be the year of the mid-size truck thanks to new entries from Chevrolet, GMC, Ford, and Toyota. That’s a ton of new blood and we haven’t even mentioned the Jeep Gladiator and Nissan Frontier, which are still relatively fresh. We’re kicking the year off with the 2023 Chevrolet Colorado, which features a fantastic new design, an upgraded interior, and an all-new turbocharged 2.7-liter four-cylinder engine. However, the biggest news might be value as the truck starts at $29,200 and you can get one with four-wheel drive, adaptive cruise control, a bed liner, and a ton of safety features for under $37,000. A Sporty And Stylish Design While there’s a lot going on, there’s no better place to start than styling because designers knocked it out of the park. The model has “big truck energy” and sports an all-new design that echoes the Silverado. However, this is no scaled down copy as the Colorado has a more youthful and athletic appearance, which combines sharp lines with subtle curves. The resulting design is great and the Colorado is arguably better looking than its larger counterpart. That’s high praise and each trim has a slightly different aesthetic. The entry-level WT is the most basic of the bunch as it sports black components and 17-inch steel wheels. This look is shared with the all-new Colorado Trail Boss, which builds on the WT but adopts a 2-inch (51 mm) lift, a wider front track, and 18-inch aluminum wheels wrapped in 32-inch all-terrain tires. The Colorado LT is more traditional as it wears body-color components and 17-inch aluminum wheels, while the Z71 combines creature comforts with moderate amounts of off-road capability. The news isn’t all good as the Colorado is offered exclusively in a crew cab configuration with a 5’ 2” bed. This is a bit of a disappointment as the outgoing model offered extended and crew cab configurations as well as a larger 6’2” bed. That being said, the redesigned Colorado has a few tricks up its sleeve and one of the most interesting ideas is a lockable, watertight compartment that is integrated into the tailgate. With the tailgate down, you push two levers aside to gain access to a compartment that measures 45 inches (1,143 mm) wide and 4 inches (102 mm) deep. It can be a bit tricky to open, but there’s a decent amount of space and owners could easily stash tow straps and other off-road equipment there. While the compartment is a little gimmicky, it’s hard to argue with eight standard tie-downs, integrated motorcycle tire grooves, and an available 110-volt power outlet in the bed. The tailgate can also be positioned midway down to aid in transporting longer items, while a dampened EZ-lift and lower tailgate is also available. An Interior That Doesn’t Scream Cheap Mid-size trucks are far more affordable than their larger counterparts and this cut-rate pricing is often reflected in the interior. However, the Colorado bucks this trend as drivers will find a significantly improved cabin with better equipment. The changes are immediately apparent as driver sit behind a chunky steering wheel and find themselves looking at an all-new 8-inch digital instrument cluster. It comes standard and features an assortment of informative displays including an off-road focused setup, which shows pitch and roll as well as the steering angle and current transfer case setting. Speaking of screens, there’s an 11.3-inch infotainment system with Google integration as well as wireless Android Auto and Apple CarPlay. It’s a massive improvement over the old 7- and 8-inch displays, and the system is fast, responsive, and largely intuitive. That being said, we did experience a few hiccups including an instance where music was blasting at startup and the system initially refused to respond to attempts to lower the volume or mute. Putting the screens aside, the cabin sports a modern design with classy switchgear, gloss black trim, and metallic accents. The amenities vary by trim and things are pretty basic in the WT and Trail Boss. It’s not bad by any stretch of the imagination, but the models eschew a lot of the bright work, padding, and details that make higher-end variants look and feel special. It’s also worth mentioning that, regardless of which trim you get, black plastic is abound and it’s of the hard variety. Despite being a rough and tumble pickup, the Colorado can dust off its cowboy boots for a night on the town. In particular, the model can be equipped with two-tone heated and ventilated leather front seats as well as a heated steering wheel. While it’s not as fancy as the upcoming GMC Canyon Denali, it’s pretty darn nice for a mid-size truck. Speaking of the seats, the front chairs are perfectly comfortable and spacious while also offering a good amount of support. Furthermore, the entry-level WT doesn’t cheapen out too much, although a front center console is an optional extra. The rear seats are less impressive as they’re not terribly spacious. While there’s a good amount of headroom, legroom is limited as occupants will find a mere 34.7 inches (881 mm) of space and that’s 1.1 inches (28 mm) less than last year’s crew cab pickup. The experience reminded me of the compact Maverick and Santa Cruz, which actually have more rear seat legroom on paper. That being said, the seats seem to be competitive for the segment, although not as generous as those found in the Gladiator. A Turbo Four With V8 Levels Of Torque The streamlining continues under the hood as the Colorado’s engine lineup shrinks from three to one. As a result, every single model is equipped with a turbocharged 2.7-liter four-cylinder. The engine has been powering the Silverado for years and it’s available in three different outputs. The entry-level variant produces 237 hp (177 kW / 240 PS) and 259 lb-ft (351 Nm) of torque, which is a sizable improvement over the old 2.5-liter four-cylinder that developed 200 hp (149 kW / 203 PS) and 191 lb-ft (258 Nm). The entry-level engine comes standard in the WT and LT, and offers respectable performance. There’s plenty of power for cruising around town, although we wished for a little extra oomph when it came to merging onto the highway. The mid-level engine comes standard in the Trail Boss and Z71, where it produces 310 hp (231 kW / 314 PS) and 390 lb-ft (528 Nm) of torque. Customers can also opt for a high-output version that develops 310 hp (231 kW / 314 PS) and 430 lb-ft (582 Nm) of torque. The latter figure is insane as the engine has more torque than the 5.0-liter V8 in the Ford F-150. It also bests the Silverado’s 5.3-liter V8 by 47 lb-ft (64 Nm), despite having half the number of cylinders. The high-output engine comes standard in the range-topping Colorado ZR2, but Trail Boss and Z71 customers can order a high-output calibration for an additional $395. That seems pretty reasonable as it delivers an extra 40 lb-ft (54 Nm) of torque, which will be appreciated if you tow on a regular basis. While the base engine is fine, the upgraded versions transform the truck from good to great. As you’d expect, responsiveness improves significantly and there’s plenty of power throughout the band. Chevrolet hasn’t released detailed performance specifications, but officials we spoke to said all three versions of the engine enable the truck to accelerate from 0-60 mph (0-96 km/h) in less than seven seconds. Speaking of the engine, it seems relatively refined and engineers told us it was “designed like a diesel.” As a result, it sports a rigid cylinder block casting, a fully forged bottom end, and a stiff crankshaft – among other things. While that’s just scratching the surface, the engine has been subjected to countless torture tests and was designed to withstand years of heavy use. The engine is connected to a capable eight-speed automatic transmission, which worked well on- and off-road as shifts were perfectly timed and well executed. Rear-wheel drive comes standard on the WT and LT, but the rest of the lineup has four-wheel drive. EPA ratings haven’t been released, but the Colorado has an engine start/stop system and active fuel management technology. As a result, we can expect the truck to surpass the Silverado’s rating of 19 mpg city, 22 mpg highway, and 20 mpg combined. It’s also worth mentioning that all of the engines run on regular gasoline, even the high-output variant. A Capable Truck That Doesn’t Ride Rough One of the most surprising things about the 2023 Colorado is how well it drives. Body-on-frame trucks aren’t typically known for their refinement, but Chevy’s entry exceeded our expectations. While the ride can get a little bumpy on rough roads, it’s not uncomfortable and can best be described as truck-like. However, those incidents were few and far between as things settle down significantly on smooth roads and the Colorado proved to be a comfortable highway cruiser, despite having a solid rear axle and leaf springs. The good news doesn’t end there as handling is good for a body-on-frame pickup. Cornering was secure and predictable without any hints of drama until the truck was pushed hard. The experience can also be somewhat entertaining on the right road, although you’ll want to keep your expectations in check. Given this is a truck, it’s not surprising to learn the steering is a little heavy and slow. We didn’t have any problems with the heft, but we wish the truck offered a sport mode with a more direct response as traversing twisty mountain roads required an almost comical amount of turning. Speaking of driving modes, the Colorado offers Normal, Tow/Haul, Off-Road, Terrain, and Baja settings. Terrain mode might be the most notable as it was designed for low-speed rock crawling and it enables you to travel at a leisurely pace with subtle throttle responses. The truck also offers a cool off-road performance display as well as up to 10 different camera views including underneath the truck. Speaking of off-road goodies, the Z71 and Trail Boss come standard with a limited-slip differential and hill descent control. The Trail Boss is also notable for featuring the aforementioned lift and wider stance. Back on pavement, wind noise can be pronounced at highway speed, but otherwise the truck is fairly quiet. The model also sports an impressive amount of standard safety equipment including Automatic Emergency Braking, Forward Collision Alert, Front Pedestrian Braking, Lane Keep Assist with Lane Departure Warning, and IntelliBeam automatic high-beams. Customers looking for more safety tech will find an assortment of affordable packages that offer Adaptive Cruise Control, Rear Park Assist, and Rear-Cross Traffic Braking. They’re joined by Blind Zone Steering Assist, Rear Pedestrian Alert, and an HD Surround Vision system. Colorado owners like to tow and most versions of the truck have a maximum towing capacity of 7,700 lbs (3,493 kg). This bests the Frontier, Ranger, and Tacoma while also matching the mightiest Gladiator. Sticking with towing, customers can get a package that adds a receiver as well as an automatic locking rear differential, an integrated trailer brake controller, and a trailering app on the infotainment system. We’d also be remiss to mention the truck has a maximum payload capacity of up to 1,684 lbs (764 kg). Mid-Size No Longer Means Half As Good Mid-size trucks have often felt like half-hearted efforts, but that’s clearly not the case with the 2023 Chevrolet Colorado. Designers and engineers poured blood, sweat, and tears into the model and the end result is truly impressive as it looks great, drives well, and features an impressive new engine. On top of that, the Colorado boasts a significantly improved interior, more upscale equipment, and a new Trail Boss trim that should appeal to off-roaders on a budget. Speaking of which, Chevy managed to keep pricing affordable and this means you can get a nice truck for around $42,000. While there are a few tradeoffs, the Colorado is a solid pickup and the one to beat. Of course, there’s no shortage of challengers on the horizon and we’ll learn more about them in the coming months. Source: carscoops |
2023.06.04 22:44 thirtyonepercentfree Can one get PTSD from just witnessing an accident, but not taking part in it?
Two weeks ago I saw someone get hurt in a gruesome road accident (I was a passerby). It was really distressing and I've been feeling kinda off ever since.
I keep having nightmares, I get nervous and jumpy in situations involving cars (oddly both when I'm in a car and when I'm around moving cars as a pedestrian). I get random partial flashbacks of the event, either sounds or images. I feel like my mind is on alert all the time, I'm increasingly tired, all I want all the time is to sleep.
Is this what I think it is and how can I help it? Sorry if this is silly, I guess I'm trying to explains the way I've been feeling.
submitted by thirtyonepercentfree to mentalhealth [link] [comments]
I keep having nightmares, I get nervous and jumpy in situations involving cars (oddly both when I'm in a car and when I'm around moving cars as a pedestrian). I get random partial flashbacks of the event, either sounds or images. I feel like my mind is on alert all the time, I'm increasingly tired, all I want all the time is to sleep.
Is this what I think it is and how can I help it? Sorry if this is silly, I guess I'm trying to explains the way I've been feeling.
2023.06.04 22:41 J-Bradley1 "Rube Tube" – Entertainment Weekly's review of 'THE TRUMAN SHOW'
https://picfiles.alphacoders.com/139/139714.jpg
Jim Carrey lives for TV in the dazzling fantasy 'THE TRUMAN SHOW'
(By Owen Gilberman)
Truman Burbank (Jim Carrey) the hero of Peter Weir's beautifully sinister and transfixing entertainment-age daydream 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' (Paramount), lives in a storybook island community called Seahaven's that's as sunny and immaculate as a tropical postcard. Each morning, he says goodbye to his perky, beaming wife (Laura Linney) and leaves his gilded suburban home, which looks like one of those New Age gingerbread office buildings that began to go up about a decade ago. Arriving downtown, where he works as an insurance salesman, Truman swirls through lanes of traffic nearly surreal in their civility, whisks past perfectly stacked rows of interchangeable magazines, and makes small talk with the locals, who are as chipper as the droids in a candy-bar commercial.
Have we entered some creepy parallel universe? Or is Seahaven, with it's programmed-cherry settings and programmed cherry people, its meticulous, Magritte-goes-to-the-mall look of the '90s melting into the '50s and back again, the place America is fast becoming?
Actually, Seahaven is a fake – not a town at all but a gigantic domed television studio, where Truman has spent his entire 30 years as the unknowing star of an intricately rigged TV series, a voyeuristic epic beamed 24 hours a day into homes all over the world. The events of Truman's life are overseen by Christof (Ed Harris), the show's ominous creator-visionary, who sits up in his booth like a network Big Brother, molding everything before him. The streets and buildings of Seahaven are sets (the sun and moon are electronically operated light shows), and the citizens are round-the-clock actors, each equipped with a tiny camera. Even Truman's family and friends aren't what they seem. His buddy (Noah Emmerich), who regularly arrives to share a six-pack, uses macho-guy bonding to create an ersatz intimacy.
His wife is a '90s Donna Reed (Linney's overly synthetic character is actually the film's one flaw), and his memory of losing his father in a drowning accident is like a "haunting" TV-movie tragedy. Everywhere Truman looks, he's being filmed, observed, scrutinized; the whole world is watching him. Only he doesn't know it. The reason the show is a hit is that although everything surrounding Truman is an illusion, his reactions are innocently and utterly real.
The paranoid ingeniousness of 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' brings to mind David Lynch directing a smiley-faced '1984' – that or 'INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS' updated to the era of Jerry Springer and 'THE REAL WORLD'. The film takes off from a culture–ours– that erases privacy by turning reality into television and television into reality. That said, if 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' were just a 'TWILIGHT ZONE' satire of life, transporting experience in the way that Weir, working from Andrew Nicol's nimbly fanciful screenplay, allows us direct access to the eerie virtual reality of Truman's world, which is portrayed as a hyper-clear dream of our own homogenized, theme-parked lives, with everything from catchphrases to love dictated by the prerogatives of corporate central.
Jim Carrey has always been naturally stylized, a man gleefully unleashing his id and watching it bounce around the room. Here, he hasn't let go of that stylization, exactly. He's sculpted it down, reducing himself to slightly gawky mannerisms of a doofus everyman domesticated beyond his powers, literally raised to be a character on a TV show. As it dawns on Truman that there are vast forces mucking with his life, Carrey's happy smirk turns into a snarl of rage, and he inspires dynamic feels of audience revolt. What Truman is discovering and fighting, the surreal sense that everything in the world revolves around -him-, is really the core aesthetic of TV commercials ("This Bud's for you!"), now turned into a madhouse threat. A consumer-age Walter Mitty, he longs to escape, to go to Fiji and reunite with the bewitching coed (Natascha McElhone) he once, for a moment, loved.
https://lecran.club/sites/default/files/pqa9bjislrrbra0golgcieyz3y9.jpg
Unbeknownst to him, she was an actress on 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' who tried to shake free of her role (and was hauled off by network fascists). Carrey uses his timing and his ironic sincerity to fuse us to Truman's desperation, turning him into a postmodern Capra hero. We're dying for Truman to break through Seahaven's fourth wall – to become, for the first time, himself.
Weir gently tweaks the viewers who gather at a bar, or over pizza, to tune into Truman's latest exploits. Those viewers, of course, are us. Watching the movie, we're inside 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' and outside it at the same time. We feel the tug of its drama as surely as anyone on screen, yet we're never allowed to forget that for Truman, romance, friendship, even his own memories are a prefab series of events– a behavior-modifacation experiment drawn from the situational language of television. It may well have taken a clown genius like Jim Carrey to play someone who wakes up to the notion that his whole life has been a ghostly pantomime.
In its own ominously witty way, 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' is really asking, What happens to our experience when all we want to -be- is what we see? That may be the first essential question of the 21st century.
https://img2.film7.hu/original/he9ef4H9RZmxB8pdUXIX9ib8aRh.jpg
FROM: 'ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE' – Issue #435 (June 5, 1998)
submitted by J-Bradley1 to movies [link] [comments]
(By Owen Gilberman)
Have we entered some creepy parallel universe? Or is Seahaven, with it's programmed-cherry settings and programmed cherry people, its meticulous, Magritte-goes-to-the-mall look of the '90s melting into the '50s and back again, the place America is fast becoming?
Actually, Seahaven is a fake – not a town at all but a gigantic domed television studio, where Truman has spent his entire 30 years as the unknowing star of an intricately rigged TV series, a voyeuristic epic beamed 24 hours a day into homes all over the world. The events of Truman's life are overseen by Christof (Ed Harris), the show's ominous creator-visionary, who sits up in his booth like a network Big Brother, molding everything before him. The streets and buildings of Seahaven are sets (the sun and moon are electronically operated light shows), and the citizens are round-the-clock actors, each equipped with a tiny camera. Even Truman's family and friends aren't what they seem. His buddy (Noah Emmerich), who regularly arrives to share a six-pack, uses macho-guy bonding to create an ersatz intimacy.
The paranoid ingeniousness of 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' brings to mind David Lynch directing a smiley-faced '1984' – that or 'INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS' updated to the era of Jerry Springer and 'THE REAL WORLD'. The film takes off from a culture–ours– that erases privacy by turning reality into television and television into reality. That said, if 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' were just a 'TWILIGHT ZONE' satire of life, transporting experience in the way that Weir, working from Andrew Nicol's nimbly fanciful screenplay, allows us direct access to the eerie virtual reality of Truman's world, which is portrayed as a hyper-clear dream of our own homogenized, theme-parked lives, with everything from catchphrases to love dictated by the prerogatives of corporate central.
Jim Carrey has always been naturally stylized, a man gleefully unleashing his id and watching it bounce around the room. Here, he hasn't let go of that stylization, exactly. He's sculpted it down, reducing himself to slightly gawky mannerisms of a doofus everyman domesticated beyond his powers, literally raised to be a character on a TV show. As it dawns on Truman that there are vast forces mucking with his life, Carrey's happy smirk turns into a snarl of rage, and he inspires dynamic feels of audience revolt. What Truman is discovering and fighting, the surreal sense that everything in the world revolves around -him-, is really the core aesthetic of TV commercials ("This Bud's for you!"), now turned into a madhouse threat. A consumer-age Walter Mitty, he longs to escape, to go to Fiji and reunite with the bewitching coed (Natascha McElhone) he once, for a moment, loved.
Weir gently tweaks the viewers who gather at a bar, or over pizza, to tune into Truman's latest exploits. Those viewers, of course, are us. Watching the movie, we're inside 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' and outside it at the same time. We feel the tug of its drama as surely as anyone on screen, yet we're never allowed to forget that for Truman, romance, friendship, even his own memories are a prefab series of events– a behavior-modifacation experiment drawn from the situational language of television. It may well have taken a clown genius like Jim Carrey to play someone who wakes up to the notion that his whole life has been a ghostly pantomime.
In its own ominously witty way, 'THE TRUMAN SHOW' is really asking, What happens to our experience when all we want to -be- is what we see? That may be the first essential question of the 21st century.
2023.06.04 22:12 ThrowRA_lastmountain Was just a hit and run victim, both parties might be without insurance. Where do we go from here?
Last week, I was involved in a minor car accident. The vehicle failed to properly execute their turn into the lane beside me, hanging just out of their lane enough for our cars to side swipe each other. They parked behind me to allow traffic to pass, or so I thought, but they slipped out with the traffic as it went by; I looked behind me after waiting a split second to see no car!
I immediately pulled a u-turn to park in the closest parking lot, just across the street median so I was able to confirm with the long turn that the vehicle truly ran off instead of perhaps finding a better place to park.
A neighborhood app post led to the vehicle being found; The person who found it confirmed that it was the vehicle by giving details such as the damage appearing within the last couple days- when the crash happened.
Where I'm at now is calling the sheriff responsible for the report so he can add the plate to the report. When this happens, is filing a civil suit the best way to go, and if it is, what questions should I ask if I find an attorney? Is there actually a path to getting recourse and my car fixed?
submitted by ThrowRA_lastmountain to legaladvice [link] [comments]
I immediately pulled a u-turn to park in the closest parking lot, just across the street median so I was able to confirm with the long turn that the vehicle truly ran off instead of perhaps finding a better place to park.
A neighborhood app post led to the vehicle being found; The person who found it confirmed that it was the vehicle by giving details such as the damage appearing within the last couple days- when the crash happened.
Where I'm at now is calling the sheriff responsible for the report so he can add the plate to the report. When this happens, is filing a civil suit the best way to go, and if it is, what questions should I ask if I find an attorney? Is there actually a path to getting recourse and my car fixed?
2023.06.04 20:50 squirreltalk Feedback on four-day itinerary in Tokyo?
I did a little research on trip advisor and google, and asked Chat-GPT to make an itinerary based on the following prompt.
Day 1:
submitted by squirreltalk to JapanTravel [link] [comments]
Generate a day-by-day itinerary for a 4 day tour of Tokyo, Japan. We will be visiting in January (winter).It spat out the following, which looks okay to my naive eyes, but of course I know that Chat-GPT will give nonsense some times! Is it (a) doable, and (b) does it optimally satisfy the constraints I mentioned in the prompt? Thank you for any feedback!
We are most interested in experiencing arts and culture, theater, museums, parks and gardens, monuments (eg temples and shrines and other old buildings), and good architecture and urbanism. We are less interested in sumo, shopping, alcohol, and nightlife. We are pescatarian, and love ramen, sushi, and poke.
The itinerary should ideally include Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, Senso-ji Temple, Meiji Jingu Shrine, and Ueno Park.
Day 1:
- Morning:
- Arrive in Tokyo and check into your hotel.
- Start your day with a visit to the Meiji Jingu Shrine. Explore the serene surroundings and learn about the history and traditions of Shintoism.
- Afternoon:
- Head to the nearby Harajuku neighborhood and explore Takeshita Street, known for its vibrant fashion and unique shops.
- Enjoy a vegetarian or pescatarian lunch at one of the many restaurants in the area.
- Visit the Nezu Museum, which houses a remarkable collection of traditional and contemporary Japanese art.
- Evening:
- Explore the lively Shinjuku district, known for its stunning architecture and vibrant atmosphere.
- Enjoy dinner at a vegetarian or pescatarian-friendly restaurant in the area.
- Morning:
- Start your day with a visit to Senso-ji Temple in Asakusa. Explore the ancient temple grounds and Nakamise Shopping Street.
- Afternoon:
- Have lunch at a traditional Japanese restaurant near Senso-ji Temple.
- Visit the Tokyo National Museum in Ueno Park, one of Japan's oldest and largest museums, showcasing a wide range of art and artifacts.
- Evening:
- Take a stroll through Ueno Park, known for its beautiful gardens and picturesque scenery.
- Enjoy dinner at a ramen restaurant known for its delicious vegetarian or pescatarian options.
- Morning:
- Start your day with a visit to the historic Imperial Palace. Take a guided tour or explore the surrounding gardens on your own.
- Afternoon:
- Enjoy lunch at a sushi restaurant known for its fresh and flavorful seafood options.
- Visit the Mori Art Museum in the Roppongi Hills complex. The museum features contemporary art exhibitions and offers panoramic views of the city from its observation deck.
- Evening:
- Explore the architectural wonders of the Tokyo Station area, including the Tokyo Station Building and the nearby Marunouchi district.
- Enjoy dinner at a restaurant with a view of Tokyo's skyline.
- Morning:
- Visit the stunning Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, known for its diverse landscapes and beautiful cherry blossoms (depending on the season).
- Afternoon:
- Explore the Odaiba area, known for its futuristic architecture and entertainment options.
- Enjoy lunch at a restaurant with a view of Tokyo Bay, offering a selection of pescatarian dishes.
- Visit the teamLab Borderless digital art museum, an immersive and interactive art experience.
- Evening:
- Take a relaxing stroll along the Sumida River, enjoying the city lights and the views of Tokyo Skytree.
- Have a farewell dinner at a restaurant specializing in poke bowls and other seafood delicacies.
2023.06.04 20:39 dsl101 With Windows 3.1, the Microsoft EULA and Warranty came on paper and fitted on a single page.
 | submitted by dsl101 to mildlyinteresting [link] [comments] |
2023.06.04 20:32 MedusaKiller_190 Should I quit my job?
Hello everybody, so I currently work at a two attorney firm. I decided to become a paralegal because it seemed like the thing I can excel at. I am currently in school to get my paralegal certificate. Of course to get ahead of the game, I wanted to get a job at a law firm while in school to gain experience and already know the duties I would have to do once I am a certified paralegal. Thankfully, I got a job after MONTHS of interviewing at law firms and I am honestly thankful for the opportunity to get the job I did. I work at a PI firm as a legal secretary. My boss is pretty flexible and I don’t think he looks down on me at all. So HUGE bonus from reading some of you guy’s experiences. However, I feel so underwhelmed and bored most of the time. I used to work as a social worker at a nursing facility and in that job I was overwhelmed, underpaid, and exhausted everyday. My current job is the opposite of that and although my emotional and mental health has improved, I feel like they do not assign me much to do. As we are a PI firm that get clients that were in car accidents, I mostly just call clients and talk about their symptoms. However, we do not have an infinite number of clients and I went through the phone calls pretty quickly. I do smaller and time consuming tasks that would help my lawyers with their jobs. For the last month, I have mostly just being organizing mail that has been sent from insurances, to insurances, from opposing counsel, and to opposing counsel within our system so it is easier for my lawyers to get information they need. I am not too excited to do that task since I am not learning anything new nor is it a transferrable skill. So, overall I really am not doing much here. Apart from calling clients once in a while I don’t see what impact I have in my job. I feel like the little things they tell me to do is them throwing me a bone and feeling bad they have nothing else for me. I did tell me my boss more than once to give me more and not much had changed. My law firm is only 3 years old and we are figuring out how to make improve it. Oh, and another grievance, I am supposed to be part time, work 20 hours but sometimes I don’t even get that cause for XYZ reason my two lawyers are out of office, which is ok cause I know life happens. But I still gotta pay my bills somehow.
I know I went on a huge rant, sorry about that 😅. Should I quit my job or should I wait a little longer to do so? I have only worked here three months and I am afraid how that is going to look for other employers. But as of right now I can say I am not that passionate about PI, I am not loving the workflow, and I feel like I could be putting my time into something that can be teaching me more.
submitted by MedusaKiller_190 to paralegal [link] [comments]
I know I went on a huge rant, sorry about that 😅. Should I quit my job or should I wait a little longer to do so? I have only worked here three months and I am afraid how that is going to look for other employers. But as of right now I can say I am not that passionate about PI, I am not loving the workflow, and I feel like I could be putting my time into something that can be teaching me more.