WARNING: NEIL TYPOS AHEAD...
Entry #14 Yeah I know. It’s been a minute since I’ve given you the punchline of my motorcycle adventure. Sorry. Duty called. To rehash: me + motorcycle + hungry/thirsty bikers = ??? So there I was, sandwich churning in my stomach. Sick for sure. And they’re just staring at me. Especially the guys whose left leg weigh as much as I do. “More beer?” I asked, trying not to sound sheepish. Trying to sound like Top or even Gaucho. I’m pretty sure my voice squeaked. So much for being one of the tough guys. A middle-sized guy nudged a smaller guy. “Ask him,” middle-sized guy says. “You ask him,” smaller guy says. “Fine.” Middle-sized guy looks me square in the eye and reaches inside his pocket. I’m pretty sure I was close to running, if I hadn’t been surrounded. I somehow mustered the courage to suck in my fear and face whatever horror was coming. He pulled it out slowly, probably relishing my unease. It wasn’t a gun that came out. Not even a knife. Hell, I might’ve even expected a snake. Nope to all three. Instead, with eyes suddenly questioning, middle-sized guy pulls out a phone and holds it out to me. “You think you can show us how to open crypto accounts?” I almost laughed when the air gushed from my lungs. “Umm, sure,” I said, and the lesson commenced. But that’s only the beginning. Next time I’ll tell you WHY they wanted crypto. Stay tuned, Dear Diary, Neil of the mighty Patels WARNING: TYPOS AHEAD... CUZ IT'S NEIL
Entry #13 Man. Who’s brilliant idea was it to put me on a motorcycle? Hmmph. Me. That’s right. Me, myself and I. My oh my. Back to the fun. Remember, gas station, sandwich stop, hoard of bikers bent on smushing me under their fat-back tires? Here’s what happened. Big Boy #1: “Pretty bike.” Me: “Thanks.” Big Boy #1: “It wasn’t a compliment.” Me: “Oh.” Big Boy #2 <smirking>: “I’ll bet we can get a pretty penny for that thing.” Me: “Oh.” Big Boy #1: “What do you say, pretty boy? Wanna loan us your pretty little bike so we can make a pretty little penny?” I had to give it to the guy. He had a way with words. Me: “Look, guys, how about I buy you each a sandwich inside? I hear they’re the best in town.” Big Boy 1 and 2 were now joined by 3, 4, 5 and 6. Crap. Big Boy #2: “I don’t think you have enough money to buy me all the sandwiches I plan to eat.” There were chuckles of agreement to this. Crap again. Think, Neil. Me: “Beers are on me. What’s your brand?” I know it sounds so stereotypical. It did coming out of my mouth. But they went for it. Pretty soon I had a shopping list as long as my arm and #1 through #19 were salivating. Screw it. At least they didn’t look like they wanted to eat me alive anymore. Cash I had. Extra limbs I was short on. They were kind enough to help with the groceries. A couple hundred dollars lighter, I was invited to join in the festivities. I could not say no. I thought about texting someone: Cal, Top, hell Daniel. But they had their eyes on me pretty good. I took small bites of my sandwich and somehow swallowed them down with water. They chatted and I listened. Then the inevitable happened. When the sandwiches were gone and the beers properly dented, their attention turned to me. Crap #3. The tale continues… - Neil. WARNING: NEIL LIKEZ TYPOEZ
Entry #12 Never go on your first motorcycle ride alone. Never. Here’s what happened: I thought I had the hang of it. It’s not like a bought the heaviest bike on the market. Nope. For this I did my homework. I chose a motorbeast that I knew I could handle. And I could. I did great. I spent the first hour just tooling around the University. That got to be a pain because of all the pedestrian crosswalks and buses. But it was great practice. It gave me the courage to go farther! I decided that the back road were safer than the highway. I did not buy said motorbeast for such things. Too fast for me, at least right now. It was a perfect day in Charlottesville. Sunny and fresh. Everything seemed to be going my way. I tooled the byways for hours. I understand why riders do it now. There’s a peace to it. A freedom that riding inside an automobile bubble can’t give you. All that fresh air and freedom growled up quite the appetite. By the time I made my way within fifteen minutes of home I was starving. Ravenous. Chew my own— well, you get it. I found a tiny little bar/sandwich shop/gas station. I went inside, ordered a sandwich and figured I’d earned a beer, then I went gas up my motorbeast. That’s when it started, Dear Diary. There I was, minding my own business, when one, two, three, four… soon fifteen hard-nosed Harleys pulled into the station. No two on ones here. No, sir. These guys looked like they were on the warpath. And guess who they picked as their first mission? Me. Crap. Look at the time. I’ll clue you in on the rest next time. Sorry to sketch and run. - Neil WARNING: NEIL DUZ TYPOZ
Entry #11 Sooooooo, I bought bike. Yes, a motorcycle with actually gas and everything. I’ve gotta say: I’m in love. After some consolation with the boys at TFG HQ, I decided to go with the black on black, zero chrome, nothing but business look. It was delivered this morning and all I’ve been able to do it sit there and look at it. Well, stare it and drool a little. Here’s my plan: - tomorrow I’ll have one of the guys, probably Dunn, show me how to ride it. - the next day I’ll look into getting a license - the day after that I’ll practice before and after work. - then, and only then, I’ll take it for a spin around Charlottesville. Phew. I can’t believe I’m doing this. But I’m seeing the side benefit already. I’m not think just about work. I’m thinking about the open road and random adventures. Hell, maybe I’ll convince the other guys to buy their own. Maybe I’ll surprise them and buy one for everybody! Slow down, Cowboy. But it is exciting. Freedom. I didn’t know I’d longed for it. I have all the money I’ll ever need and still I feel trapped. How strange. Maybe that’s a breakthrough I should tell Doc about. Yeah, I think I will. Feeling good, Dear Diary. I am feeling good. Fingers crossed that I don’t lose my other foot! - NeilWARNING: NEIL DUZ TYPOZ WARNING: NEIL ❤️S TYPOS
Entry #10 Last entry I mentioned motorcycles. I had no idea where it was going to take me. I went shopping. I looked stupid. The salesman was way nicer to me than I deserved. He showed me everything from dirt bikes to highway cruisers. I sat on some and marveled at others. I tried to channel my dad, to ask him which one he liked. No answer. Well, I guess this sort of thing isn’t supposed to be easy. Okay, I thought it was gonna be easy. I thought I was going to buy a bike, learn to ride, and BANG, I’d be good as new. Stupid. So stupid. You guessed right if you think I’m feeling sorry for myself. I am. It dumb and it’s childish. Maybe I should throw a temper tantrum. asdfinaosidfnlaskdnflasndf!!!!! Yeah. That’s me cussing. aasidnfiasndnaslkdnaskndkfnasd!!!!! Good to get that out. Some good news. Well, I guess it’s good news. Ever since Doc put me on this path I’ve come to realize, slowly, that my work has suffered because of detachment. Ummmm. Maybe ‘detachment’ was the wrong word to use. You know, because of the foot and all…. I digress…again. So yeah, I guess I’m in the market for a Vespa, scooter, Harley, something. More than anything I’m in the market for a change of brain venue. I wish I could snap my fingers and come out of it. Nope. Not that easy. I’ll work on it. And I’ll tell you ever silly detail along the way. Because diaries are the best of friends. They don’t judge. They just listen. So thanks for listening, Dear Diary. I hope you have juicier juice for you soon. - Neil WARNING: NEIL = TYPOS
Entry #9 Time to stop snooping. There’s plenty of work to do. Why do I add more to my plate? If something comes of the Daniel thing (okay, two things: Anna and the pings) I’ll deal with it then. Higgins is right. I need to take time for me. So what do you do when your head doctor tells you take time away from work when work is what you love most? You dig. You dig deep. Doc Higgins had me do an exercise where he had me imagine my childhood. I was supposed to remember the times I had fun. Not surface level fun but deep down can’t stop thinking about it day and night fun. Truth? This was hard to do. Ever since I lost my parents, I don’t like thinking back to when they were here. It’s not that I don’t miss them. The opposite it true. I miss them every day. Every. Single. Day. I’ve used their loss to fuel me. And guess what? Doc says that’s part of the problem, that I’ve depended on their memory for my drive. Okay. Hard pill to swallow. I sat for a long time. Then I went for a looooooong walk. My stupid fake foot hurt like hell when I was done. I took off my prosthetic and it was in that motion, in that pain that the memory flushed itself from my brain. Motorcycles. My father loved motorcycles. He used to take me to shows and shops, always window shopping. He told me stories about riding fourth-hand bikes when he was a kid. They had a game where they’d chase stray dogs and try to catch them with their bare hands while riding. Crazy. Reckless. The opposite of who I thought my father was. But a great memory that I’d pushed down long ago. So I guess I’ll start there. Motorcycles. Maybe I’ll learn to ride. Maybe I’ll buy one. But you won’t see me chasing down stray anything. Motorcycles. This is not where I saw this journey going. Night, night, Dear Diary, Your wannabe Motörhead, Neil. WARNING: NEIL'S INTO TYPOS...
Entry #8 Last time I mentioned Daniel’s alert and his unconcern. I kept an eye out, and for a couple days the pings continued. By the flow I could tell it was one person. Doesn’t matter how and I don’t really want to explain. I didn’t know who it was. Not yet. And I worked every trick I had. Then it all stopped. That gave me goosebumps. Not the good kind. So I waited. Nothing for a day, two, three, then a week. Then the strangest thing happened. I’m not sure whether to take it to Cal or not. We got a ping from The White House of all places. Someone put in a request for the known whereabouts of Daniel Briggs. I know what you’re thinking, that’s not the first time this particular search has happened. Despite out relationship with the president, it hasn’t alway been all Rose Garden perky. Yeah, we’ve been on the run before. But this, just after the trail that went cold. It can’t be a coincidence. Now the real question is whether I dig straight into the depths of The White House or take the nice boy route, starting with Cal and then running up to the president. Decisions. Maybe it’s nothing. Coincidence? I don’t know. What I do know is that my gut’s turning. Do you hear it? Turn your Spidey senses on, Dear Diary, - Neil WARNING: NEIL TYPES TOO FAST TO CATCH TYPOS....
Entry #7 In my last entry I had to leave to deal with an alert. I’ve got all kinds. Surface level stuff like increased web activity, DNS attacks, phishing schemes, that sort of things. Alerts run the gamut. It’s only the most important ones that I drop every thing for. This was one of those. Someone’s digging into Daniel’s past. It happens from time to time. Usually it’s Cal or Jonas. I once found out about one of Gaucho’s long lost girlfriends who’d had a baby with another man (yeah, I found that out by digging into her barely protected work laptop). Anyways, whether it’s because Daniel’s more ghost than the rest of us or he just doesn’t have enemies like Cal, this is a first. The trail started in St. Louis. Military records. Not so uncommon. Happens more than you’d think. Especially for heroes like Daniel. But military records were only the beginning. I won’t go into the proprietary mix of tech I used to track this stuff (read: illegal) but suffice to say it works. It works well. Cell phone calls. Texts. Emails. Someone’s snooping on Daniel. I didn’t like it. So I took what I had to Daniel. To say he was unconcerned would be an understatement. His succinct response was, “It’s a free country, Neil.” Not what I was expecting. Screw it. If he’s not concerned I’ll keep an eye out. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it is. We’ll see. Stay tuned, Dear Diary, - Neil WARNING: NEIL LIKES TYPOS...
Entry #6 Okay. So last time I mentioned Anna and Daniel, hopefully sitting in a tree. . . He came home last night and after we got his usual right-to-the-point debrief, I waited until he’d had a chance to unpack and settle in. Here’s what happened as best as I can remember: His bedroom door was open. It always is. I knocked anyway. “Come in,” Daniel said from his cross-legged perch on the bed. “Hey.” I’m pretty sure I sounded like a shivering simpleton. Then he just stared at me. Not in a creepy way. Daniel Briggs is FAR from creepy. No, his stare is more expectant and ever-patient. “I was wondering,” I somehow got out of my mouth. “Anna came by.” “Thats what you said.” And I had. I’d given him a detailed rundown of her visit not an hour earlier, all in hopes that I would’ve have to have this awkward conversation. Screw it, I thought. Out with it. “I was wondering why—well, why you too aren’t together,” I said. Daniel nodded, thoughtfully, I think. “That’s a good question.” Then the stare again, like I’d asked my one permitted question and now it was time for the next. Buck up, Neil. “Yeah, well, I just thought that, you know, she’s pretty great. Smart. Pretty.” Holy blubbering coward! “Are you going to tell me why you’re NOT together?” Daniel shrugged. “It’s not our time yet. That’s the best way I can explain it.” I was not to be deterred! “But you like her, right?” “Of course.” “And you know that it usually takes someone to make the first move?” This felt like a middle school replay. “I do.” I must’ve looked completely flustered because Daniel smiled and said, “It’s not time, Neil.” Then he cocked his head just so. “But I’ll let you know when it is, okay?” I’m not sure what I said in response, just got out of there as fast as I could feeling the total spying creepo. But it was a good thing I left when I did. My control center was waiting and lo and behold there a blinking message. It’s something about Daniel. I’ve gotta go and take care of this. Not sure if I can write about it later. We’ll see. These alerts are never good. . . Back to work, Neil WARNING: NEIL LIKESES THE TYPOS....
Entry #5 Some nights I wander the streets. Doesn’t matter what city I’m in. I haven’t figured out why I do it. Maybe I’m looking for trouble. Maybe I’m just stewing. Maybe I’m just. . . I don’t know +++++ Anna Varushkin visited today. She was in town for a few hours and said she wanted to see the gang. I could tell what she really wanted: Daniel. He’s gone as he is most times. The disappointment in Anna’s eyes only lasted a second. She’s good at putting on a brave face. She’s got to after what she’s been up against. If I were Daniel I would’ve. . . well, she’s an amazing lady. Beautiful. Smart. Fearless. To me they seem like a perfect match. I wish I had the guts to ask him why he doesn’t make it more permanent. But he’s Daniel. Even Cal gives him room. Maybe one of us should pry. Isn’t that what good friends do? I think so. So I’ll try to be a good friend. I’ll ask him when he gets back. Now that I think about it, I don’t know him as well as the others. But damn if he shouldn’t grab on to Anna and never let go. Hopefully I’ll have some answers next time, Dear Diary. Fingers and toes crossed. Yours until the subsequent scribble, Neil |
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