Newark, New Jersey. The bad part. Almost a redundancy.
Decay was the first word that came to mind. The buildings were more than falling apart—they actually seemed to be breaking down, melting from some sort of acid onslaught. Here urban renewal was about as familiar a concept as time travel. The surroundings looked more like a war newsreel—Frankfurt after the Allies’ bombing—than a habitable dwelling.
The neighborhood was even worse than he remembered. When Myron was a teenager, he and his dad had driven down this very street, the car doors suddenly looking as though even they sensed oncoming danger. His father’s face would tighten up. “Toilet,” he would mutter. Dad had grown up not far from here, but that had been a long time ago. His father, the man Myron loved and worshiped like no other, the gentlest soul he had even known, would barely contain his rage. “Look what they did to the old neighborhood,” he would say.
Look what they did.
Myron’s Ford Taurus slowly cruised by the old playground. Black faces glared at him. A five-on-five was going on with plenty of kids sprawled on the sidelines waiting to take on the winners. The cheap sneakers of Myron’s day—Thom McCan or Keds or Kmart—had been replaced with the hundred-dollar-plus variety these kids could ill afford. Myron felt a twinge. He would have liked to take a noble stand on the issue—the corruption of values and materialism and such—but as a sports agent who made money off sneaker deals, such perceptions paid his freight. He didn’t feel good about that, but he didn’t want to be a hypocrite either.
Nobody wore shorts anymore either. Every kid was dressed in blue or black jeans that journeyed far south of baggy, like something a circus clown might sport for an extra laugh. The waist dropped below the butt, revealing designer boxer shorts. Myron did not want to sound like an old man, grousing over the younger generation’s fashion sense, but these made bell-bottoms and platforms seem practical. How do you play your best when you’re constantly pausing to pull up your pants?
But the biggest change was in those glares. Myron had been scared when he first came down here as a fifteen-year-old high school student, but he had known that if he wanted to rise to the next level, he had to face down the best competition. That meant playing here.
He had not been welcomed at first. Not even close. But the looks of curious animosity he perceived back then were nothing compared with the dagger-death glares of these kids. Their hatred was naked, up front, filled with cold resignation. Corny to say, but back then—less then twenty years ago—there had been something different here. More hope maybe. Hard to say.
(One False Move, Harlan Coben, pages 23-24)
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(Market Watch, July 31, 2017, http://www.msn.com/en-us/money/careersandeducation/the-us-minimum-wage-in-the-year-you-were-born/ss-BBt2kCw?ocid=spartanntp#image=58)
July 31, 2017, 6:30am. About Me. I’m still at Howard Johnson Inn, Newburgh, New York. Last night was not as brutal as the night before. No amplified voices last night. Not as much easy button laser beam pain in my head. Only once or twice did I wake up because easy button laser beam pressure on my bladder. Not as many easy button laser beam shocks in my head. Mostly, easy button laser beam chill in my body, easy button laser beam tinnitus ringing in my ears, and easy button laser beam gurgles in my stomach during the times several loud engine aircraft flew by. I cannot remember what easy button laser beam I felt in my body last night while I was praying. This morning when I got out of bed, easy button laser beam snap crackle on my right wrist, and easy button laser beam gurgles in my throat while I was praying.
I experience easy button laser beam snap crackle pop on my right wrist very often, almost at least once every night while I’m praying, or during the night when I wake up because of easy button laser beam pressure on my bladder, or mornings while I am praying to the true God, Jehovah. It’s a psychological torture technique: wrist, risk, asset management.
My grandson Wesley (the primary plaintiff in a legal case against Berkshire Hathaway, American Express, JPMorgan Chase, Apple, Universal Music [owner of Rockafella and Def Jam], Goldman Sachs, IBM, Boeing, Citi, Marriott International, Bain, Accenture, Sprint, Raymond James, Prudential, Verizon and other corporations including the Mormon church of Satan) did not give me permission to look in his backpack and find the following script, then type it without his permission, and post it many times, here at this my website and my old website [the space between dialogue lines are complements of Mormon computer gremlin wiseguys]:
March 3, 2008
Concept: A teenage girl named Ty’ Reisha Hernandez who is Dominican / African American undergoes the life of racism and prejudice. She turns to people for guidance but no one is able to help her so she has to learn how to be dependent of herself instead of relying on others. Her father has been in jail since she was 11 months old. She has an abusive boyfriend, Keyshawn Williams, who is a drug dealer and gang member. Her father, Roshoun Thompson, finally gets out of jail and comes home to his legal spouse (who is not Ty’ Reisha’s mother) to find out that she has male twins that are 13 years old. He goes to Anais, his girlfriend and Ty’ Reisha’s mother, to tell her about the news and Nikki, the mother of the twins, knocks on the door of their small apartment in Booker T. Washington Projects….
Narrator: Ty’ Reisha is in Keyshawn’s house and she is terrified of what he might do to her or with her.
Keyshawn-Come here baby. I want to show you something.
Ty’ Reisha-What you got to show me?
Keyshawn-Come here and you’ll see.
Keyshawn-What you mean NO?
Ty’ Reisha-I mean I ain’t ready for that. I got a future and a life and I ain’t gonna ruin it just for you. You never wanted me for me anyway. You only wanted me for what you call my greatest asset (touching her butt) and guess what. You ain’t getting it so why don’t you go mess around with one of them tricks that you always be with cuz I aint got time for you.
Keysahawn-(runs toward the door and grabs her risk [sic]) You aint going no where until I get some.
Ty’ Reisha(struggling loose) Get your hands off of me.
Ty’ Reisha-No…(crying) Please.. Get off of me.
(8th grade class assignment, emphasis added. Wesley, my grandson, played the role of the drug-dealer gang-member sadistic rapist. Wesley did not think up this script and neither did either of the other two students nor did their teacher. cc all Mormon attorneys)
[Sara Blakely, CEO, Spanx, in T-Mobile No More Mr Nice Girl pink/black Hello Moto shades of gray] http://www.spanx.com/about-us
Wesley is very familiar with Newark, New Jersey. After he was a resident at New Hope in Secaucus, New Jersey, he was a resident at Renaissance House in Newark. The Mormon Church of Satan’s Marriott Renaissance Hotel (which is where my daughter Lisa’s wedding and wedding reception was held), is at Newark Airport. The Hardy Boys is the name of one of the books on the bookshelves at New Hope. In inner city black neighborhoods, red and blue = Bloods and Crips.
Cover appearing on revised editions of The Tower Treasure, the first Hardy Boys mystery
The characters were created by American writer Edward Stratemeyer, the founder of the Stratemeyer Syndicate, a book-packaging firm, and the books have been written by many different ghostwriters over the years. The books are published under the collective pseudonymFranklin W. Dixon.
The Hardy Boys have evolved in various ways since their first appearance in 1927. Beginning in 1959, the books were extensively revised, partially to eliminate racial stereotypes. The books were also written in a simpler style in an attempt to compete with television. Some critics argue that in the process, the Hardy Boys changed, becoming more respectful of the law and simultaneously more affluent, “agents of the adult ruling class” and the like. Most, however, saw the updates as an attempt to make the style of the books more modern, while lamenting the loss of the richer pre-war descriptive style. Similar complaints were made about the updates to the comparable girls’ series Nancy Drew.
A new Hardy Boys series, the Hardy Boys Casefiles, was created in 1987, and featured murders, violence, and international espionage. The original “Hardy Boys Mystery Stories” series ended in 2005. A new series, Undercover Brothers, was launched the same year, featuring updated versions of the characters who narrate their adventures in the first person. The Undercover Brothers ended in 2012 and was replaced in 2013 by The Hardy Boys Adventures, also narrated in the first person.
Through all these changes, the characters have remained popular. The books sell more than a million copies a year. Several additional volumes are published annually, and the boys’ adventures have been translated into more than 25 languages. The Hardy Boys have been featured in computer games and five television shows and used to promote merchandise such as lunchboxes and jeans.
Critics have offered many explanations for the characters’ longevity, suggesting variously that the Hardy Boys embody simple wish fulfillment, American ideals of masculinity, American ideals of boyhood, a well-respected father paradoxically argued to be inept, and the possibility of the triumph of good over evil.
Wesley was a resident at Renaissance House in Newark, and a few years later, he lived with his girlfriend, Sade, at her grandmother’s apartment, in Newark. He had no place else to go. (Mormon scriptwrites have have written a script for Wesley’s since before he was born.) During that time, one of his mother’s co-workers, a woman originally from Morocco, created a Facebook page featuring an actual photo of Sade and an image of a person with a red BET [Mormon Church’s/CIA’s Black Entertainment Television]/US Army pentagram star on his (or her) forehead, like the pentagram star on Baphomet the goat devil: Satan. I do not no where Wesley and his current girlfriend, or rather, his wife, Colliesheia, now live. I do not know if they’re still in Jersey City, New Jersey or if they moved back to Columbus, Ohio. I am certain that it was planned when he was an infant, that he would meet Sade from Newark, New Jersey. And QuinnAnn from Richmond, Virginia. And Colliesheia from Columbus, Ohio. Wesley and Colliesheia are being manipulated. Colliesheia is a plaintiff in a legal case, Wesley is the primary plaintiff. All of the females mentioned herein are plaintiffs in a legal case. Because of her name, Collieshia, Wesley’s wife might not only be a plaintiff, she might be a primary plaintiff. Everything that happens to Wesley is being noted, for the LEGAL CASE.
Wesley was a resident at Renaissance House in Newark, New Jersey, during the time White Houston’s funeral was held at New Hope Baptist Church in Newark. He stood at the window and watched some of the people as they walked by. I cannot remember which celebrity he told me he saw walk by.
The above JPMorgan Dow Jones LET’S TALK advertisement was advertised in an article about what was the minimum wage the year you were born. The year 1941 features a plaid Wesley shirt like the Tommy Hilfiger Wesley plaid shirt that was advertised in the year 2008, when Cole Haan advertised a young black male wearing dusty pink pants, during the time my husband purchased four polo shirts for Wesley, shirts like the Jokela shirt, for Wesley, freshman year high school.
The above is the minimum wage in 1944. During the time Lady Gaga, one of the Mormon Church’s/CIA’s top female singers sang a song about Monster and Born This Way, in which she was photographed wearing a meat dress, Wesley was offered employment at a butcher shop in Bayonne, New Jersey. One day when his mom went to pick him up after work, within a matter of minutes, her car was towed away. Wesley told me he liked working there, however he only employed there for only several weeks.
Wesley is very familiar with Newark, New Jersey. After he was a resident at New Hope in Se caucus, New Jersey, he was a resident at Renaissance House in Newark. He also lived in Newark. Actually, he lived in Sade’s grandmother’s apartment. Sade was his girlfriend at the time. He had no place else to go. I do not know where Wesley and his current girlfriend, or rather, his wife, Colliesheia, now live. I do not know if they’re still in Jersey City, New Jersey or if they moved back to Columbus, Ohio. I am certain that it was planned when he was an infant, that he would meet Sade from Newark, New Jersey. And QuinnAnn from Richmond, Virginia. And Colliesheia from Columbus, Ohio. Wesley and Colliesheia are being manipulated. Colliesheia is a plaintiff in a legal case, Wesley is the primary plaintiff. Everything that happens to Wesley is being noted, for the LEGAL CASE.
354 Great Meadows Rd, Hope, NJ
The Inn At Millrace Pond
Jenny Jump State Forest
Shades of Death Rd
Wesley was conceived in 1993
Wesley was born in 1994
I was born in 1945
I must check out and go back to Brooklyn. Will finish posting this information as soon as I possibly can. (Count on it, Mormon Church of Satan!)
The time is now 9am. The bus leaves at 10am. I’m using Howard Johnson computer because I’ve already packed my computer away in my tote bag. I will type more excerpts from the book I am currently reading (One False Move by Harlan Coben) for the next 15 minutes, and then I will call a cab to go to Shortline bus stop.
“I don’t mean to sound difficult, but I have enough father figures in my life, thank you. I want to make sure you know that we’re not going to be hanging out with each other twenty-four a day or anything like that. This isn’t a Whitney Houston-Kevin Costner movie.”
“Some people say I look like Kevin Costner.” Myron gave her a quick flash of the cynical, rogue smile, a la Bull Durham.
(One False Move, Harlan Coben, pages 14-15)
Myron took the elevator down. Win—real name Windsor Horne Lockwood III—stood in the lobby. He was dressed this morning in Late American Prep. Blue blazer, light khakis, white button-down Oxford shirt, loud Lilly Pulitzer tie, the kind with more colors than a gallery at a golf course. His blond hair was parted by the gods, his jaw jutting in that way of his, his cheekbones high and pretty and porcelain, his eyes the blue of ice. To look at Win’s face, Myron knew, was to hate him, was to think elitism, class-consciousness, snobbery, anti-Semitism, racism, old-world money earned from the sweat of other men’s brows, all that. People who judged Windsor Horne Lockwood III solely by his appearance were always mistaken. Others dangerously so.
Win did not glance in Myron’s direction. He looked out as though posing for a park statue. “I was just thinking,” Win said.
“If you clone yourself, and then have sex with yourself, is it incest or masturbation?”
“Good to see you’re not wasting your time,” Myron said.
Win looked at him. “If we were still at Duke,” he said, “we’d probably discuss the dilemma for hours.”
“That’s because we’d be drunk.”
Win nodded. “There’s that.”
They both switched off their cellar phones and started heading down Fifth Avenue. It was a relatively new trick than Myron and Win used with great effect. As soon as the Hormonal He-Men pulled up, Myron had switched on the phone and hit the programmed button for Win’s cellar. Win had thus heard every word. That was why Myron had commented out loud on where they were heading. That was how I knew exactly where he was and exactly when to call. Win had nothing to say to Frank Ache; he just wanted to make sure that Frank knew that Win knew where Myron was.
“Tie you to a chair and set your [penis] on fire,” Win repeated. “That would sting.”
Myron nodded. “Talk about having a burning sensation when you urinate.”
“Indeed. So tell me.”
Myron started talking. Win, as always, did not appear to be listening. He never glanced in Myron’s direction, his eyes searching the streets for beautiful women. Midtown Manhattan during work hours was full of them. They wore business suits and silk blouses and white Reebok sneakers. Every once in a while Win would reward one with a smile; unlike almost anybody else in New York, he was often rewarded with one in return.
When Myron told him about bodyguarding Brenda Slaughter, Win suddenly stopped and broke out in song: “AND I-I-I-I-I-I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU-OU-OU-OU-OU-OU-OU.”
Myron looked at him. Win stopped, put his face back in place, continued walking. “When I sing that,” Win said, “it’s almost like Whitney Houston is in the room.”
“Yeah,” Myron said. “Or something.”
(One False Move, Harlan Coben, pages 52-53)
July 31, 2017, 12:30pm. About Me. I’m at Starbucks, on 8th Avenue at 39th Street, near Port Authority Bus Terminal and The New York Times building. Some of the above paragraphs I typed while sitting here in Starbucks. I have so much information to post concerning this subject, HOPE, and I know I will have difficulty posting the information so that it makes sense. I feel extremely incapable of doing this work that I do. I didn’t read while riding the ShortLine bus. I enjoyed the scenery, while still upstate, and noted signs and passing vehicles, and I prayed a lot, constantly, the entire bus ride.
(MSN News, July 31, 2017 [four hours after I posted the above information], www.msn.com )
The purpose of this website is to expose the Mormon Church of Satan and all enemies of Jesus Christ the Way the Truth the Life, the Prince of Peace. This website is also the beginning of a presidential campaign to elect Caroline Kennedy President of the United States. I prayed to Jehovah God to please, by means of His son Christ Jesus, please, arrange national events and world events in such a manner such that Caroline Kennedy is elected President of the United States. I know Jehovah God hears my prayer and will answer my prayer because that particular prayer of mine is one of my deepest desires and Jehovah God has promised me that he will satisfy all of my deepest desires. All of the information posted at this website is interconnected; directly connected to the Mormon Church of Satan’s illegal sting operation surrounding Jehovah’s Witnesses worldwide, and me. The illegal sting operation that encompasses every human being on earth, and has resulted in the LEGAL CASE, unlike any other, ever. The LEGAL CASE, headed to The Hague, Netherlands. cc all Mormon attorneys
Maintain Your Focus on Jesus!
(Matthew 14:22-34; Hebrews 12:2)
(Concluding talk, Jehovah’s Witnesses Convention 2015, worldwide)