He keeps talking, as if as long as words keep coming out of his mouth, Jack will stay.
What’s Santa Fe got that New York ain’t? Tarantulas? Tumbleweeds? A little bit of empty space you can’t do anything with? And he keeps talking. He keeps stalling.
He knows he’s fighting a battle that’s already been lost, from the look on Jack’s face, the guilt in his eyes as he dodges Davey’s gaze.
He continues, as if maybe if he mentions banners and unions one more time, he can change a dream that’s been years in the making. As if maybe if he says just one more thing about making headlines, about David and Goliath and the New York moon, Jack will be here this time tomorrow.
Neither Jack nor Davey could manage the rope ladder up to
the boat deck of the Carpathia, their
limbs too weak and muscles too tight to allow more than the most basic
movement. Eventually they were winched up in makeshifts hammocks, both too
exhausted, physically and mentally, to mourn their loss of dignity. There were
tears in Davey’s eyes as he waited for Jack to join him on the deck. Sat with
his back to the railings, he surveyed what was left of the Titanic. Piles of lifebelts
were stacked up, with stewardesses from the Carpathia
bustling round with hot drinks and soup to hand out to the passengers
congregating. When one young girl came over and offered him a cup of steaming
tea, his tears turned to full on sobs.
“Sorry,” he gasped through shaky breaths. “I don’t know
“It’s okay, Sir!,” the stewardess promised, kneeling beside
him. “You’ve been through a lot. Here.”
She wrapped a mug in a handkerchief from her pocket so it
wouldn’t burn Davey’s frozen fingers and handed it over.
Davey took it carefully and let the steam flow over his face
for a few moments, reveling in what it was like to feel warmth again. His
fingers tingled as heat seeped through the cup and when he raised it to his
lips to take a sip, a few tears falling into the tea, he swallowed a small
mouthful and felt a bloom of warmth down his oesophagus. It was a reminder he was alive and it made fresh
tears spring to his eyes.
Kelly Osbourne’s “toilet cleaning” remark is the perfect example of how the progressive lefty is at their most racist when they think they’re proving how not racist they are.
You could hear the (feigned or real?) outrage in her voice and the contempt she had for the ‘racist’ and evil Donald Trump. But when we examine the two remarks we find that her condemnation of Trump was much more prejudiced than his original comment.
Trump’s original statement was to the the effect that the people coming to American from Mexico represent the worst of Mexican society–the criminal elements. This is certainly unfair and prejudiced against that particular segment of Mexicans he was referring to (’illegal immigrants’), but he wasn’t saying anything about “all” Mexicans or even Mexicans (or immigrants) in general.
Yet Kelly Osbourne, in her attempt to attack Trump for his “racism” let it slip that (to her mind) all ‘latinos’ are immigrants, that all immigrants are latinos, and that all of these people clean toilets for a living. Yikes.