I will be posting part 2....

[note: Im still working on the unwritten chapter about what propelled me out of the JWs. Its a bit personal and I knew going in it would wear me down emotionally than part #2 did when I wrote that the first time... However, I guess I will be done some time on Wednesday. Please understand that this unwritten part will help you understand some of what helped to drive me to Job Corps.

Please note some things about this part #2. Yes, its very long...but there is now a limit of how many threads a poster can start in one 24 hour period. I will also try to post it tomorrow in its own thread...

This version is the re-written/re-edited version that I wrote for my thesis project. So, its a parallel narrative that combines my personal experience with a research narrative about ghosts in Chinese culture. I dont know if it works or not, you tell me, but my prof and my classmates were floored by this essay. Also, I edited the swear words and racial slurs. However, I do not recommend kids to read this section. Teens yes, children no. Names and street tags have also been changed to protect folks.]

NOTE: edited to reflect the font features in ms-word that are not supported by this board's formatting

Ghosts

Recently, I saw a "Bizarro" comic strip depicting two door-to-door ministers inviting a householder to talk about eternity. Down below, the caption read, "After 8 years in the Jehovah's Witness Protection Program, Richard is discovered."

I showed it to my wife's friend. She laughed. "Wanna sent it to your parents?"

Pam knows I am an ex-Jehovah's Witness (JW). I severed my final tie to the church the day I left my parents on September 17, 1991 to enroll in Job Corps, a Department of Labor training school.
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The Prophesy

The day I left for Job Corps, Mom wore her Puritan Grimace. Ever since I quit going to kingdom Hall, my parents were doing everything to get me to return to the door-to-door evangelist shtick. There were the predictions. I would fall into a cesspool of rotting, "worldly" people. I would father illegitimate children (even though I was a nineteen year-old virgin). After much floundering around in the mire of Life, my mother prophesied, I would then beg Jehovah to guide me back to his "loving ways."

"Fat chance in hell," I told her. It was meant to shock her: JWs don't believe in Hell.

"Just you wait then. You'll be worldly. I know it. Just like them."

"Them" was all the other ex-JW kids who supposedly didn't do so well after leaving the church. I didnt know what this was supposed to mean. Active church members arent allowed to talk to former members. Sure, I heard the stories from time to time, but the hard evidence just wasnt there.

Mom continued with the plagues that would infest me, counting them off on her fingers. Finger counting was her favorite tactic in arguing with me; she had learned it from an Elder in our congregation. I guess she thought it made her look more authoritative.

"Theyll get you to take drugs. Watch pornos. Steal. Sleep with all kinds of immoral, dirty girls. They wont love you like we do."

"Maybe you think too highly of yourself?" I asked.

More Puritan Grimace and a hefty smack to the face. JWs are firm believers of the "spare the rod, spoil the child" proverb.

"Well, think what you want. Well see how fast you come running back home. But Im warning you now. Our door will be closed. Even Jehovah had to close the door on Noah's ark to prove his point."

I made a promise to myself right then and there she would be wrong.
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Chinese Ghosts

Here in the West, we've forgotten about our ghosts to a large extent. American ghosts reside mostly in movies, alleged haunted houses, and in the mind of the nutty neighbor down the street. Ghost tales are saved for special occasions, like campfires and Halloween. They're only meant for a good fright and, later, a good laugh.

Many Chinese don't look at ghosts in that way. Chinese culture has traditionally accepted death and those living in that state of (non-)being with a sense of reverence. Thus, Chinese ghosts are everywhere. Ghosts hang out in the forests, the mountains, and temples. They are the stars of countless Chinese-language books and movies, old and new. Chinese ghosts have their own holidays, two in fact. They are an integral part of ancestor worship, a common religious practice in Chinese culture.

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Lamentations I

I grew up in a black-majority neighborhood in northeast Denver. There were the quiet families, the loners, the thugs, and the old folks who waited patiently for their kids to visit them. Then there were the cops. I watched plenty of white cops pounce on black teens for nothing. But I never saw a black cop pounce on any of the white kids who lived in the neighborhood.

One night, when I was about fourteen, I was coming back from a Bible Book Study meeting at a JW house. It was snowing hard and my mom had told me I had to wear a ski mask to keep warm. Jerry, a son of one of the Elders in our congregation had taken me to the meeting, but he forgot all about me after the meeting when he saw Mandy R---, this really gorgeous daughter of another Elder. Jerry offered to take her home instead.

I walked home, steamed at Jerry. A squad car pulled up ahead of me. I heard the engine stop but thought nothing of it until a white cop got out as I passed by. He took a hold of me and slammed me back on top of the squad car.

What do you think youre doing wearing a mask? Robbing a few houses, you f--- n---?

He held me there until he pulled the ski mask off. He looked shocked when he realized I was white. He let me go without a word.

Lamentations II

I remember when I was growing up in the 1970s and 80s, I had no one to play with. Jehovahs Witness kids are kept away from non-JW kids because the church says that the younger JWs will form "bad associations" with the other kids and then lose their "useful habits". I think it's more on along the lines of them fearing that the JW kids will see the truth and leave.

None of the other JW kids passed my mothers inspection either. No reason given. Thats just the way it was. So I spent my days looking out the window watching other kids play football out in the street or having to play with my sister and her Barbie dolls. I waited for the day I had friends.

The Origins of a Chinese Ghost

The Chinese believe that when a person dies, their hun ("soul") goes off to live in a world of darkness (yinjian). If their descendants care for them properly, they will lead a comfortable afterlife as an ancestral spirit. (In some circles of religion and folk beliefs, these types of ghosts will later be reincarnated, but some portion of them still exists as an ancestral spirit.) If no one claims these spirits, they turn into desperate ghosts, or gui. Writer Arthur Wolf notes that there is a "continuum...marked on one end by honored, loved souls [the ancestral spirits]...and on the other by miserable, abandoned strangersthe [gui]."

Dealing with gui (Chinese look at the gui both collectively and individually) is like dealing with the Mafia, the class nerd, and a contingent of beggars all rolled up in one. These malcontent souls include those who have no one to care for them because they died without children, or their children died along side them; they were children themselves; or those who passed away in foreign lands, far from their kin. More dangerous, though, are the malicious ghosts who died before their time; these ghosts are murder victims or suicide cases. They haunt their death scene, hungry for exacting revenge. One problem, they dont always haunt the responsible parties. Even innocent people and animals feel their wrath. Ironically, the Chinese refer to these gui jie (lit. "hungry ghosts") as "good brethren" in the hopes that the ghosts will leave the living alone.

Exodus

The original plan behind my enrollment in the Job Corps program was simple. I needed an education. My parents had taken me out of public school when I was younger because they wanted to keep me from "worldly" influences. They promised me I would get the education that Jehovah saw fit. Instead, I wound up teaching myself from a set of old encyclopedias. I had no high school diploma, no job training, and no idea how the real world outside Montbello worked.

The year before, I had had an encounter with the Montbello High School guidance counselor. She told me about this government job-training program called Job Corps. It was meant for poor and disadvantaged kids between the ages of 16 and 21. She gave me a brochure.

There were over one hundred such training centers around the nation. The campus featured in the promo was near Gunnison, Colorado; it looked nice. Free food, medical care, a clothing stipend, and "readjustment" money for a post-Job Corps life. I could get my GED. The dorms looked nice. I was in, but thanks to my parents, I had to wait. When I finally did work up the courage, I signed up for one of the Job Corps centers in another state they had a college program. Not to mention, I thought it would be last I'd ever see of my parents.

When I got to the Job Corps center, I was in for a shock. No one at the recruiting office had told me about the barbwire fence. No one told me about the waiting period to enter the college program. ("Six months on campus minimum, must have completed an on-campus training program, must be an honor student.") No one told me about the race riots. No one told me that the gangs controlled or scared many of the staff. No one told me C--- Job Corps was originally an old military base.

I was assigned to F-Dorm. All of the dorms are given just a letter as a name. And only the T-dorm, a girls dorm, had windows because it had once been the base infirmary. The rest of the dorms were housed along the width of two of the former warehouses. The few windows on these warehouses were boarded up long ago.

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CHI-3320: A Tour of Chinese Ghost Hell

According to some popular, old mystic Chinese religious beliefs, after death the soul is judged according to the deeds performed during its lifetime. This includes both good and bad deeds. If the evil actions outweigh the good ones (and they almost always do - religion has a preoccupation with badness), the soul is committed to the "ten tribunals of hell." These courts, which are designed for specific crimes - murder or rape, for instance - operate like little burgs. Each court has its own bureaucracy and a special layout complete with towers, cells, ponds, and prisons for the damned.

Early Chinese ghosts didnt have much to undergo when they went to hell - just a judge and a few bicep-flexing demons who made sure the guilty served their punishments. Later on as Chinese society grew more complex, with its mandarins and Confucian legal codes, hell took on more of an evil, surreal three-ring circus. Scribes, torturers, and paralegals became more important. The ghosts punishments were still brutal, but now they contained a sense of bureaucratic coldness and efficiency. Even the range of crimes expanded: adultery, tax evasion, abuse of filial piety, and other crimes against Buddhism came into the ghostly legal system.

Setting Myself up for the Great Fall

My first night in Job Corps was violent. Earlier in the evening, I received the title of "snitch". One of the residential advisors (R/A) had come to my room to help me work the combination lock on my dorm locker. In the process, he broke up a big craps game that had just started up by two of my roommates during my absence. Naturally, I got the blame. The Surano gang members came to visit me at three in the morning. I found myself getting knocked in the head by some combination locks placed inside some smelly socks.
After a month, the other guys in my dorm grew tired of picking on me. I guessed they felt I had learned my lesson. No one snitches in Job Corps.

My personality underwent some major changes. I exchanged my quiet, mellow demeanor for a loud, angry one. I earned others respect by fighting with the biggest gang members in Job Corps. It didnt matter if I won or lost - just as long as I didn't slap my opponent "like a bitch."

Mac, the Senior R/A, made me the dorm secretary after I had been at Job Corps for three months. No one wanted the job because it meant helping the adult staff members out with the dorms paperwork. It also meant being around Mac a lot. Mac hated the black and Mexican students. They hated him for being a bigoted, white Mormon.

Being a dorm officer gave me some advantages. I felt like I belonged. I thought I now had the friends I wanted way back when I was a kid looking out my window. The dorm officers are a tight brotherhood; dorm officers are expected to set the lead when it comes to dorm behavior and mete out justice when the rules are broken. So when theres a fight, like a dorm riot, the dorm officers stick together - even if they hate each other. If the dorm officers cant get along, the other guys see this and try to take advantage whatever way they can.

But theres also a disadvantage to this "togetherness." If youre a dorm officer, you cant defy the decision of the group. If you do, you get beat up. And no one snitches.

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CHI-3320 Supplement: Ghost Patrol

Chinese ghosts are a highly organized lot. They have a neighborhood bureaucracy. This bureaucracy deemed it necessary to grant "ghost patrolmen" duties to two very, very old spirits: Grandfather Seven and Grandfather Eight.

These two spirits are the Abbott and Costello of Chinese ghosts. Eight is short, fat, and black. Lanky Seven follows along with his long, red tongue. But dont mistake them for Keystone Kops; they see every act of ghostly misconduct. And you can be sure they will take names and file a report with the local City God.
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The Serpent Walks Amongst You

After two months of being dorm secretary, we had a problem with one of the new guys. This kid told us to call him "Skillz." Skillz was 17, white, and a small-town California boy. And a major pain in the butt. The guy reminded us of a cross between Vanilla Ice - the white rapper with fake credentials - and a slightly buffed Doogie Howser, M.D. Skillz thought he had a point to make.

The very first day he got to Job Corps, he asked one of his roommates, "Whos the biggest fuckers here?"

Quik told him, "The dorm officers."

"Thanks, bitch."

Skillz started questioning our authority in the dorm, and Wally, our dorm president, wasnt near enough to the guys room to keep an eye on him. Wally and I slept on the other side of the dorm. The other dorm officers had a cube (a Job Corps bedroom) of their own, but Wally and I liked where we were. Skillz was in the cube next to dorm officers cube, but Wally, being the leader, had to OK any action taken against him.

In mainstream society, this would be hazing and harassment, even assault. But on the street and in Job Corps, this is the unspoken law. If you mess with those on the top, you get beat down.
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CHI-3401: How to Get Rid of Gui Jie

So, what does a Chinese neighborhood do when it has a "hungry ghost"? The local Taoist priest's recommendation: wait until the fifteenth day of the seventh moon. This is the Feast of the Hungry Ghosts. The living will need to take this day off from work and school; they will be buying the ghost off.

The rationale goes something like this - during the seventh month of the Chinese lunar calendar, the gates of the underworld are opened and all uncared-for souls are free to leave hell and other nether regions to wander anywhere they please. Chinese families go outside their home to perform private rituals of food and gift offerings. These rituals must be held outside, never inside the house; otherwise, these gui jie will take up residence. The night of the 14th is set aside for sailors; some communities release little water lantern boats equipped with paper crews to help drowned ghosts find their way home.

On the 15th, a local Buddhist or Taoist priest conducts a community offering. The priest chants while offering incense on large alters. Next, he burns "spirit money," paper clothes, and other items to quiet these hobo spirits. It may seem like a waste to Western eyes, but to a community that wants peace and quiet, its worth it. Afterwards, the priest tosses buns and candy out onto the street as if to say, "Heres dessert. Now be gone."

During this time a crowd gathers to watch the proceedings. For some ghosts, this spells opportunity. As the ceremony concludes, children bum-rush the street in pursuit of the festival candies. As they approach, the ghosts occasionally take control of the adults and force them to stampede towards these pieces of candy too. It can be assured that Grandfathers Seven and Eight will file a report.

The Battle Between Good and Evil

Friday night. Its late - maybe midnight or so, but not yet time for "lights out." Most of the cubes have their "cube lights" on. Im sitting in Cube 10, the dorm officers cube, with some of the other dorm officers. Rashaan, Barnes, Perez, and I are playing "bones." Playing dominoes is the best way to pass the time on a cold, rainy Friday night. Javier is off in the corner smoking a joint while Barnes talks about the pussy hes gonna get tomorrow night.

Perez laughs and he leans over to flip the cassette over in his radio. "It aint like ya gonna get any, you fat, black f---."

The rap music starts to beat its way out of the speakers. Perez, still grinning, looks over at Barnes.

"Relax, homes. I'm just f--- with you."

After a couple minutes, our game is interrupted by a book flying over the dorm lockers that separate the cubes from each other. The book hits the radio. Skillz pops his head over. He has his glasses on.

"Turn that n--- s--- off, he demands.

Perez gets up and struts over to the lockers. He looks up at Skillz. "Who the f--- are you talking to?"

"Im talking to the n---s. Are you a n---? I didnt think, w---." He spits on Perezs face.

Things get really quiet. Perez wrinkles his mouth. Skillz stares at him with this goading, arrogant look.

I'm pissed. A part of me would like to backhand Skillz right upside the mouth. He knows he can get away with what he's doing if Mac comes around. Mac likes Skillz, which isn't surprising. Mac encourages this behavior out of the white guys, because he can bail them out via the Mormon connections he has with the other staff members, especially those in the Standards (disciplinary) department. Skillz looks over at me; I can tell he wants me to say something on his behalf. I know Skillz probably thinks I'm all white like him. Sorry, Whitey, my mom's a Tejana.

Perez just stands there. "You're pushing it, dude. Just back the fuck up, and go on to bed, and maybe well forgot this, OK?"

Perez won't forget this. There were many white boys before Skillz who learned the hard way that Perez didnt play. Perez isnt the kind of guy who'll jump on you right away; he waits for you to have your guard down.

"I cant if those n---s dont shut their f--- radio off."

"OK, man. Whatever. But dont you be crying when it comes time to pay for this s---."

Javier puts out his joint. He swears at Skillz. "Chupame."

This must be the only Spanish Skillz knows, because he replies, "Well, come on, you faggot!"

Javier looks at Skillz for a moment. Most of the other guys wouldn't even begin to talk back to this kind of remark. He gives Skillz the finger and says something like, "?Y que?" This is his official challenge to Skillz.

Skillz looks back at him with a stupid look. He has no idea whats coming down the road for him. It won't happen tonight, but soon. I snicker to myself.
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"Like a thief in the night..."

It's Saturday night, 11:30 p.m., according to my new alarm clock. I sit at my desk, reading a book. I stayed in the dorm tonight because it's raining too hard to go out. The rain didnt stop Rashaan and Barnes, though. They went out earlier to get themselves all high on beer and some "chronic". The guys tell me I should try it sometime.

Barnes and Rashaan come into my room; they have just come back from town. I can smell the beer on them; I'm surprised that none of the R/As said anything, especially Mac. He would do anything to get rid of them.

Rashaan starts whispering to me because my room is directly across the way from the R/As office. Mr. Sands has the office door open. There's laughter between him and Mac. Mac's getting ready to leave for the night.

"Hey, J. We're f--- up the little h--- tonight. Cool?" Rashaan asks.

I feel a rush of excitement. I cant wait to see this punk get what he deserves.

"What time do we do this?" I ask.

"You ain't comin'. You're keeping Mr. Sands busy tonight."

Mr. Sands is old and doesnt hear too well. Not to mention, he sometimes falls asleep in the office.

"You dont trust me, do you?"

"No f--- s---!" Barnes says. "I don't trust you. Rashaan don't trust you. Perez don't trust you. Nobody trusts you. You gotta prove yourself now, man."

I'm a little pissed off by this. I'm thinking I'm not really part of the group like I thought I was. "It's not like I couldn't snitch you guys off when I go into the office," I snip.

Bam! I find my head slammed into the desk. I hear Rashaan's voice in my right ear. He sounds steady, collected. But mean. He keeps my head pinned to the desk.

"Look, you little bitch. Youre ain't gonna snitch on us."

My head hurts. I tell him, "I'm not going to. I think you're being a little paranoid after smoking that s---."

This is just like me to be so stupidly logical in the face of madness.

Barnes tells Rashaan to let go of me. "Look, Ra. He aint that stupid."

He turns to look at me.

"Aint that big of a deal. Yeah. We'll just bitch-smack him real quick and be gone."

He pauses. He studies me for a moment. I think hes having second thoughts about me.

"But youre gonna play, right?

"Yeah, right."

"We're down?"

"Yeah, we're down, Ra."

"Good. Just go into the office around two."

I nod in agreement and repeat, "Around two. Gotcha."

Barnes smacks me on the shoulder. "Smart boy." He and Rashaan leave.
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CHI-4010: Supernatural Literature I

Aside from the religious beliefs of the Chinese regarding ghosts, perhaps the biggest contributing factor to the acceptance of ghosts in Chinese culture is the large number of poems, short stories, "non-fictional," accounts, and large novels dedicated to the supernatural. The earliest examples of this genre surfaced between the third and sixth centuries A.D., after the collapse of the Han Dynasty in 220 A.D. As one writer of modern China, Lu Xun, noted, "When primitive men were puzzled by the ever-changing phenomena of nature, they made stories to explain them." China, in a condition of fractured and fighting states, found its literati turning to these old myths to explain their hectic lives. Since old myths and legends are closely linked to the primitive histories of the ancient Han people, the earliest historical records frequently include these stories as "fact." The Chinese call these "facts" chih-kuai (lit. "records of anomalies"),

Since such stories developed during this "Warring States" period, many ghost stories reveal the peoples hatred of oppression. In some of these stories, the ghosts metaphorically represent the ugly, ruling class. (This view of the rulers might help explain why Chinese hell suspiciously takes on a mandarin-style order.) In other accounts, like those reported by Kan Pao, the ghosts are avenging angels. These ruling-class-vs.-ghosts stories were meant to pass on the moral that if you disturb the balance of the universe, the other side will restore order.
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"...vengeance is mine, says Jehovah."

At two a.m., I go into the office. On the weekends, we're allowed to stay up later if we want. We just have to be quiet, thats all. Lucky for me, Mr. Sands doesnt like to beat that Mormon crap into my head whenever I talk to him. Most of the other Mormon R/As do.

Mr. Sands tells me about the time he went to Egypt after leaving the military. Bulls---ting with him takes up three hours of my time. I don't even hear much of what he tells me. I'm more off on this path of vengeance. It hits me suddenly this isn't what a Jehovahs Witness would do. They;re pacifists. They just sit around waiting for the day Jehovah will take vengeance on those people controlled by Satan - everyone who's not a JW.

But that's not me. I'm Justin. Active man. A nineteen year-old man of the world and nothing can stop me from practicing what I believe in. And right now, I do believe were dealing a blow against Mac and all his little white Klan boys.

Around five in the morning, I tell Sands that I want some sleep before breakfast. He reminds me I have to wake the other guys up at eleven. Rudy, our sergeant-at-arms officer, normally wakes the guys up, but he's down in S--- with his girlfriend in some cheap motel. Lucky bastard. I wished I had a girl like his.

On the way back to my room, I realize I'll be the first to see Rashaan and Barnes handiwork when I turn on the lights. I hope they did a good job. Maybe, Skillz will have pissed his bed.

Normally, a blanket party is seven or eight quick, hard punches and the guys split back over the lockers and into the other cubes. But if you're sleeping and awake to find your sheets being pulled over you and punches are being thrown, its enough to make you throw up or wet the bed.
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Judgment Day

Eleven a.m. I've just come back from breakfast. I throw on the lights and go from room to room yelling, "Eleven o'clock. Time to get up!" As I approach Cube 10 on the east side of the dorm, my heart beats faster. I feel the anticipation. Two more cubes and I'll see how good they hit the punk. I decide to skip Cube 11 across the hall and move straight to Cube 12, Skillzs cube.

I open the door. Quik is already up. He looks at me. Eyes are steeled; theres no color to his face. "I told him knock it off. But that pendejo didn't listen." His voice sounds slow, calm.

Something is wrong - Quik always talks fast.

I look into the room, to my left. There's blood all over the sheets, the pillowcase, the wall. A big, red blob sits on top of the pillow. I finally figure out that the blob is Skillz's head. He's facing right, towards the wall. A big gash runs from his forehead and down past his ear. I think his eye is gone.

I don't even bother with the rest of the cubes. I run for the bathroom. I throw up my breakfast. This wasn't supposed to happen. The guys were just gonna hit him a few times. With their fists. What the hell? There are rules to these blanket parties. Dont hurt the bastard too bad. Knock him around a few times. Just scare him up.

I just sit there in the toilet stall. My eyes point at my breakfast sitting there in the toilet, but I don't see it; it's hard enough trying to figure out why they went so far. I know were s---. All of us. Rashaan, Barnes, Javier, Quik, me. Everybody.

But he knew he had to pay, I try to tell myself. I know I'm desperately looking for an excuse to feel less guilty.

A thought streaks across my mind. Mom's right. You are worldly.

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No one snitches. At least nobody who wants the pain of dorm justice. No one heard anything. Not even a sniffle from Skillz. No one saw anything. Not until the lights had came on.
I had the best alibi, but we all got off just the same.

CHI-4030: Supernatural Literature III

Another fascinating sub-genre of Chinese ghost stories is the ghostly love story. Most of the romances are benevolent in nature. There is no stigma of sin attached to these romances. And unlike the Bibles "Sons of God" who mated with earthly women, Chinese ghost marriages are between earthly men and ghostly women. Marriage to a ghost wife is not very complicated: food, clothing, and shelter are not necessary. Sex is divine. And if religious benefits are what one desires, theres that too. A humans union with a ghost wife is an act symbolizing the transcendent state of harmony between the earthly and heavenly realms that Taoism encourages all to achieve.

Then there is the downside of marriage to a ghost. This kind of marriage generally doesn't last very long. The couple must separate and go back to their respective realms. However, there will be a token remembrance left behind for the human - a child, usually a son, is born to the human father.

Ghostspotting

It's almost eight years to the day of Skillz's beating. I'm back in Denver. Next semester, I will graduate. My life is cloudy. There are student loans I will need to pay off. I have no idea where my fiancee and I will move to after I am done with school. But I enjoy my life. I have my writing.

I am riding the bus home late at night. As soon as I get home, I want nothing better than to sleep. I don't notice somebody from the past boarding the bus. It's Quik. I hear his voice, asking the driver for a transfer. I wonder how he ended up here in Denver. I feel him looking at me. I don't want anything to do with him; I know where the topic will end up.

He says something first.

"Hey, Justin. Long time, no see."

I nod to acknowledge him. I'd hate to make enemies right here on the bus. We talk a little bit. What we're doing now. Guys we knew in Job Corps. Then it gets brought up.

"Did you hear about Skillz?"

"No."

"I saw him last year. That bitch was scared to see me."

I'm scared. I feel this lump forming in my throat.

"Here in Denver?"

"No, back in L.A. Bitch still looks fucked up. One eye and a patch."

"He say anything?"

"No. Guess he thought he'd better kick back and say nothing. He learned what's up."

I'm sure he did. I want to slink off somewhere.

Hey, I remember you kept your f--- mouth shut. Nice job, man. He wants to shake my hand, but I need to get off so I can walk the block to my townhouse.
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American Ghost Story

One week before our wedding in January 1999, my fiancee decided she wanted to tell me some ghost stories she knew from her childhood in China. For her it was a game. Then it came my turn. I don't know what caused me to do it, but I told her about some of my Job Corps ghosts. And I didn't skip the part about Skillz. She gave me a mortified look. It didnt seem like a fun game anymore.

Edited by - dustrabbit on 11 June 2002 10:33:56

Edited by - dustrabbit on 11 June 2002 10:36:0

I will be posting part 2....

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