Occupy IDGAFistan

         Paul accepted his sandwich and surveyed the dining area of the café. The brisk autumn gusts drove everyone inside, leaving few empty seats in sight. He pushed through the crowd and claimed a counter stool with a view of the street. As he set his food on the counter, he glanced at the young woman to his left. Her sandwich sat half-eaten while she scrawled in a spiral bound notebook. She focused on her work without sparing Paul a glance. He sighed and tilted his pageboy hat to obscure his face. Just as he reached for a sandwich half, a stream of orange juice headed for his plate.

         "Sorry about that," the woman muttered as she wiped up the liquid. "Little crowded here."

         Paul looked over and saw her mop of hair lurking close to the juice. "No worries. Here. Let me help."

         He grabbed one of his napkins and finished cleaning his part of the counter. When he finished, he found her writing in the book, which had avoided the spill.

         "What are you writing there?" he asked.

         The woman stopped writing and looked at him. Her eyebrows twitched up when she looked him in the eyes, but she soon schooled her face into a more neutral expression.

         "Modern adaptation of a Shakespeare play," she replied. "The prewrite is kind of a bitch."

         Paul chuckled. "I know that feeling."

         "Take it you write?"

         "Heh. You could say that. I'm Paul, by the way."

         "Merit," the woman replied.

         The two of them shook hands. Merit swigged her remaining juice, allowing Paul a chance to eat some of his sandwich.

         "So what play are you modernizing?" he asked.

         "Midsummer Night's Dream. Can't stand the play, actually, which is why I'm retelling it. Retelling a story you don't like is hard. At the same time, if you really like the source material, you can easily pressure yourself out of writing it. It's a real balancing act."

         "So true. May I?"

         "It's just the character bible. I haven't even started the outline yet."

         "Man, you are serious about this. Now I really want to read it."

         "Sure."

         Merit nudged the opened journal in Paul's direction. They sat in silence as Paul read and Merit finished her lunch. Paul read for a few minutes, grabbing bites of his food all the while. When he looked up, he found Merit peering at him.

         "I don't think the Bard gave this much thought to his characters," he told her. "Somehow, I think your version might be too good."

         At that, Merit flushed. "Flattery will get you nowhere and everywhere. Either way, we won't know anything until that outline is finished."

         "Agreed. I'd like to see it when you're done."

         "Right. So are you new to the area or just looking to eat somewhere different?"

         "Just moved. Take it you're a regular here."

         "I'm here just often enough for the staff to know my face. I change up my order too much for them to pin that down."

         "Right on," Paul mumbled as he passed the journal back to Merit. "Anything I should know about the city?"

         Merit grinned. "You mean besides the winters that separate the men from the boys? Well, regardless of where you live, there's usually a good bar within walking distance."

         "Anything in this neighborhood that you'd recommend?"

         "Nye's is right across the street by Second Avenue. It was named one of the best bars in America by Esquire a few years ago."

         "Good to know."

         With that, Merit grabbed the journal and tucked it into her bag. She stood up and pulled on a black down vest.

         "Where are you going?" Paul asked.

         "Shopping and then home," Merit replied. "My husband and I are visiting the in-laws tonight, and I need to get back soon so he and I get there on time."

         Paul frowned and poked at his sandwich. "Alright. See you around?"

         "Maybe."

         Merit slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out of the café, leaving the older man alone to contemplate his half-eaten lunch.

         Paul took the time to explore the part of Minneapolis he chose to call home. While his hats kept him from being recognized, he ended up visiting the nearby grocery store so he ate somewhere besides all of the restaurants in the immediate area. He did walk around town during the week and bought an outfit for the daughter he expected to see six months in the future. After shipping the gift to his ex-wife, Paul found himself wandering over to Nye's. He was on his second Manhattan when a whistle of wind drew his attention to the entrance. Turning around, he saw a young couple enter the bar. The woman's chaotic tresses struck him as familiar, and he soon realized who it was. He slid off the stool and made his way to the hostess station.

         "I thought that was you," he said.

         "Oh, hey," Merit said. "Let me introduce you to my husband, Scott."

         Paul blinked. "Oh, yes. Pleasure to meet you, Scott."

         "Nice to meet you as well," Scott replied.

         The two men shook hands, and Paul found Scott's firm but not crushing handshake to be welcoming. Merit smiled and directed their attention when the hostess arrived. Paul agreed to join them once Scott gave his approval for a table for three. After being seated toward the back, they pondered the menu. No one said much until they placed their orders. Merit glanced between the two men, who seemed a little hesitant to talk despite a calm introduction.

         "So what brings you to Nye's?" Merit asked Paul.

         "A celebratory drink," he replied. "I'm celebrating the fact that I won't see my daughter until spring."

         "Don't celebrate too much, or the authorities might not let you see her at all."

         "Point well taken."

         "Why won't you see your daughter?" Scott chimed in.

         Paul polished off his drink. "Most dysfunctional custody agreement this side of the Atlantic. My ex sleeps with another woman for almost two years, and the other woman even tries to adopt my daughter before the divorce. Even so, the ex got nearly full custody. I still get to see my daughter, but despite the fact that I do work consistently, the courts ruled against me. Biased laws."

         "Yeah," Merit said. "I've always found the female parenting bias kind of absurd. In my family, my father isn't the alcoholic who might be bipolar. He has the good credit rating and more stable work ethic. If my mom projected the right image, though, I'd have been stuck with her."

         "I know. I never laid a hand on either my wife or daughter and even took a lot of time off during my daughter's first year so my ex could work."

         "Evidently it doesn't matter what you do. If you're a father, you're legally fucked."

         Their server set a plate of fried pierogies on the table. Scott reached out for one before putting three on his plate. Merit followed suit.

         "But it does sound like you will get to see her at least some of the time," Scott added. "So why not stay back in England?"

         "Not a good place for me right now," Paul said. "The press followed me wherever I stayed when I got kicked out of my own house."

         "I suppose."

         The server brought a loaf of bread and a relish tray. Merit cleared her throat.

         "How 'bout it?" she asked. "Let's break bread together?"

         Paul and Scott nodded before they tore pieces from the loaf. Merit looked at Paul when their hands brushed, and a blush crept up his face as he nibbled on his piece. Looking at Scott, he sighed when he noticed that his new acquaintance was too entranced by the food to notice what had happened.

         "So I was walking in downtown on Friday," Scott said after a moment. "There were a few dozen people at Government Plaza."

         "Occupy Minnesota," Paul clarified. "I heard about it while at the post office."

         "That's what that was," Merit mumbled. "I was wondering about the racket I saw on the train. I rolled by it, saw the signs and kept my ass on that train."

         Scott rubbed his wife's shoulder. "Easy, Merit."

         "What?"

         "Don't think I missed your eye twitch there."

         Paul cocked his head at Merit, who rung her hands and stared at her water glass hard enough to want to crack the glass. Scott continued to soothe her and ignored the server setting their entrees on the table. Merit glanced at Scott before letting her shoulders fall.

         "Sorry. I just don't support them."

         "Why not?" Paul asked.

         "Well, if it's anything like Occupy Wall Street, it's a bunch of hypocrites angling for some media coverage of their so-called cyber revolution. They have social media nooks, for Chrissakes!"

         "Go on."

         Merit grabbed her knife and cut into her prime rib. "They're protesting unfair tax cuts using some of the most expensive media equipment available on the mass market. iPhones and iPads are out of my price range unless I want to sacrifice another leisure good."

         "When you put it that way, it does seem a little odd. Still, the people up here don't seem to be doing any harm."

         "Give 'em time. They just started."

         The trio focused on their food. Merit's face softened as she chewed her meat. Paul shot surreptitious glances her way when he wasn't demolishing his macadamia-encrusted chicken. She leaned close to her husband but stayed silent. For his part, Scott focused on his sausage and sauerkraut dish.

         After splitting a mixed berry pastry, the three of them stepped outside. Paul put his hood up as they approached the crosswalk. While they waited to cross, Merit glanced at a nearby street light. She sauntered over and ripped a sheet of paper taped to the metal. Paul and Scott could only watch as she peeled the clear tape to get the rest of the paper. She rejoined them just as signal for them to cross appeared.

         "Occupy Minnesota poster," she mumbled as she shred the sheet.

         Scott waited until they had crossed the street to shoot Paul a concerned look. Paul nodded before coaxing Merit to surrender the pieces in her hands. He urged the couple to keep walking while he dumped the pieces in a garbage can.

         After that, Paul decided to work on a script that had been lurking in his mind for years. He spent a few hours playing a digital index card program that allowed him to rearrange plot points and began to see the climax as a public rally of sorts. This reminded him of when he had dinner with Scott and Merit. Between Merit's reaction at the poster and the virtual cards staring at him, Paul decided to investigate the local occupation. He walked over at different times of the day when he decided to take a break from his latest script project. During his visits, he saw hordes of people mingling in the area. Some chanted in the direction of the county offices while others engaged passers-by on the northern side of the plaza. A medic station to the west bookended the portable toilets to the east. Paul hung back to avoid the crowds. Instead, he counted the number of protesters with smartphones and media personnel in the area. After his observation, Paul felt he had a decent grasp of the situation. He invited Merit over that Saturday, offering her a chance to show her some screenwriting tips.

         When Merit arrived, she wasted no time in cracking open her now complete character bible. Paul got her a drink as she set up her materials on the coffee table. When he returned to the living room, he found a copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream and a skeleton outline next to the journal. He set two coasters out before settling in a chair facing his friend.

         "Victorian lemonade?" she asked. "Excellent choice."

         "Take it you've had this before," Paul replied.

         "Oh yeah. Scott's not crazy about it, which is surprising given that his favorite kinds of food and drink are edible and safe for human consumption."

         Paul burst out laughing as he twisted the cap off his bottle. "Well, at least you don't have to worry about him drinking it."

         "That or my beer."

         "Heh. So what do we have?"

         "Well, I finally finished that damn character bible I was working on when we first met. Since then, I dug up my skeleton outline where I modernized the basic plot points and started a more detailed treatment. That is going to drive me up the wall."

         "Treatments can do that to a person. Mind if I take a look?"

         "Knock yourself out."

         For the next two hours, the two of them concentrated on Merit's step treatment. Paul decided early on to take on the actual writing duties and draw information out of Merit. To his surprise, she surrendered the writing material with no quibbling and curled up on the couch. Paul scrawled notes in shorthand as he struggled to keep up with her rapid jumps and shifts in thoughts. When he looked up, he saw an empty bottle perched in her lap.

         "Want another?" he asked.

         "Actually, I'll have water."

         "Sure thing."

         Paul stood up, and Merit extended the empty in his direction. He stepped over to the kitchen and stopped at the sink.

         "You actually had a pretty decent start on the treatment," he told her while rinsing out the bottle. "Why aren't you doing this for a living?"

         "Too unstable," Merit answered. "I prefer analytics because you cobble seemingly unlike data to figure out what people are buying. It's creative thinking merged with the convenience of nine to five."

         Paul chuckled and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. "I've never been that good with numbers, and I think looking at statistics all day would wear me down after a while."

         "Yeah, sifting through the raw data can be dull," she admitted. "Sometimes my dreams take place entirely in spreadsheets."

         "Wow. Sounds like you need a vacation."

         With that, Paul returned and set a full water glass on the table. Merit flashed him an appreciative smile before taking a gulp.

         "My boss does keep mentioning that I'm on the verge of losing my floating holidays," Merit continued. "I could take a day or two off, go talk some sense into the protesters who insists on broadcasting their democracy-deluded shenanigans from their iPhones."

         "You're really stuck on that point."

         "Eh. The more I think about it, the more I realize there are other things about it that bug me. Aren't liberals supposed to be creative types?"

         Paul shrugged. "I'm not sure about here. They mostly are on the west coast."

         "But you know what I mean, right?"

         "Yeah."

         "Okay, then. Why are they using protest tactics that are entirely too predictable? Come one, creative people! Surprise us! Show us something new."

         At that, Paul nodded. He swigged some lemonade and picked up a pen.

         "If only I could tell them that to their faces," she mumbled, drawing Paul's attention away from the treatment.

         "What do you mean?" he asked.

         Merit shifted and frowned. "Anytime I mention counter-protesting, Scott gives me wary looks without actually voicing his disapproval. He damn near twitches when I start thinking out loud about how I'd like to go out there donning Vulcan ears and pointing out logical flaws with the protest."

         "Ha! That's kind of funny. Really, really geeky but kind of funny. Wait, you're serious."

         "About pointing out the flaws to the protesters, yeah. Don't think I could score some ears in my skin tone on short notice. The protest would be over before they arrived in the mail."

         "You think it's going to end soon?"

         Merit leaned to grab a piece of paper and another pen. Paul leaned back and watched her sketch something. They way she sat to reach the table provided a square on view of her bosom, and he found himself scrambling for cover. He just placed the treatment in his lap when Merit looked up from her work. She arched her eyebrows at him before swiveling the sheet of paper to face him.

         "One of the things I learned from the social media analysts at my firm is that the window of influence for Facebook and Twitter-originating events is short," she stated. "There is very little time to make things counts, let alone make a difference."

         Paul watched as Merit pointed to a crude Facebook logo on the page.

         "Here's a timeline for the ousting of Mubarak," she continued. "The protests were organized via Facebook over the course of five days. The initial gathering occurred on January 25. More people joined as word spread first through Facebook then by other outlets. By February 11, Mubarak stepped down. The current situation in that country notwithstanding, this case of social media leading to social change was a success for certain reasons."

         "What are those?" Paul asked.

         Merit poked the pen at a bulleted list. "Organizers used Facebook to gather people for a movement that had some substance prior to hitting the streets. Though many ideas were floated around, they all unified under a singular goal: ousting Mubarak. Studies show Facebook has the widest diversity of the all the major social media networks in terms of types of users, so the movement could attract people with longer attention spans."

         "So where does the timeframe come in?"

         "February 21st," Merit replied while circling a number. "The goal as well as international recognition of the change of power was achieved in less than a month. Along with that, the pathway to this moment was very organized and consolidated even with it being on a multicity scale. Still, when the major news outlets started carrying the story, Facebook use for any event-related coverage from other countries or even Egypt itself started to decline. Had the goal not been stated at the very beginning, Egypt would be in a similar boat to Greece or even us."

         When Merit flipped the paper over, Paul spotted another flowchart. The new chart sprawled like a spider web across then page. All of the lines spread from a bird with too-pointy wings, and a dozen names of American cities dotted various points on the chart. Squinting, he spotted the number of protesters in each city and hashtag use crammed into the margins.

         "You might need a white board for this one," Paul mused.

         "Erm, sorry about that. The amount of data I have would require more room. What you see here is just what I gather working in competitive intelligence, as I do wade through Twitter and Facebook for business environment information. The social media gurus are drowning in hashtag figures right now."

         "I can imagine."

         "And what I have is more than enough to show the occupation fanatics that what they have isn't enough to get people on their side."

         "Do you want me to come with you?"

         Merit started. "What?"

         "To the local protests. If you really want to call them out, I'll tag along for support. I've yet see anyone in this country take on two opposing sides at once."

         "Are you sure?"

         Paul gulped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

         "I suppose. You might want to shave or bleach your hair or something, though. That is, unless you really want to announce your presence or don the Unabomber look."

         "True. When were you thinking of going?"

         "Sometime this week," Merit replied. "Think I can sneak out of work on Tuesday or Wednesday."

         "I should be able to come up with something by then."

         A few days later, Paul stood in front of the mirror and chuckled at his blue hair. He lucked out in finding a good spray-on color, even if he received a weird look from the cashier. The dye did clash with his reddish mustache and beard, and he decided to shave it off. Paul frowned at the electric razor before grabbing it from the charging dock. His beard sat in the sink after a couple minutes, and he positioned the razor near his top lip when someone knocked on the door.

         "Just a minute!" he yelled.

         Setting the razor on the counter, he dashed down the stairs and answered the door. Merit stood on the front stoop with a green bag in her hands and flashed Paul an amused grin.

         "Aiming to hide your age as well as your identity?" she quipped.

         "Less work than bleaching it."

         "Point, but I'm surprised that you're willing to dye your hair such a vibrant shade when you're already in your forties."

         "Touché. Come in."

         Paul stepped aside to let Merit into the house. Once he closed the door, he still found his friend giving him strange looks. He peered at her, and she succumbed to a giggling fit.

         "What?" Paul asked.

         "Go shave that shit off your lip," Merit fired back.

         "I was working on that when you knocked."

         "Don't let me stop you. I can wait."

         Paul smirked while flipping her the bird. He bounded back up the stairs and slid into the bathroom. After adding his rather impressive mustache to the sink, he gave his face a once-over. He ran the razor over a couple spots before dabbing on a small amount of aftershave. When he returned to the living room, he saw Merit checking her phone.

         "Ready?"

         "Almost. Just verifying when the bus gets here. Looks like it'll be a couple minutes early."

         "Right on."

         At that, Merit turned off her phone and tucked it into her bag. She looked up, and her eyes bugged out.

         "Holy shit, Paul. You look barely legal."

         "Think the cops will arrest you for having me in your company?"

         "I said barely legal, not 16. To be fair, I wouldn't sell you a pint."

         "Neither would I."

         With that, they gathered their jackets and bags before stepping out the door.

         A quiet bus ride brought Paul and Merit into downtown. Once they disembarked near the light rail line, they walked the remaining blocks to Government Plaza. A couple teens shot Paul curious looks, but many of the people on the street walked by in pursuit of lunch. Inching closer to the plaza, they found more sunlight penetrating the area. Employees from the buildings closest to the rally stood behind aluminum gates during their cigarette breaks. A couple TV camera vans idled by city hall. Merit exhaled out her nose loud enough to catch Paul's attention.

         "Need a minute?" he asked.

         Merit shook her head. "Let's do this."

         The pair crossed the street to reach Government Plaza. The protesters butted up to the station shelters, so Paul and Merit walked closer to the tracks.

         "Kind of crowded today."

         Merit stopped and glanced at Paul. "Was that you?"

         "Yeah," Paul replied. "I just realized my accent could be a problem."

         "Good thinking, and nice work. I had no idea it was you at first."

         They walked a little further before stopping to assess the crowd. Merit unzipped her bag then removed a camera body and zoom lens. After inspecting the sensor, she secured the lens to the body and powered up the device. Paul looked on as she fired off a few shots and adjusted the settings. They stayed on the outskirts while Merit continued to take pictures. When she took a break, Paul leaned closer.

         "What are you doing?" he asked.

         "Blending in, playing tourist, suggesting that I'm not here to troll the shit out of the new order of sycophants — take your pick. You ready to dive into this madness?"

         "Are you?"

         Merit turned the camera on Paul and pressed the shutter. "Now I am."

         The two of them ventured further into the plaza, their footsteps smudging an American flag chalked onto the brick pavers. As they approached the inactive fountain at the center of the plaza, a couple men accosted them. Paul spotted smartphones in their hands.

         "Good morning," one of them said. "First time joining us?"

         "Just checking this out," Paul replied. "I haven't really had time to come down here."

         "Why's that?" the other man asked.

         "Work," Merit chipped in.

         "And what do you do for a living?"

         "Analyze Twitter hashtags, see what's trending where. The data I received yesterday, for example, showed the use of the OWS tag dipped by two percent over a five day period."

         The first man shrugged. "That's not much."

         "True, but when you see that the number of Tweets tagged 'occupy who cares' jumped nearly 320 percent in the same period, there's cause for concern. Combine that with the movement not getting much traction on Facebook, and the cause starts to lose ground that is very difficult to regain."

         The man who spoke to Merit turned to Paul. "Does she talk about this crap in bed?"

         Paul flushed and shook his head. "I don't know because I'm not sleeping with her."

         "I can see why."

         "Oh, come on. She's a friend of mine. We met at a writer's group."

         "Right. So has work kept you from coming out here as well?"

         "That and visiting with my family. My mom's health has been shaky lately, so I've been trying to help as much as I an."

         "Good man."

         "Do you believe what your friend is spewing?" the first man piped up.

         Paul shrugged. "I don't get to see the data she does, but given that she works at a large analytics firm, I'd say she has a lot of backup for her conclusions."

         "You should ask her for that data. It could actually show that more Americans agree with us."

         "Maybe. Well, I should rejoin her. She seems to have found something interesting.

         Paul turned on his heel and joined Merit at the fountain. She knelt near the edge of one of the fountain's shallow wells, photographing slogans scrawled with red chalk. A few people gathered around a table nearby watched her. Some even used their phones to photograph the photographer.

         "The world is disgustingly stimulated," Paul read aloud.

         "Loaded, isn't it?" Merit replied without looking up. "Who uses chalk on unsealed granite, anyway?"

         "Evidently this group."

         "Very true."

         Merit grabbed her bag and stood up. A breeze twirled a couple of her chocolate locks, drawing a smile from Paul.

         "What do you think?" he asked her.

         "Well, it's a peaceable assembly right now, but the graffiti is usually a bad omen for these sorts of things. At best, any credibility this movement might have had can get kissed goodbye. At worst, things could turn violent."

         "You know, those guys that came up to us didn't believe you and think the data will show support for this."

         "Right. Can't decide if that's hubris or delusion. Either way, it's good mirroring of the enemy."

         "I'll go along with that."

         They continued to orbit the plaza, although Paul did much of the talking. Merit snapped countless photos and snickered at the line for the toilets. After three discussions involving Merit sharing hashtag figures, Paul pulled up his iPhone and searched Twitter. He punched in a few hashtags that he suspected would be used for the local occupation. Caught up in his research, Paul failed to notice that he was alone. The screech of a bullhorn caught his attention, and he discovered Merit standing on a platform where the steps to the county offices converged.

         "Ahem. Good afternoon, everyone!" Merit greeted the crowd. "Looks like we're all enjoying this unusually warm autumn day in Minnesota. I just wanted to draw your attention to a research blog run by StatCloud, a non-profit social science research organization. It's called Occupy the Fad, and you can get links to all the data available on social figures and Occupy Wall Street coverage. From what they're seeing, nostalgic tactics are boring Middle America. So check it out! Go to StatCloud dot org forward slash PTF. You can also download iPhone apps from the site. Have fun!"

         Paul's jaw dropped as Merit hurried down the stairs. He saw a couple police officers clap as she made her way down to the plaza itself. By the time she was off the stairs, Paul spotted two dozen people working on various mobile devices.

         "That was fun!" Merit chirped.

         "I doubt they like you very much around here," Paul cautioned. "We should probably go."

         "But shooting fish in a barrel is great. I want to be here when they realize I'm right."

         "Better not risk it. There's a woman glaring at you. Let's go."

         Grasping her shoulder, Paul guided Merit out of the plaza. They stared straight ahead as they headed for the Mississippi River. Merit managed to make it three blocks before laughing.

         "What's so funny?" Paul asked.

         "The protesters," she told him. "I think I'd see fewer knee jerk reactions at a Tea Party rally. And that graffiti, just, wow. Cannot take anyone seriously when that starts cropping up."

         Paul nodded. "I know. Say, do you want to get lunch and working off your giddiness?"

         "Sure. Wilde Roast is just across the river. We can walk."

         "Whatever you'd like."

         Merit lead Paul to an old railroad bridge converted for bike and pedestrian use. Despite the sunny skies, only a couple other people traversed the path. Paul strolled along while listening to his companion ramble about her grandmother-in-law crossing the bridge and leaving the rest of her group in the dust while visiting a few years back. Merit's hand gestures and the glint in her eye kept diverting his attention. A fingertip traced his chin, forcing him to focus on her voice.

         "I rather like you like this," Merit told him, "even if having a beard makes you look closer to legal."

         Paul shivered as Merit pulled away. Shaking his head, he followed her to the restaurant.

         Merit sent Paul an email a few days later with pictures from their visit to the occupation and a note stating she succeeded in getting time off from work. He saved the snapshot of his blue hairdo before reading her plea to go to New York with her because Scott refused to accompany her. Paul made hotel reservations before even letting Merit know his answer. When he did let her know, she mentioned wanting to take a road trip. The two of them agreed to driving in shifts using Paul's larger sedan, which is how Paul found himself in Wisconsin during the heart of autumn. The drive reminded him of a road trip film he completed a couple years ago, and he grinned when Merit brought up during the first leg of their trip. At some point, Merit hooked her iPod up to the stereo and switched on a playlist.

         "Ah, the quintessential road trip song," she sighed as an acoustic guitar riff filled the car.

         "Road trip?" Paul asked. "You know, stupid as it sounds, this song was playing the first time I had sex."

         "Seriously? That's rich. I was expecting something geekier from you."

         "Like what?"

         Merit shrugged. "I don't know, but after I lost my virginity, my boyfriend and I watched the first Lord of the Rings movie."

         "Ha! Now THAT'S rich!"

         After driving straight through Wisconsin, Paul and Merit stopped for lunch in Illinois. They plotted the rest of the route and stops while devouring creamy pasta dishes and berry lemonades. Paul agreed to getting them through Chicago before letting Merit take over the driving duties. When they hit the road again, the sky hovered high in the southern sky.

         After several hours on the road and begging off for a chance to remove his contacts, Paul curled up in the backseat for much of the night. The first thing he noticed upon waking up was that Merit stopped the car. After grabbing his glasses to remedy the multicolored blur he saw, he found Merit staring out the windshield while propping her feet up on the dashboard.

         "Sleep well?" she asked without turning around.

         Paul grimaced as he stretched his neck. "About as well as I could in the backseat of a car."

         "Heh. Well, we're almost to the Pennsylvania border, and I'm fighting to stay awake. Mind taking over after breakfast?"

         "Not at all. Where are we?"

         "Outside of a good place for breakfast. It opens in five minutes or so."

         "Alright." We might as well head over and eat inside. That will give you a chance to put your contacts back in before we hit the highway again."

         "True."

         After several minutes, Paul and Merit got out of the car. Paul walked in first, his eyebrows furrowing as he scoped out the cow décor. He spotted a small table with children's books near the counter, titles of Christian origin crisscrossing the covers. Perplexed, he turned to face his companion.

         "I grew up on this stuff," she explained. "The food is good enough for me to overlook the faith aspect."

         "Fair enough," Paul replied before focusing on the menu.

         To Paul's surprise, the chicken biscuit sated his appetite. After finishing his breakfast, he nursed his coffee and watched Merit dunk her hash brown rounds in buffalo sauce. He waited until she was finished before going to put in his contacts. Upon return, he found Merit leaning against a window.

         "Ready to hit the road?" he asked.

         "Dibs on the backseat."

         Paul laughed. "Try not to fall asleep standing up."

         "I'll try."

         Merit feel asleep the instant she got into the backseat, so Paul fished for ways to keep the drive from getting too quiet. He found Merit's iPod on the passenger's seat and plugged it back into the speakers. After perusing the playlists, he decided to play all the songs on shuffle as he drove. He muffled his laughter at her selection of parodies and pop songs she swore not having in her collection. Sampling her unexpected collection kept Paul entertained until they reached an exit for State College. Feeling puckish, he stopped at a drive through. The smell of French fries woke Merit from her slumber, and she reached over to grab some food from the bag resting in the passenger's seat.

         "Did you want to take over as we approach New Jersey?" Paul asked her.

         "I don't see why not," she replied, "and as much as I want to drive though the Big Apple, now's not the time. I'm on a mission."

         "Indeed, you are."

         A few hours passed before Paul pulled into a gas station. He set the nozzle to autofill and watched Merit work out the tension buildup from her time being curled up in the backseat. Her pyramid pose gave him an opportunity to scope out her lean figure. The click of the nozzle shutting off forced him to look away, which allowed Merit to sneak up on him.

         "¿Llaves?" she asked.

         Paul fished the keys out of his pocket and set them in her outstretched palm. They got back in the car, Paul perching in the passenger seat as Merit slid the key in the ignition. Rolling away from the gas station, they beelined for the border to arrive in Newark before dark.

         Merit brought the car up to the covered entrance of the hotel. Keeping the engine running, she stayed under the canopy while Paul stepped into the lobby. He walked up to the desk and leaned against the stone counter.

         "Hello, reservation under the last name Beckingham," he muttered.

         The woman at the desk smiled. "Sure thing. One moment."

         Paul stared at the wall behind her while waiting for her to provide the room information. A yawn slipped from his mouth just as she pulled up his reservation.

         "Looks like you'll be enjoying your king bed right away," the woman quipped.

         "What?"

         "We have you down for a single bed for two nights."

         At that, Paul shook his head and handed over the printed reservation paperwork. "I registered for a double that I'm sharing with a friend.

         The woman accepted the copies and read the information. After calling her manager, she upgraded the room and reduced the price quoted on Paul's reservation. Paul thanked them before wandering back to the car. Upon arrival, he found Merit leaning back with her eyes closed, a small smile on her face. She  faced him when he flopped into the passenger seat.

         "Everything okay?" she asked.

         Paul shook himself. "Our reservation got fucked up in their system. They put us in a single room and only upgraded us to a suite when I showed my receipt."

         "Ouch."

         "There should be a couch, so I can sleep there."

         "Don't be ridiculous, Paul. I'm smaller. I'll take the couch."

         Merit put the car in drive and headed for the parking area. From there, the trek to the room was made in silence. They carried their own bags and maintained some distance as they walked over to the elevators. With no one else in the car that opened for them, Paul and Merit looked at each other. Despite having driven less, Paul leaned against the elevator wall and glanced at Merit, who still stood straight. The chime heralded the arrival at their flood, and Paul pushed himself to finish the walk to their room.

         "Wake up, Paul," Merit urged him. "We're almost there."

         The suite and the sofa were smaller than expected. The rest of the room invited them in with cream comforters and earth toned accents. A bowl of fruit sat in the middle of the coffee table by the couch. Paul walked toward the sleeping area first and set his bags on the floor.

         "Now what?" he muttered.

         "Well, we could either sleep in shifts or suck it up and share the bed," Merit suggested. "Neither solution is ideal, but someone taking the couch would probably be even more painful. Hell, the backseat had more room."

         Paul chuckled before flopping onto the bed. Merit tossed her bags on the couch and ventured over to the sleeping area. She grinned while looking in the general direction of his abs. Her eyes flicked up to his face, and he cocked his head at her.

         "From what I can see, you appear to be a natural strawberry blonde," she quipped.

         Paul's mouth sagged a little before he caught the joke. Heat flooded his face as an embarrassed laughed slipped out of him. Merit perched at the foot of the bed next to his knees.

         "In all seriousness, want to get some food?" she continued. "I'm starving."

         Paul tilted his head up. "There's a Chipotle not too far out. I could place the order online."

         "Sounds like your mind is made up. I can get it and let you rest. You look like you need it way more than I do."

         "Alright. Would you get my phone for me? It's in my duffel."

         Merit slapped Paul's thigh. "Get it yourself. I'm not your slave."

         Paul shook his head but leaned over to fish the phone out of his bag. As he waited for his phone to power up, he watched Merit as she made her way to the bathroom.

         After placing his order and throwing together a surprise combination for Merit, Paul lay on the bed. He heard Merit mention picking up the food seconds before his eyes fell shut. A nudge made him open his eyes, and he found his friend hovering over him, her hand near the top of his head.

         "Food," she announced.

         The news made Paul sit up. "How long were you gone?"

         "Half hour or so. Need some more time to nap?"

         Paul shook his head. "I'm good. Maybe I'll get ready for bed after dinner."

         "So we're sleeping in shifts?"

         "Um...we never decided that, did we?"

         "No, we didn't. I'd rather share a bed, but that's just me."

         "I don't know, Merit. Are you sure you want to do that?"

         Merit leaned even closer, giving Paul an unparalleled view. "Why wouldn't I be?  Now get up before your food freezes."

         She grabbed Paul's hands and pulled him off the bed. They made their way to the couch, and Paul saw two bottles of peach-orange juice next to the fruit bowl. Merit moved her bags as Paul wrested the burritos from the bag placed next to the juice. They settled on the couch and dug into their meals. At one point, Paul looked up and found Merit licking salsa off her finger. He gaped as she examined her shirt before heading into the bathroom. Paul managed to finish his burrito by the time she emerged. Otherwise, he would have choked at the sight of her walking around in jeans and a dark blue gingham bra.

         "Should have thought to grab the other shirt before walking in there," she mumbled to herself.

         "Why didn't you?" Paul asked.

         Merit stopped and shot him an incredulous look. "Like you're that upset with the view. Or the view from behind. I know you were scoping out my backside earlier."

         Paul colored and took a sip of his juice. "Scott would kill me if he saw me do that."

         "Yeah, but is Scott here? No. Look, Paul, maybe we should just own up to the fact that we're hot for each other, get it out of our systems."

         "Merit?"

         She strode over to the couch and straddled Paul's lap, which took some effort given how far Paul had spread his legs. Merit positioned herself just below the fly of his jeans and looked at him while rubbing the thigh she'd slapped earlier.

         "Thigh feeling better?" she asked.

         "Thigh's fine," Paul gasped. "It aches elsewhere."

         "I see. We could take care of that, and then you'd sleep like a rock while we share a bed. Come on. It'll be the most restful sleep either one of us has had in days."

         Paul blinked as Merit braced him, pressing her thumbs into his deltoids.

         "Are you okay with this?" he asked.

         "Paul, if I wasn't, would I be straddling your lap mere millimeters away from your cock?"

         "And you break out the metric measurements."

         "That's how I roll."

         Merit scooted up and pressed her lips to Paul's. It took a few kisses before he opened his mouth, and he slid a hand across Merit's back as her tongue slid against his. Just as quick as she advanced, Merit retreated and stood.

         "You know where to find me if you want more," she told him before walking over to the bed.

         Paul watched her walk away and weighed his options. Swallowing, he looked down at his too tight jeans. He pushed himself off the couch and headed over to the sleeping area. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he felt nimble fingers keep the fabric in place, thwarting his efforts. Merit shoved him onto the mattress, and Paul smiled at her. Perched in his lap, she slipped his shirt off with feather-light movements. She pressed against him and laid into another kiss. This time, he returned it straight away and pulled her closer. Their tongues danced, but Paul felt something too cool against his back. Still kissing Merit, he flipped her on her back and pulled away.

         "What?" Merit whimpered.

         Paul grabbed her left hand and brought it to his lips. Splaying her fingers, he sucked on each tip before sliding his lips down on her ring finger. He pressed his lips around the side of the diamond band she wore before pulling back up. Now sitting, he popped the ring out of his mouth and set it on the nightstand.

         "That's better," he murmured. "Now where were we?"

         Merit grinned and shoved him onto his back. "Here."

         She leaned down to lick his neck. Paul groaned as she sucked on his Adam's apple.

         "Fucking cock tease."

         "But it's no fun if you get what you want right away. You're going to have to work for it."

         She nipped his earlobe, prompting him to clutch her back. His fingertips rested near the bra, begging him to unlatch it despite Merit's attentions. When she kissed him again, Paul calmed his fingers long enough to unlatch the hooks. He slid his hands to her shoulders and eased the straps down. Merit lifted herself up far enough to let Paul remove her bra without breaking the kiss.

         "How long did it take you to figure that out?" she asked after giving him a peck on his chin.

         Paul cupped her mounds and rubbed one of her nipples. "Two years, mostly to practice calming myself down."

         Merit rocked her hips against him, eliciting a guttural moan.

         "You're not calm," she whispered.

         That encouraged Paul to rub the other nipple and give it a quick pinch. Merit's sigh made him hope the room had top quality soundproofing.

         "Neither are you."

         Paul gripped her shoulders, and she leaned down to give him more access. He licked and sucked one of the nubs. Pulling back, Paul marveled at his work before pressing his lips against the other nipple. Her gasps and sporadic hip rolls went straight to his groin, but he held back. In the end, Merit put an end to the suckling. She sat up, her breaths creating an erratic rhythm.

         "Everything alright?" he asked as he traced a finger along her stomach.

         "Fuck yeah," she panted, "but I damn near forgot something."

         For a moment, they just stared at each other. Paul gazed upon Merit's wide-blown pupils and flushed face. Smiling, his eyes ventured to her breasts, her nipples erect and red from his attention. He ran his hands along her sides until she got off the bed. Looking toward the couch, he watched her rummage in a bag. Without her on top of him, Paul frowned as his attention came back his own body, his muscles swaying between relaxed and rigid.

         Merit wasted no time returning to the bed. She set a few things on the nightstand before giving him a once over. Kneeling near his hips, she undid the top button of his jeans with the flick of her thumb.  Paul sat up just in time to see Merit bite on the zipper tab. She dragged the movement out for a while and even gave Paul an evil smile halfway through. Once done, she tugged at the offending garment until it fell to the floor.

         "Thought you made me want to work for it," he muttered, his breath hitching as Merit mouthed him through his boxers.

         "I do," she replied, "but I felt you deserved a little bit of a break."

         "Heh. Come here?"

         Merit held up a finger as she wrapped her lips around his head. Paul gasped as she flicked her tongue against his slit. She then slithered her way back up to lay another kiss into him. With one hand in her abundant tresses, he rolled her onto her back before kissing his way down to her hips. Paul made quick work of removing her jeans and pondered the sight before him. Merit lay on top of the comforter wearing nothing save a pair of knickers in the same color as her bra. Her hair splayed out over the pillows, and her lips parted as she caught her breath. Paul fingered the elastic of her knickers before deciding they had to go. Merit thrust her hips up a little as he pulled the fabric away to get a better view of the goods. He rubbed himself when he caught a glimpse of her narrow strip of hair.

         "You really are fucking gorgeous," he gasped.

         "Yeah, well-mm-it's the only way to-oh-deal with unruly pubes."

         Paul chuckled as he continued massaging her lower lips. Placing one hand on her hip and using the other to nudge Merit's legs a little further apart, he lapped at her hood before licking a stripe from the bottom up. Merit's moan went straight to his cock, but he kept licking to distract himself from the wetness he felt on his glans.  A bit of salt hit his tongue, prompting him to smile against her. Kissing between her legs, Paul scooted up and rested his head on Merit's chest. He tweaked a softening nipple, provoking a content sigh from his new lover.

         "I promise I'm not done," he told her.

         Merit palmed her way down to his boxers. "Better not be. Wouldn't have wanted to buy the supplies for nothing."

         That drew Paul's attention to the nightstand as Merit got started on removing his boxers. While not surprised to see the wrapped prophylactics, he raised his eyebrows at the bottle of lube perched next to the alarm clock. He eased himself down far enough to slip a finger in her. Crooking the tip, he found the ridge and gave it a few rubs. The sudden slickness on his hand told him all he needed to know.

         "Still making me work for it?" he asked.

         Merit grabbed a condom from the nightstand and handed it to Paul. "Make them hear me in Times Square, you fucker."

         "Challenge accepted."

         Paul tried to tear the wrapper, but it fell out of his hand. Merit picked it back up and opened it for him. She unrolled it onto him, and Paul watched her work to keep her nails away from the latex. He rubbed her hair as she applied a little pressure to his shaft while unrolling. Found himself on his back again, he watch Merit climb over him.

         "I see you're still enjoying the view," she muttered.

         "Damn right I am," was all Paul said before Merit mounted him in one swift motion.

         Despite the layer between them, Paul smiled as Merit had him inside her. She rocked in a too subtle pattern for his liking, but she smacked his hands when he braced them to move her a little more.  Undeterred, he snaked his hands up her sides as he thrust into her. Her sigh segued into a moan when he reached her mounds, and she moved a little faster. He gave her a couple more thrusts, which was all she needed. Her shout set him off, and he was glad she took precautions. After pulling away, Merit rested on Paul's chest and pressed a couple tired kisses to his neck. Smiling, Paul rubbed her hair before heading over to the bathroom.

         When Paul came back from cleaning himself up, he found Merit half under the covers in the middle of the bed. He lifted the comforter, and Merit scooted over to give him some room. Paul placed a chaste kiss on her cheek as she drifted off to sleep.

         "Night, Paul," she murmured.

         "Night, Merit," he whispered. "I love you."

         When he realized that Merit had fallen asleep, he flicked off the light and rested his head on the pillow she was using.

         Paul woke up the next morning to find himself alone in bed. He frowned until he heard water running in the bathroom. Sitting up, he groaned at the itching in his left eye. He trudged out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom sink to take out his contacts.

         Twenty minutes passed before Merit emerged from the bathroom. Like the night before, she walked around the room in jeans and a bra. Her humming distracted Paul from his reading, and he adjusted his glasses to get a better look.

         "Morning," she chirped. "I see that you're finally awake."

         "Yeah," Paul sighed. "You were in the shower when I woke up, so I had to pass the time somehow."

         "Hey, I'm better than I used to be. I sometimes took half hour showers as a kid."

         "A half hour? Are you insane?"

         "Possibly. You should already know that."

         "Whatever you say."

         Merit clicked her tongue and grabbed a shirt from her bag. Paul pouted at the sight until he read the words that stretched across her chest in glittery green print.

         "Pragmatic bitch, huh," he muttered. "I'm sure people will actually read that phrase."

         "Weighs less than a sign, and it actually requires brain cells to begin to understand. While the protesters are distracted with that puzzle, we can herd them on buses and get them out of the financial district."

         "If only. So what's the plan?"

         Merit rubbed her chin. "Know any good breakfast places across the river?"

         "Look up Kassel's Deli and Hot Bake," Paul suggested. "Whichever one looks more appetizing to you is where we'll go. My treat."

         "Fair enough. How long will you need to get ready?"

         "Not as long as you."

         Merit extended her middle finger before retrieving her phone to research the restaurants. Once she was occupied, Paul stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower and shave. After redyeing his hair and putting in his contacts, Paul emerged to find Merit stretching. He leaned against the wall and watched until she finished.

         "I'll take whichever one's closer to the Wall Street Bull," she announced.

         Paul grinned. "That works for me. So are we going to take the trains or drive out to the nearest ferry terminal?"

         "Well, New Yorkers used to terrorize us native Floridians with garish tourist behavior all the time. I know they're used to it out here, but I kind of want to rub it back in their faces. Let's take the ferry."

         After a crazy drive to Hoboken and a mad dash to make the ferry, they wandered the outer decks. Merit snapped several photos of the skyline while Paul tried to avoid stares he received from some onlookers. Many of their fellow passengers were on their way to work and kept busy with whatever medium they preferred to get their news. When they disembarked, Paul took Merit's hand. She gave him a nonplussed look as she shook him off. Paul frowned before leading the way to the restaurant.

         They were seated in less than a minute due to arriving near mid-morning. Despite the menus in hand, neither one focused on choosing anything to order. Paul watched Merit stare at the placard with a blank look on her face. The server stopped over, but Paul waved him away.

         "Is everything alright?" he asked.

         Merit shook her head. "I don't want to lose my shit out there, Paul. It's a bigger crowd than back home, and they're more desperate. They have tents they can stake into the ground. They have support from larger advocacy groups that are essentially liberal lobbies. This is dangerous."

         "Did you want to do something else, like venture out to the High Line?"

         "No. We've come this far. I'm going to Zuccotti Park."

         At this, Paul reached across the table and rubbed Merit's hand. To his surprise, she did not move.

         "Then let's eat," he urged her. "We have quite the day ahead of us."

         "Yeah. Gotta go do battle with Occupy IDGAFistan."

         Paul laughed, and a couple at the next table over chuckled along. This got a grin out of Merit as she refocused on the menu.

         Filled with Nova Lox and blintzes, Paul and Merit walked to the Wall Street Bull before crashing the protest. Their walk was too quiet, even with the din of cars and shuffle of other pedestrians permeating the space. Whenever Paul tried to reach out to Merit, she backed away just enough to be out of range. He gave her questioning looks, and she shook her head in response. With only a couple blocks separating them from their destination, Paul stopped near an alleyway. It took Merit a few steps to realize what happened.

         "What?" she shouted.

         "I'm not going any further until you tell me what's going on," Paul told her.

         "What do you mean? I already told you what's going on."

         "You—you keep pulling away."

         Merit waved her hands. "Is that what this is about, Paul? I don't like being touched."

         "That's not what you said last night."

         "Oh, for Godssake! Seriously? It was just one night, and that drive is now focused on getting the starry-eyed leftist lackeys to submit to the will of statistics."

         Paul blinked. "Is that what this is all about? Conquests?"

         "It's about telling the truth, Paul, and in this case, I'm not sure why you want any more from me. Can we go now?"

         "Yeah. Yeah, we can go."

         They walked to the Bull in silence. Upon arrival, they spotted a small crowd surrounding the brass statue. Paul trailed Merit as they orbited the crowd. When they arrived at the rear of the sculpture, Paul found three people kneeling near the bull's scrotum. Merit bit her knuckle to stifle a laugh as she prepped her camera. She snapped photos of that group and a few people nearby holding signs. After taking those photos, she tweaked a couple settings before approaching Paul.

         "Think you can handle taking a picture for me?" she asked him.

         "Um, sure," he replied. "Just tell me which button to push."

         "Not a problem."

         Merit set her bag next to Paul's feet before removing her vest. The sight of her shirt made Paul grin as he accepted her camera.

         "Right there is the shutter," Merit pointed out. "It'll be easiest for you to use the view screen. If you wouldn't mind taking two shots of those directionally confused protesters and myself, I'd appreciate it."

         With that, Merit walked over to the protesters, who ignored her presence. She gave Paul a thumbs up when she was ready. Paul took the first picture with Merit staring straight on at the camera while standing next to the demonstrators. With the second picture, she pointed at them while performing a sexual hand gesture that triggered laughter from a few people nearby. She stopped before the protesters noticed what she was doing and sauntered back to Paul.

         "Yes, that was juvenile, I know," Merit replied. "Couldn't resist."

         "I hope my photo skills do it justice."

         "I'm sure they will. Ready for the hot shit?"

         "Ready when you are."

         Their walk to Zuccotti Park was quiet but not as strained as their arrival at Bowling Green. They encountered thousands of people congregating in the park and a few dozen hovering near the streets. Police officers donned helmets but kept some space between themselves and the protesters. While Paul spotted numerous signs in the air, he found the majority of people engaged in conversations, both physical and virtual. He looked at Merit and found her swapping lenses.

         "I know you like to wander," he said, "but I really don't know this place at all, and neither do you. We should probably stick together on this one."

         Merit nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. We should walk the park first to get a sense of where things are before we do anything else. Let's give ourselves at least two hours."

         "Good plan."

         "I would like some time to take photos before laying the smackdown. If at all possible, we should avoid direct eye contact. Oughtta cut down on the number of people who try to approach us."

         For a few minutes, they pushed and wove their way through the wall of people to get closer to the center of the park. Once they cut through the crowd, they stumbled upon a tent village. Merit brought her camera from where she clutched it to her chest and fired off several shots. She replaced her single focus lens with a zoom to capture a few signs in the distance. Paul waited until she was done before wandering any further. They orbited the park, stopping at the library and food line for more photos. Merit rolled her eyes at the social media nook, prompting Paul to rub her shoulder. She looked at him but said nothing as they made their way back to the tent village. As they approached, a few women walked up to them.

         "Paul Beckingham?" one of them asked.

         Paul shook his head. "My name is Paul, and I happen to look like him. I'm not him, though. Trust me."

         He glanced over at Merit, who smiled and gave him a quick nod.

         "You're a dead ringer for him, especially when he played a cop in Small Town Heat," another woman in the group piped up. "I wonder what he thinks of this, given that he spends a lot of time in this country."

         "I don't know," Paul said. "I don't pay a lot of attention to celebrities' opinions."

         "Do you check his Twitter feed?" Merit asked the women.

         A third member of the group shook her head. "Good idea."

         "He has a lot of Tweets and updates it several times a day. If you know the right keywords, you can go directly to whatever Tweets he has on the subject. Just be sure to try a bunch, and don't always rely on hashtags when you're in his profile. He uses them but not that frequently."

         "How do you know all this?"

         Merit beamed. "My job in analytics is awesome. I get to see all the stats and geek out over StatCloud. Have you ever heard of StatCloud?"

         The group stared at Merit with bamboozled looks.

         "Guess not. Well, StatCloud has done a pretty thorough analysis of Occupy Wall Street and related movements. Interesting stuff."

         "Huh," one of them muttered. "What is it showing?"

         Paul schooled his face into a neutral expression before watching Merit.

         "It shows a couple things," Merit elaborated. "First, it illustrates the notion of ten percent of the Twitter users generating ninety percent of the Tweets relating to this movement and others like it. In other words, the minority is ruling the cyber waves, if you will."

         "How about the number of Tweets being created?" someone else asked.

         "I noticed a few days ago while working that the number of Tweets has started to dip. The percentage rate is in the single digits with the dip slow but consistent."

         At that, Paul glanced back at the women whose mouths hung agape.

         "Are you serious?" they asked almost in unison.

         "Yes," Merit replied with a nod. "The data for Facebook, LinkedIn and other social networks isn't a lot better. Anything combining a satire outlet and this movement, though? Amazing! A clip from The Colbert Report on Occupy Oakland has spread like a wildfire on Facebook and is getting retweeted with increasing frequency."

         It took a full minute for anyone to respond.

         "Then what are you doing here?" the first woman asked.

         "Observing," Paul answered.

         "Ever wonder if perhaps the movement is too big to fail?" Merit questioned the group. "Oftentimes what's too big to fail is the first thing to topple in an earthquake or other disaster. If nothing else, the data the social media analysts are seeing suggests a high probability of self destruction if this goes on too long. You might want to ask yourself if you've lost your chance."

         Merit fixed Paul a look, and they ventured toward the west side of the park. They passed several clusters of people reading pamphlets and posing for pictures. A percussion ensemble hammered away loud enough for Paul to slap his hands over his ears. Merit followed suit after getting a couple telephoto shots of the drummers.

         "This is painful," Merit shouted over the racket. "Let's keep moving!"

         After several minutes, the pair ventured to the westernmost side of the park. Merit discussed StatCloud with a few more people who stopped over to gawk at Paul. A couple police officers stopped to say hello, and they discussed the movement's lack of movement for a few minutes. Once of the officers even offered to turn a blind eye to anything they did. This inspired Merit to climb a tree to capture some wide angle pictures of the crowd. She fiddled with her camera while straddling one of the larger branches.

         "What do you think?" Paul asked her.

         "They are a tenacious bunch," Merit declared. "Admirable as that is, it's all they have, along with the publicity. One bad move, though, and the whole thing will collapse like a house of cards."

         "Is that something you gathered from analyzing stats or from observation?"

         "Both, and I hate to say it, but Occupy Minnesota looks almost credible next to this despite the sheer difference in scale. At least they don't have a uniformed Marine among the damn protesters. That individual is in a very precarious position right now and could end up in shit fuck city career-wise if this goes south."

         Merit ensured she had the proper balance to stay in the tree then brought the camera to her face. While she worked on her panorama, Paul watched the crowd as they moved around the park. Standing near the base of the tree, he noticed a dozen police officers heading for the center as the drumming died down. He traced their path and found a small group tussling. Someone ranted in the distance, the words  muddled to gibberish.

         "Can you see what's going on there, Merit?" Paul asked.

         "Sure."

         Merit adjusted her zoom lens and leaned forward. Just as she shifted to crack her back, Paul heard the thud of a fist against hard plastic. He looked on as a mass of people swarmed to a point near the scuffle.

         "Merit?"

         He looked up and found her disassembling her camera and stowing it at record speed.

         "Merit?" he pressed.

         "Stay close to the tree," she ordered in a tight monotone.

         "What?"

         The swarm broke, and people scattered throughout the park. Much of the crowd spotted the empty space in the west and ran for it. Paul went to hug the tree, but several people knocked him into the trunk.

         "Paul!" Merit screamed.

         Paul looked up and saw Merit staring at him with eyes wide enough to evoke an anime character. She held out a hand to him while trying to stay steady on the branch. Paul felt something wet on his lip.

         "Get in the footholds and start climbing!" she shouted.

         Paul lifted his leg but was into the trunk again. He leaned against the tree and fought for breath. Focusing all of his energy into his legs, he climbed up far enough to grasp Merit's outstretched hand.

         "Pull me up," he rasped. "Can't hold the tree."

         "Is your wrist injured?" Merit asked.

         Paul nodded, and Merit shifted her grip a little further along his arm. She pulled him closer to the trunk as she kept an eye on the stampede.

         "Try to shift some more of your weight to your legs," she told him."It will be a little easier to hold you."

         "Okay. Is there anyone behind me?"

         Merit looked out before simply telling him, "Just hold on."

         They stayed in the tree for close to an hour before being found by the officers they met earlier in the day. Paul cradled his gimp wrist and watched the news while Merit completed the required hospital paperwork. When not answering questions about his medical history, he focused on the coverage of the Zuccotti Park Stampede. Images of bodies draped with white sheets flickered across the screen accompanied by voiceovers from protesters who survived the rush. When Merit returned from the nurses' station, Paul drew her attention to the nearest television set.

         "Looks like we had a close call," Paul said.

         Merit nodded. "That's what I saw when we were in the tree."

         "Almost a hundred dead because a protester coaxed his claustrophobic friend to join the rally and the guy flipped."

         "What a fucking dick," Merit muttered. "It's like a damn house of cards. Like a house of cards."

         A few minutes later, a nurse escorted Paul and Merit to a triage bay. Paul sat in a near fugue state as the nurse and doctor examined his fragile dominant hand. The gentle weight of Merit's hand on his shoulder kept him aware of his surroundings. It took a half hour for Paul to receive a diagnosis of a broken wrist and another half hour to be fitted with a black fiberglass cast. As they walked out of the hospital, a horde of photographers hounded them. Merit took Paul's elbow as she grimaced at the reporters asking who she was.

         "Neither Paul nor I are answering any questions at this time," she barked before heading to the nearest subway station.

         They fought to stay awake during the return trip Newark. Once in Hoboken, Paul handed the car keys to Merit for the drive back to the hotel. She stopped long enough to pick up sandwiches for dinner before they stumbled into the room. They grabbed their sandwiches and wasted no time in eating.

         "I'm really sorry about today," Merit mumbled after a while.

         Paul wiped his mouth with his good hand. "It's not your fault that it all went to shit."

         "But it's my fault that we were even there, that you were injured and that we're here now. I should have come alone. What was I thinking?"

         "You were thinking it would be fun."

         Merit shut her eyes and exhaled through her nose. An electronic chime cut through the room. The third ring forced Merit to move far enough to grab her phone.

         "Hey, Hon," she sighed as she answered. "Yeah, we were there. Several people pushed Paul into a tree, and his wrist was broken in the process. I had already climbed up, so I got out of it unscathed."

         Paul leaned over and rubbed Merit's knee as she continued to talk to Scott. After a tense few minutes, Merit hung up and flopped back.

         "What's up?" Paul asked.

         Merit shook her head. "Scott saw the footage of us leaving the hospital, and that made him think we're together."

         "Well, we did have sex."

         "I know that. I just don't recall every mentioning to Scott that I even consider you bangable."

         Paul frowned. "Think he's overreacting?"

         "Possibly. He gets the idea that it wasn't casual sex, which it totally was, right?"

         "Yeah."

         "Glad we're on the same page. Probably shouldn't have done it, but that's a conversation for later."

         Paul stared at the floor and listened to Merit throw away her sandwich wrapper. He kept his head down until Merit nudged his shoulder.

         "You should get some sleep," she urged him.

         "Take the bed. You'll need it more than me."

         Merit shook her head. "We'll share it. I doubt either one of us wants to do more than sleep, anyway."

         "Alright."

         Paul straightened up the area where he sat and walked over to his bag. Once she saw him gathering his things, Merit walked back into the bathroom.

         The next morning, Merit brought their luggage to the car while Paul completed the video check out. When he joined Merit in the parking area, he found her creating a sleeping area in the back seat. He took shotgun, and she glanced at him with arched eyebrows.

         "Not going to take advantage of the makeshift bed?" she asked.

         "I'm too awake right now. Maybe later."

         Paul gave Merit a soft look. She nodded and started the car for the long drive back to Minneapolis.

         After four hours of car karaoke and swapping childhood memories, Paul found himself yawning. They stopped for lunch in the middle of nowhere, giving Merit the chance to nudge him toward the backseat. Paul opted not to argue and curled up under the blanket Merit laid out.

         Once back in Minneapolis, Paul went three days without hearing from Merit. Just as he picked up the phone to call, someone knocked on his door. He opened it only to find his lover giving him a stony look.

         "We need to talk," she said.

         "What? Not even a hello?" he asked as she pushed her way into the entry foyer.

         "We're not on the same page."

         "What? Merit, I'm not following."

         Merit sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Scott saw how you reacted to my guidance as we left the hospital. Paul, all I wanted a few nights ago was sex. I thought you had the same intention, but now I'm not sure. What do you want, Paul? What do you want?"

         Paul opened his mouth but found his voice disappeared. After a couple attempts at forming the words, he gave up and pressed a shy kiss to Merit's lips. He pulled away and saw her shaking her head.

         "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I definitely find you attractive, and I really like you as a friend. Even if I was single, I wouldn't want to ruin our friendship. I mean it."

         Paul nodded and wiped away a tear. "Then why did you take me to bed?"

         "Like I told you to get it out of our systems. Without getting into details of my marriage, Scott has medical issues that put a damper on things."

         "I'm sorry to hear that, but do you realize what that does to me?"

         "Well, now I do. Had I known outright, I'd have reconsidered a lot of things."

         "When was I supposed to tell you?"

         Merit looked in the foyer mirror and shook her head. "We had a lot of moments together without Scott, but you might have told me without saying a single word. I should have picked that up."

         "Right."

         At that, Merit faced him. "Can we still be friends?"

         "Give me some time," Paul said. "Give me some time."


         Minnesota's autumn season proved to be a warm one again, inviting scores of people to observe the activity in Government Plaza. Paul stood by the light rail tracks and rubbed his beard while waiting for Scott and Merit to catch up. This crowd did not surprise him, especially after the Twitter data Merit emailed to him and Scott a couple days before. At least this crowd hosted a greater diversity of opinions and rose above chalking up every available surface.

         "Earth to Paul! Earth to Paul. Come in, Paul!"

         He turned around and found Merit trotting up to him with Scott at her side. She already had her camera out, and Scott held her bag.

         "Who stopped you this time?" Paul asked.

         "Well, StatCloud is head hunting in Minneapolis, as they're setting up an office in town. One of their scouts stopped me."

         "Wow! Think you'd go for it?"

         Merit shrugged. "We'll see. They're looking to get set up in downtown, which would be a great commute, even better than what I have right now. I'd get to see Scott more often."

         At that, Scott wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and looked at his friend. "So what are we looking at out there?"

         "Looks like every known political party has a representative or nine here," Paul told him. "Brought my iPad along in case we need to do any last second research prior to a conversation."

         "Good thinking. Still, we have lot memorized. Well, more Merit, since she has the memory and mammaries for it."

         "You never get tired of that pun, do you?" Merit asked her husband.

         "Nope."

         Paul chuckled. "Well, are you ready to seize the day?"

         "Absolutely."

         The three of them walked into the plaza, armed with statistics and charm to turn the public rally on its ear.