There once was a lad who found a princess to love. He charmed her, spoke of great things, professed pure love, built castles in the sky for her. Try as she did she could not fend off the strength of the lad’s love. Slowly she yielded, an inch at a time, a tear at a time, a breath at a time. Her stone heart began to beat again. Still fearing the wounding of it, she 
tried to stay away, tried to tell herself that it was not right. The lad only fought harder, presenting her with poems and sayings of inflamed passion. Until one day he did write, in the palm of her hand yet, one word. A word so powerful her life as she knew it ended. As she fell into his arms she clutched that word tightly to her chest, feeling the strength and love flowing from it into her very soul.
Now time has clasped this couple in its angry claw. Has turned them into beasts. Turned their joy into sorrow, their love into regret. Looking back on those days the princess weeps for what she has lost. Having known a love so enticing as to throw the world away for just one taste of it. The fire burned so brightly – she swore it could never fade or fail. That it would forever fill their lives with happiness, so much so that the world would be envious of what it could never touch or know.
Her prince no longer gazes at her with purity and passion. The fire some how extinguished by fate. Yet she holds fast to that one word hoping someday that the fire will return. Remembering always the rare power of it. To have felt it is to have lived a thousand lives, to lose it is to have died a thousand deaths.
She will surely pass through life always seeking, always hoping for that love. Never giving in to the ugliness which surrounds her. In time of despair or fight, she need only open her hand and see the word “WE” and remember the man that wrote it and the heavenly flame that burned between them. She cannot forget the bond. The first touch. The first connection of eyes in a locked wanting gaze. The deep feeling of longing when parted. She aches to feel the innocence of it. She burns to feel his arms around her again. To see his eyes aglow with desire his heart with fire. Had she the power she would transport the gift to his palm. And he would remember…
The DC road grid was laid out by a Frenchman, which explains why locals hate the French, and also explains much about US Foriegn Policy. Within DC proper, the roads are laid out in a grid, with other streets crossing the grid at weird angles, usually through a traffic circle. No one in DC knows how to drive in a traffic circle, and people from the surburbs are worse. Many streets are one way, and making a left turn can require travelling three or four blocks out of your way. Right turns are worse. Right turn on red is allowed, except at intersections that are posted otherwise. Most intersections are posted otherwise.
The three little words are: “Hold on, please…” Saying this, while putting down your phone and walking off, instead of hanging up immediately, would make each telemarketing call so much more time consuming that boiler room sales would grind to a halt. Then when you eventually hear the phone company’s “beep-beep-beep” tone, you know it’s time to go back and hang up your handset, which has efficiently completed its task. These three little words will help eliminate telephone soliciting.
Failing to give proper signals – a person shall be guilty of reckless driving who fails to give adequate and timely signals of intention to turn, partly turn, slow down, or stop. According to 