The Salvation Army bell rang into the night
where a Wal-Mart sign shines its light.
No mistaking this chipper chime,
especially now around Christmas time.

For two hours, shoppers come in droves
for toothpaste, TVs, and even mistletoe.
But before they ever make it inside,
they pass by me, ringing my jingling chime.

A few may give what little they may,
and some do not; they'd rather not pay.
And this is fine, some can't afford
to put in a dollar and give to the poor.

But that's not what surprises me,
no, not a flinch or a jawl.
It's the ones who do give,
and who don't give at all.

Preachers, and Leaders,
and Men of Great Plenty,
they walk right on past me,
giving not one dollar, giving not one penny.

Some pull out cell phones,
as if confessing their shame.
A few take the other exit,
too guilty to hear my Bell's Proclaim.

Here they leave their Temple of Commerce,
their arms sagging with toys.
Yet they have not one penny to spare,
for needy girls and hungry boys.

But Men, women, and children,
who have no riches to give,
it's the Least of these People
who put money in my bin.

Their faces beamed with pride
as they put money in those Red Banks.
They'll never know who they helped,
they'll never receive a thanks.

There is a lesson in this, I think,
a lesson for the season:
Better to give than receive,
better to give without reason.

In this time of merriment,
when holly decks the hall,
please remember that the Least Gift
is often the Greatest Gift of all.

Here’s how you play. Once you’ve been tagged, you have to write a blog with 10 weird, random things, facts or habits about yourself. At the end, you choose 10 people to be tagged, listing their names and why you chose them to be tagged. Don’t forget to leave them a comment "You’re It!" and to read your blog. You can’t tag the person who tagged you.

1. I lived in 5 different US states before I was 10 years old.

2. I’m allergic to fresh-cut grass; and although I’m not allergic to pollen, it puts me into a sneezing fit that rivals Godzilla’s monster breath.

3. I swear that I’m never getting married.

4. I went to school for broadcast news, and I actually put my degree to use once a week by hosting the weekly "Chamber Focus" TV show.

5. My guilty pleasure is joining online communities. Even if I never visit that site again, I feel like I have to join, just in case I can meet someone cool.

6. Even though I can’t speak any other languages, I want to backpack across continental Europe one day.

7. I’m a closet Star Trek fan. (Shhh! It’s a secret!)

8. The "J" stands for James, and that’s the only part of my initials that I’ll share. The rest is a guessing game for you to play.

9. Photography is one of my favorite hobbies, and it’s only recently that people have begun to ask if I could take their picture for professional publications or personal galleries.

10. I want to create an internet-based television show. If you’ve got an idea, I’ve got the camera skills. Let’s make some magic happen.

I will send this to: Tuesday, Jessica, Lowrey, Cassie, Melissa, Kasha, Cabbott, Clay, Patrick, and Marlon.

Why? Because the rules told me to!

Time for a new age of leadership

Like so many other people with cable, I had a field day watching the City Commission meeting on DCTV. The brutal backtalk and outrageous accusations threw me into a hysterical fit of laughter. But I didn't laugh for long. No sir, I was downright livid after the whole affair, and there is plenty of blame to go around.

The City Commission has turned this Ward 2 appointment into a race issue, claiming color is the true reason for each decision, whether it's to pave a road, fix a water line, and apparently to fill a vacant commission seat.

In an age where thoughts fly fast as light, where one voice can reach thousands via television or cell phone, our "leaders" were shouting at each other! 

One thing is for certain: this is a race issue, and not because of the vacant seat. No, this is a race issue because the board has turned into one. What should be a simple appointment - whether it was by the commission or the citizens of Ward 2 - has turned into a bona fide freak show, complete with name-calling, four letter words and grandstanding to the extreme. They should have at least invite Jerry Springer to complete the show!

Every single one of the commissioners - both black and white - should be ashamed for their acts Tuesday night. From Ms. Pearson, Mr. Roper and Mr. Anderson calling one another liars to the lax attitude of Mayor Paulk controlling the meeting, there is plenty of blame to go around. Mrs. Wilson was the only quiet one in the room, and probably the most embarrassed by the meeting.

These are our "leaders" folks!  The citizens of Douglas have elected them to guide our government, and yet they cannot control their own tempers!

Maybe it is time for a shift in leadership. Everyday, thousands of younger adults in Coffee County - White, Black, Hispanic, Indian, and Asian - have come together like no previous generation.  This rising generation is born from the dream of Dr. King. The great grandsons of former slaves and the great grandsons of former slave owners have sat down together at the table of brotherhood.  But this week, they all sat in shock at what they saw on television. Because of their actions, our current commissioners should not seat in their roles as government leaders.

Ladies and gentlemen of the City Commission, you are not fit to lead this city. Your prejudiced mouths and fearful minds proved that much Tuesday night. Your words created chaos instead of calling for cooperation, pouring your bigotry and bitterness into the homes of Douglas. You have created anger where none should exist. Your fear of a racial war could be the undoing of this city, and as an young citizen of Douglas, I'm going to speak my mind.       

We need brave people to stand up and speak a voice of unity, because our current commission is not up to the task.  Instead, our commission has turned Douglas into a battleground separated by trenches of color.  I truly believe the young adults in Douglas have the answers we need.

You may say we don't have the experience, and you're exactly right. We don't have the experience of drinking from separate water fountains. We don't have the experience of being segregated in school. We don't have the experience of the Klu Klux Klan, the Black Panthers, old Jim Crow laws or the poll taxes. And I promise you, we won't have the same racist attitudes as the current city commission.

The young adults of this generation did not march for civil rights in Selma, but they marched together in our Homecoming and Christmas parades. Instead of holding protest signs at the courthouse, they joined hands at church and prayed for peace. And while the City Commissioners threw up their hands and called one another liars, we all hung our heads in shame.

I've got a single message for the City Commission and the voters of Coffee County: we do not need this sad example of bigotry and distrust.  There are other leaders besides this quarrelsome crowd. When election time rolls around, let's elect leaders who can bring the community together, not divide us along racial lines.

Note: This blog post and the next one contain the Otis Dunby stories as they were meant to be read. There are some minor adjustments, but the plot is basically the same. I'll start posting new stories that will tell of Otis' adventures on the campaign trail. Until then, enjoy.  - JRC

The Adventures of Otis Dunby, Freshman Representative

Part I

Chapter I: Every Odyssey Begins with a Single Step

The Georgia General Assembly is full of colorful characters, each with their own collection of insane stories and over-the-top antics. I had the pleasure of running into a guy not too much older than me who was serving his first term as a member of the state house. His name is Otis Dunby, and these are his adventures under the Gold Dome.

To understand Otis, you have to know his background. Otis is a kid who graduated from college three years ago and hasnt held a steady job since earning a dual degree in Leisure Studies and Consumer Science. His ultimate plan was to work as a Party Liaison for frat houses across the southeast, organizing various social functions ranging from beer blasts to stein slingers.

But Otis party days took their toll, and he ended up crashing on his friends sofa while working enough odd jobs to keep plenty of beer in the fridge. He was one of those guys wearing flip-flops, a yellow-stained t-shirt, and the same dingy jeans with the grease stain from last years Double-Decker Disaster.

Yes, it was a bachelors life for Otis, and he truly believed he was destined to live out his days with a six-pack in one hand and the remote control in the other... but that all changed one hazy, drunken night.

It was Risk Night down at the Alamo, a house that had survived roughly 300 parties, five police warrants, and a living room fire started when Otis passed out with a lit cigarette in his lips.

The same four guys had laved in that house since they graduated from high school: "Chug-a-Lug" Chuck Effers, Mike "Blunt" Blount, Barney "Fife" Billings, and Jimmy Touchton... but that wasnt his real name. His real name was Marshall King, but he had it legally changed to Jimmy Touchton after he starred in the porn movie "Ride Em, Cowgirl" while backpacking across California

The guys had ended up playing Quarters by the end of the night and making bets on their shots. Otis was way ahead (for he was the expert partier), so Chug-a-Lug decided to psych him out.

"I'll make a bet with you," slurred Chug-a-Lug. "If you make this last shot, I'll let you go on a date with my sister... but if I win, youve gotta..." His voice trailed off while his mind thought up random humiliation.

Blunt suddenly woke up from his weed nap and shouted, "Run for office!" and immediately fell back in a slump. No one knew where the suggestion had come from, but they all shrugged and shook one it. Besides, Otis knew he had this one in the bag. He hadn't lost a game of Quarters since his senior year of high school, and he had been itching to see Chug-a-Lug's sister without her protective brother. He rubbed his hands together as he grabbed the coin from an ashtray and gave it a soft bounce... 
            Needless to say, Otis lost that round of Quarters and had to register as a candidate for the state house. Normally, Otis would have backed out of a drunken bet, but he figured he could get free drinks, make small talk with the pretty women, and maybe make a few connections to find some random odd jobs. Besides, it was already a foregone conclusion that he would lose the election. Everyone knew there was no way to beat Shaw Cranford, the man who had served in the house for nearly 30 years.

He hired his four friends to run his campaign, forcing them to actually get up before noon (which was quite early as it was.) And so, down the campaign trail Otis went, attending local meetings and shaking hands with the candidates. His friends knocked on doors and put together Otis public image, which mostly consisted of scribbling "Vote Otis" on cheap, white cardboard they stole from the back of liquor stores every night. 

Otis four friends soon started calling themselves "The Four Horsemen" and made a habit of getting completely loaded at the debates and screaming and cheering at the top of their lungs. Sometimes they jeered old Cranford, calling him a crazy old coot, which soon became their negative campaign ad. Every once in a while, you could find four or five of those white cardboard signs along the main drag with "Cranford = Crazy Old Coot" written in sloppy, obviously-drunken handwriting.

Otis soon developed a cult following. College kids and high school slackers began painting "Otis for President" along the windshields of their car. Cranfords unsatisfied customers began posting fliers on telephone poles. It seemed for a moment that Otis might actually pull this thing off.

But even though Otis had an underground movement, the local reporters said he was trailing behind Cranford by at least ten points. Although people liked this fresh-faced kid running against the Goliath of local politics, that small town had stuck with Cranford for 30 years and they weren't about to change their habits. All seemed lost for the Otis and his Four Horsemen by the campaigns last week... until a loud pounding came from the front door.

Blunt opened the door with a joint in his lips to find Jimmy leaning in the doorway, breathing hard from a mad dash across town.

"Guys! Guys! You're not going to believe this," shouted Jimmy as he ran into the house. "You'd better sit down for this one!"

Jimmy went on to tell his buddies that Cranford had died just a few hours ago. He and his secretary had rented a hotel room out on Old Route 32 and the geezer fell over dead right on top of her. At first she had just thought he was exhausted from his grand finale, but turns out his heart had just given out. She tried to kick the old man off of her, but he was just too big (for he was well over 250 lbs.) Finally, after nearly half an hour of screaming, the hotel manager kicked down the door to see a blonde head and two feet sticking out from the morbidly obese man. 

Cranford had pretty much run both political parties in the county, so Democrats and Republicans had no orientation and couldn't find a good candidate. With no opponent on the ticket, Otis Dunby beat notable write-ins such as Kermit the Frog, Darth Vader, and I.P. Freely. 

After the polls closed, Otis and the Four Horsemen sat on the roof of the Alamo as hundreds of college kids ran into their front yard. Otis had just earned a seat in the General Assembly at the tender age of 25, and there was going to be one more party at the Alamo that night. Sweeping his eyes across the sea of faces, he walked to the edge of the roof, threw his fist into the air, and let himself be carried away on the cheers of youthful hope.

Two months later, Otis was standing on Washington Street with the same worn jeans, dingy flip-flops, and yellow-stained undershirt. He looked up at the Gold Dome and wonder how he had gone from a couch-crashing bum to a freshman representative of Georgias legislature. With no ideas in his head and not a dollar to his name, Otis pulled his hands out his pockets and walked up the capitol steps, catching his reflection as the doors swung open.

"Oh, Otis," he said to himself, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

Chapter II: Otis Walks into Assembly with Hangover, Prays for Revenge

            Otis fell back in his chair, completely exhausted and struggling to stop the room from spinning in circles. He had only been in his office 10 minutes when his secretary chirped over his speakerphone.

"The house is gathering for the opening sermon, Mr. Dunby," said Marla, Otis' personal aide. She was a bubbly young woman who, in Otis' opinion, was way too eager at this hour of the morning to be certifiably sane.

"Sermon?" Otis almost stumbled over the word, hardly believing what he had heard. "But it's Monday. Don't they have some kind of law against this sort thing?"

"It's a state tradition, sir," said his receptionist. "There's a sermon given every morning in the chamber, and everyone goes to the first days sermon."

Otis groaned as he knocked his head against his desk repeatedly. Of all the meetings he had to attend that day, church was not at the top of his list. Not only was he completely exhausted from the drive to Atlanta, he was nursing a hangover from the Four Horsemens Emancipation Celebration...

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 Chug-a-Lug, Jimmy, Blunt, and Fife had secretly followed Otis to the capitol city, where Otis had locked himself in his hotel room to read up on his committee assignments. After pinning down their friends residence, the Four Horsemen took a cooler full of beer and tons of junk food to Piedmont Park for an afternoon of Frisbee Golf before taking Otis out to dinner.

Fast-forward six-hour... the guys had long since polished off the contents of the cooler along with an extra handle of rum they picked up at Kool's Korner Package Store. Their make-shift Oktoberfest had managed to permanently scare off three joggers, ruin four kite parties, and urinate on every tree between 14th and 10th streets. Finally, Jimmy looked at his watch and realized they had completely forgotten about Otis.

"Not a problem," shouted Fife. "Nothing a good night on the town wont make up for. Besides, I'm sure he'll be glad to be torn away from all those big words for some good old R&R. Hell, its almost like were doing him a favor!"

The rest of the guys shouted in approval as they marched down the road, each one thinking the other was leading them in the right direction.

Otis had just crawled into bed to get a good night's rest when the heard a pounding at the door. He looked over at the clock, which was flashing 12:00am as he drew himself out of bed. He put on a robe as he crawled out of bed and staggered to the door, his body tired from reading nearly 500 pages of memos. He fumbled with the link lock and turned the handle as he heard the four drunks shout, "NOW!"

The door suddenly swung open as four sets of hands grabbed Otis by the collar, yanked him in out of his room, and carried him down the hallway on their shoulders.

Otis was struggling to make sense of what had just happened when he finally recognized the owers of the kidnapping hands. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"We're here to celebrate your first big day, Your Eminence," shouted Chug-a-Lug right into Otis' ear.

"But the session starts tomorrow!"

"You couldn't be more right," slurred Jimmy. "That's why were here. You know what they say: A day late and no play makes the worm get an early bird."

Otis merely sighed as the elevator doors closed, wondering if his friends IQs were nearly as high as their blood/alcohol content...

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 Otis reviewed the whole night in his head as he sat slumped at his desk in the same bathrobe he had worn to five bars along Peachtree Street. The fist pangs of a hangover were just beginning to take hold and he had somehow managed to misplace his bottle of aspirin. And now, on his first day in the session, Otis had to hear a sermon on the role of values in government on no sleep while nursing a wicked hangover.

He pulled a spare sports coat over his robe, splashed some water across his face, and put on a pair of sunglasses to hide his bloodshot eyes. Otis made his way through the legislative building, carrying a 64 oz. souvenir coffee mug and looking like an eagle had made a nest in his hair. He didnt even bother tying his robe, which halfway hid his yellow-stained t-shirt and Nike athletic shorts, complete with tan moccasins.

The speaker was calling for order as Otis finally found his desk in the back of the house chamber. He struggled to pay attention, but found the overhead lights blinding and the speakers voice pounded his head like a back-alley brick. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the chambers applause as the preacher took the podium. That's when he remembered what one representative told him on their way into the chamber.

"Be sure to check inside your desk when you first get inside," a tall man had said with a wide smile across his face. "Sometimes lobbyists put special treats in there."

Otis thought for sure there would be aspirin in his desk. He looked around to find everyone had their heads bowed in the moment of silence. Trying not to make any noise, the young representative grabbed the handle of his desk and slowly pulled the drawer back. Suddenly, five spring-coil snakes jumped out of his desk, sending Otis flying backwards and tripping over his chair.

"HOLY JUMPING JESUS!" Otis shouted at the top of his lungs. He jumped to his feet and took a second to look around the chamber. Every eye trained on him, some of them in disapproving scowels.

"Great sermon, Rev," Otis said pointing to the pastor with a spot of laughter in his voice. The good reverend's jaw was resting on top of his notes, simply in awe of what had just happene.

Otis could only smile. "I'll definitely be asking Archives for that one."

He picked up his chair and settled himself back at his desk when he noticed something small and white bottle in the back drawer. A tiny bottle of aspirin rolled to the lip of the desk with a rubber band holding a note around lid. He unrolled the paper and spread it across the polished wood.

You looked like you could use these on your first day. Hope the snakes didn't scare you too badly; Horace Greenday loves to pull that prank on the freshmen. - Marla.

Otis looked up from his note and glanced across the room to find the same tall man who had told him to look in his desk. It was Horace, all red-faced from holding in his laughter. Otis could only smile and give a flimsy wave.

"Oh, buddy," muttered Otis through a clinched-teeth smile. "You get that one free. The next one wont come cheap."

Episode III: Otis Curses the Governor, Gains a New Ally

The harsh, winter wind cut into Otis like a knife as he walked from the hotel lobby to his car. Small bits of rain stung Otis face as he jogged through the parking lot, searching desperately to find his car. It was a matter of life and death that he got to the capitol before 10am. The governor was waiting to sign his bill, and Otis didnt want to keep the governor waiting.

Otis had finally passed his first piece of legislation the week before. By tradition every freshman representative who passes his first bill gets to have his picture taken with the governor. Otis sure didn't want to leave the governor high and dry, especially with this important piece of legislation: the Earthworm Protection Act.

"Earthworms support Georgias fishing industry," a lobbyist had told him at the beginning of the session. "Just think about it... whats the most important thing you get before driving to the river for a day of fishing?" Otis thought back to his fishing days with his friends, and only one thought came to mind.

"A case of beer?"

"Well, that too," said the lobbyist with a chuckle. "But worms, my boy! Worms! You need worms to fish, and hundreds of earthworm farmers are ranching all them wriggly critters to kingdom come and back just for a few dollars a day. Won't you help 'em out, son?"

Otis didn't want to be known as the Earthworm Guy for the rest of the session, so he thanked the man for his time and showed him to the door. The lobbyist was nearly out the door when he spun around with the biggest smile on his face.

"Now, you seem like a smart fella," said the lobbyist, reaching out for Otis hand. "Let's meet up after today's session and talk about it. I'll even buy you a drink. Whudya say?"

The lobbyist didn't just buy Otis a drink; he bought a night on the town. After a dinner at Dailys, drinks at the Marriott, and a limo ride through Midtown, the lobbyist ended up convincing Otis to pen the Earthworm Protection Act. And why not? It's not like any reps get their bills passed their first year anyway. But to Otis 'surprise, his bill ended up flying through both the House and Senate in record time. 

Otis didn't like the way he had been played by the lobbyist, but that was how business was done under the Gold Dome. Otis heard stories of lobbyists that wined and dined every member of the General Assembly, and this was where special interests got their support. 

The idea of favor-selling ended Otis idea of an altruistic politician, but Karma won in the end. Shortly after the session, police officers caught the slick-tongued lobbyist with a vial of coke in his pocket and a dead transvestite prostitute in his trunk. Rumor had it he was driving in the lieutenant governors neighborhood, who had just happened to hold a fundraiser earlier that day. Several Republicans and Democrats ended up scratched their heads on that, but the full story wouldnt come out until the next election.

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 But right now, Otis was worried about getting to the governor's office in time to see the governor sign his bill. Tires barked as Otis dropped his VW Rabbit into low gear and raced down I-75 to the Gold Dome. He came to a screeching halt in the parking deck and looked at his watch: 2 minutes to 10am. He would have to run up the steps, rush across the busy road, and bolt through security to make it... and he did just that.

Otis crashed through the double doors and fell against the receptionists desk. He was panting like a dog trapped in a car on a hot summers day.

"Well, I made it," he wheezed, grinning ear to ear. "I just about died trying to get here, but at least I'm not late."

The receptionist gave him a puzzled look. "Late for what, sir?"

The question set Otis back. "The governor's gonna sign my bill today. It's my first one and I'm ready to get my picture taken with the governor."

"Sir, I dont know what business you have, but the governors not in today."

"What? No, no, no." Otis couldnt believe what he had just heard. "I know I'm supposed to be here. I'm the Earthworm Guy, you know? The governors suppose to sign this bill today."

"Sir, I'm sorry," said the young lady in her sweetest voice, "but the governors in south Georgia today. I can leave a message for him if you'd like."

But Otis was already out the door, infuriated that Governor Weathington had stood him up to play grab-ass with some backwoods rednecks. He marched to his office and slammed the door behind him, cursing that good-for-nothing sonuva bitch. Otis snatched a cigarette from the packet in his desk when the phone rang. He snatched up the receiver.

"This had better be an offer for sex or breakfast. Otherwise, make it quick."

"Otis, this is Ghuvnah Weathinton." The voice sounded like it belonged to Confederate colonel straight from the plantation. "Ah've been waitin' 30 minutes ta sign ya bill. What's keepin ya, son?"

Otis went stiff in his chair. Could this be the governor? No way, Otis though. He'd just come from his office, so this had to be a prank. Otis could imagine a grinning Horace Greenday, the same guy who had filled his desk with spring-loaded snakes on the first day of the session. An evil grin crept across Otis face.

"Ohh, Governor Weathington. Im SO happy to talk to you finally." Otis let the sarcasm soak each of his words. 

"Listen you little shit, I know who you are and I know you put those damn snakes in my desk. Don't think you're getting away with it scott-free. You're up shit creek now, buddy, and I've got the paddle!"

Otis slammed the receiver down and folded his arms with a confident smile. That'll show Horace who hes dealing with... but come to think of it, but that did sound an awful lot like the governor. Had he really just cussed out the most powerful man in the state? Sweat began to bead up on Otis forehead just thinking about the possibility. He had to find out if it was just a crank call.

The walk from the legislative office to the governors chambers is only a few hundred feet, but for Otis, it seemed like the longest walk of his life. What sort of explanation could he come up with before he hit the front door? Whispering a silent prayer, Otis closed his eyes and crossed his fingers as he stepped into the governor's main office.

He stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. His heart raced as he put his hand on the steel door knob. He thought for a moment about the best course of action, whether simply to let the governor wail on him or offer a litany of apologies. Otis decided to go with latter option as he closed his eyes as he turned the knob and walked into the room.

"Governor, I just want to say how sorry I was over the phone. I thought you were that bastard Horace Greenday, and..."  He squinted out of one eye, expecting to see the governors red face, but he found an empty desk instead.

Otis let out a sigh of relief as his palms grabbed the desks railing. "Oh, thank you Jesus." he said as he ran both hands through his hair, feeling like he had just dodged a run-away train. "That could have only ended in a bad way."

"Oh, I dunno about that. You were off to a pretty good start."

Otis spun around to see a tall, black-haired man standing in the doorway. His arms were folded defiantly, staring down the young representative. Governor Weathington stepped through the doorway, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.

The governor put his hands behind his back as he casually strolled to the desk.

"Trickin' you freshmen is the highlight of my year, but I dont think anyone has ever called me a 'little shit' in my six years as ghuvnah." The tall man's face was hard as stone. Otis could feel the governor's eyes burning a hole straight through his forehead.

But then the governor's face relaxed and gave way to a toothy smile. "But you werent really talkin' ta me, were ya? You were talkin to ol' Horace."

The governor shook Otis' hand and guided him to a plush couch under the state seal. He pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket and handed it to Otis.

"Didjah know that ol' Greenday and I were elected to tha state house at tha same time? We even co-wrote the dumbest bill ever youve evah heard: The Hot Chicken Protection Act. We made it illegal for the police to pull ovah a chicken truck in the summer heat. Folks were calling us the Hot Cocks for a few years aftah that one." The governor let out a deep-bellied laugh and slapped Otis on the shoulder.

"Well, let's go ovah to the desk and sign ya bill."

Otis made his way to the governors side for a quick photo. With a few pen strokes, Georgias earthworm farmers were protected and Otis had his first bill in the books. Governor Weathington capped the golden pen and gave it to the freshman representative. Otis looked at the pen as the governor walked to the door.

"Oh by tha way, son," said the governor as he put his hand on the golden doorknob. "I wouldn't recommend getting even with Greenday, considering he's a committee chair and all... but I always did love a good joke. Why doncha come by mah office sometime soon and well cook up a good scheme."

The governor winked as he stepped into the hallway, whistling a soft tune as he walked into the capitol lobby. A smile spread across Otis face as he folded the newly-signed bill and put it into his coat pocket. As Otis closed the governor's door, he heard the opening bell chime, and for the first time in a long time, Otis looked forward to the start of a new week under the Gold Dome.

Part II of "The Adventures of Otis Dunby, Freshman Representative"

Episode IV: Otis Finds His Long-Lost Love

The sun was rising behind the Gold Dome as Otis walked from his car to the marble office building. It was Otis daily hobby to sit on the bench outside the building with the mornings first cup of coffee and watch all the pretty, young ladies walk to work.    

It's a little-known fact that the most beautiful women in Georgia worked inside the state capitol, and Otis had come to appreciate this small luxury of political life. Every representative and senator hires young women fresh out of college to assist them, and every private interest hires beautiful women to persuade those lawmakers to cut corporate taxes, fund public/private initiatives, and pass laws that favor corporate interests.

As Otis sat on the bench with his cup of coffee, he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her flowing brown hair swayed in the wind as she strolled across the capitol lawn towards the Gold Dome. She had eyes as blue as a summers sky, and her face was a portrait of classic Greek beauty. Otis barely had time to pick up his jaw before he heard someone calling his name.

"Otis... Otis..." The voice seemed to come from nowhere, echoing in the recesses of his captivated mind. "Otis Dunby, is that you?"

Otis shook his head side-to-side, falling out of his hormone-induced trance. He looked around to see who was talking to him, and to his surprise, it was the same girl he had been gawking from across the street.

"I thought I recognized you, Otis," the lady said with a wide smile. Her teeth glistened in the sunlight, adding to her angelic form. "You do remember me, don't you?" She threw her hands on her hips as Otis sat dumfounded. "Otis Dunby, don't tell me you forgot the girl next door."

The girl next door... the words echoed in Otis head as memories flashed before his waking sight. He was taken back 15 years to his old neighborhood, back to when Huffy bikes were a status symbol and a piece of candy was as good as hard money. He traced his way back to his family's house on Seagraves Drive, and he nearly choked on his coffee when he realized who this tall, breath-taking woman really was. It was Candace Kofskie, and she was all grown up.

Candace's family lived in the house beside the Dunby family for as long as Otis could remember.  He had loved her with a schoolboy fervor ever since he saw her step on the bus for first day of elementary school. They played together in the summer, sometimes camping out in her parents backyard and catching fireflies at night. It was the closest thing to love Otis had ever felt, but he was too young to know what it actually was.

One cold winter day, a moving van pulled up to the Kofskie's house and took Candace away to Texas. Memories of those young years slowly faded away, but at that moment, on that park bench in front of the state capitol, all the memories came flooding back.

"Candace?" Otis could barely get her name out of his throat. "Wow, what are the odds? You look great. God, its been what, about 15 years?" Otis studied her face, trying to trace the years of her youth. He noticed she still had that small freckle just off on the corner of her mouth. She hated so much in second grade that she nearly cut it off with a pair of classroom scissors. Now it was a bona fide beauty mark.

"I thought you were living down in Texas," Otis said. "Rumor around the monkey bars was that you were roping cattle before you tackled long-division."

Candace chuckled. "Well, I was for a while there. I just graduated from UT and now Im working here with the Secretary of the Senate. They've got me filing papers and pulling bills. It's not much, but it's a foot in the door." Her eyes looked down towards her feet as she kicked a loose rock off the sidewalk.

"Besides," she said, tilting her head a little to the side. "You know I can't just forget all the Georgia peaches I left behind."

She sheepishly looked up from the sidewalk, her sky-blue eyes meeting the representatives own. A smile slowly crept across both their faces as they sat in silence. Otis was so caught up in the moment he thought he felt a tingle in his body. Actually, it was on the side of his hip.

Otiss peeked down at his Blackberry to see that his committee meeting was about to start. He snatched it up with a scowl, annoyed that technology had ruined his Rockwellian moment.

"Ah, damnit. I have to go. But hey, there's a shindig tonight at the Depot. Maybe I'll see you there and we can catch up."

"Yeah, I'd like that," said Candace picking up her satchel. "I'm sure we've both have some good stories to share." She waved good-bye as she made her way across the crosswalk. A grin spread across Otis face as he finished his coffee, happy to have a second chance at his first love.

---------------------

 A long day of committee meetings left Otis panting for free drinks at the Depot. He had fallen asleep in the House Human Relations committee meeting, which wouldn't have been too bad, but the new camera system made Otis' sleeping mug available to every news agency in Atlanta. He had made the 5 o'clock news without ever saying a word.

Otis quickly shuffled over the old Depot, the oldest building in Atlanta. This renovated train station was built before the Civil War when Atlanta served as the hub of nearly all railway transit for the South. The Confederate army had used it as a triage hospital during the war, and the Union army used it as a base camp after they burned Atlanta to the ground. It was a bustling railway hub into the 20th century, but that all changed after the automobile became a literal fixture of Atlanta traffic.

These days, the Depot is used for private parties and political functions, and Otis was looking forward to seeing Candace at the annual Beer Wholesalers Bash. Balloons and music filled the convention hall as lobbyists and legislators talked over plates of bar-b-que. All the spectacles under the Gold Dome are only acts for public record, but here among the open bars and gourmet food, policy is written on loose napkins and inside information flows like wine from drunken lips.

            This is where the rubber meets the road in Georgia politics, and it's also where Otis shined. He could outlast any lobbyist or legislator in a drinking contest, and his drunken discourse was unmatched among his peers. Nobody would have guessed it, but Otis was a reservoir of hushed secret and hidden scandals. He knew more outrageous stories of double-dealing and sexual exploits than a Catholic confessional on Sunday.

            Otis worked his way through the crowd, trying to find Candace in the swarm of policy-pushers. Much to his dismay, he only managed to find a legend among legislative lushes.

            Steven Brentfield was a nice guy during working hours. He worked in House Research, quietly studying proposed bills and analyzing them for committee chairs, but he had a reputation for his after-hours shenanigans. The man drank enough booze to float the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan, and he became a walking hard-on after a few stiff Jack & Cokes. Steven smelled like a moonshine vat as he slapped Otis on the back.

            "Heeeyyy there, goo- *hiccup* goo- *hiccup* good buuuuddy." Steven's case of hiccups made him drunker with every contraction, and Otis could only imagine how many bottles of gin were being shaken up in that liquid-soaked belly of his.

            "I have got to show you this chick *hiccup* I've been eye-ballin' alllll night." Steven pointed towards his eye, nearly poking himself right in the pupil. "I think she's been winking at me."

            Otis rolled his eyes at this remark and started moving towards the tables to find Candace, but Steven grabbed the young representative by the arm, spinning him around and nearly knocking him off balance. With a surprisingly strong grip, he dragged Otis across the Depot floor to see this latest inebriated endeavor.

---------------------

Otis had heard about Stevens drunken selection of bar flies. The latest rumor around the capitol was that Steven got blindingly drunk at Dailys Downstairs after a late Friday session and ended up taking home a woman whose teeth looked were on loan from Mr. Ed.

            This isn't to say the girl was unattractive, because everyone agreed she had more curves than a winding country road... it's just that her teeth stood out like a white picket fence. All the same, Steven pulled out all the stops to impress this girl, and everyone simply chalked it up to blind love.

            The truth is that Steven had become Harry Hardon after throwing back a few tall Jack & Cokes, and by his third drink, he was content simply to stare at the girl's jugs for the rest of the night. This lapse in tact blinded him to the bar flys well-endowed enamel, and he never once noticed her pearly whites.

What was even more surprising was that after Steven took her to his apartment, he didn't notice the teeth during their impassioned dance to the bedroom. He didn't even notice when she took them out for her trademark "Habersham Hummer," made famous in her hometown of Cornelia and the tri-county area.

            Yes, the lusty bar fly's extensive overbite was actually a set of poorly designed false teeth, and everyone with Steven at Daily's had known this from the get-go. When Steven walked into the office on Monday morning with a swagger in his step, he told all the guys in the office about the smoothest blowjob he ever got. Word eventually spread through the office and eventually made its wa to every member of the General Assembly (this was the Communications office, after all.)  Before long, the lovable drunk had earned the nickname "Smooth Gum Steve."

Even Governor Weathington caught wind of the story at a Republican fundraiser and nearly laughed himself hoarse in front of the President of the United States. He even leaned over to the leader of the free world to share the tale. "Ya won't believe the story I just heard, boss," the governor said in his southern plantation accent. "Ah say, its a real knee-slappah. You ah gonna love it..."

---------------------

Steven hustled Otis to the bar at the back of the Depot, stealthily positioning himself among the bottles of liquor. With a wobbly finger, he pointed to a crowd of women. "There *hiccup* she is," Steven slurred. "Thaz her riiight over there."

Otis pushed one of the liquor bottles out of the way to get a better view. He recognized a few comely lobbyists, but he spotted a woman in a cream-colored sweater that made him break out in a sweat.

            "Who were you pointing at, Steve?"

            "That girl there," the drunken Steve mumbled. "The one with the long, brown hair."

Otis jaw dropped as the woman turned around. Her long, flowing hair was unmistakable as her lips revealed brilliant white teeth. A small freckle punctuated her smile. Of all the women in the capitol of all the lobbyists at this gala or the hundreds of underage high schoolers that walk under the Gold Dome, Smooth Gum Steve had honed his radar on Candace Kofskie.

"Oh yeah, buddy," said Steven with a hint of mischief in his voice. "That girl is finer than a frog hair split four ways." He licked the tips of his thumb and middle finger and then slowly smoothed down the thick, caterpillar eyebrows resting on his forehead.

"Yessir, I'm calling shotgun on that cutie-pie. Now, *hiccup* just follow my lead and keep her friend company. If were lucky, *hiccup* we'll both be tied up for the rest of the night... or well have them tied down, one!"

Steve nudged his elbow into Otis side and let out a sinister snicker. It was the kind of laugh you'd hear out of an ax murderer in a horror movie just before he brings the hammer down on some shrieking coed. Otis watched as Steven strolled over to the group of girls, walking with a staggered, bowlegged swagger. For a second, Steven looked like that psychopathic killer moving in on his unsuspecting victim.

Otis shook the image out of his head and made his way to the crowd of women just as Steven was telling one of his cliched icebreakers. Otis wasn't going to let a horndog like Smooth Gum Steve keep him from making the most of his second chance.

            As it turns out, Steven ruined his own game by making a complete ass of himself. He shamelessly hit on Candace from the moment he approached her and her entourage of lobbyists and senate aids. Even Otis, a longtime veteran of Athens' nightlife and a self-proclaimed social-scene scientist, was surprised at some of the lines his inebriated friend used on Candace. Some of the most memorable lines included:

- "That outfit is very becoming on you. Of course, if I were on you I'd be cumming too."
          - "You must work at Subway, cause you're giving me a foot-long."
          - "Is that a keg in your pants? 'Cause I wanna tap that ass!"

            The more Steven flapped his gums, the better Otis felt. Candace laughed at all of Stevens corny pickup lines, but she occasionally flashed her beaming blue eyes up at Otis, rolling them at Stevens raunchy jokes. Before long, Steven was swaying back and forth after downing one too many free drinks, and he publicly announced that he would have to excuse himself to toss his cookies over the railing. As Steven ran and/or drunkenly stumbled towards the old railroad tracks, Candace wrapped her hand around Otis arm and reached up to give him a hug.

"I've got to get going," she whispered in his ear. "It's getting late and we've both got a big day tomorrow." She let go of his shoulders and took hold of his hands. Otis felt her slip a small piece of paper into his fingers.

"Here's my number. Why don't you give me a call after adjournment tomorrow? Maybe we can grab some dinner." She gave his hand a squeeze as she made her way to the double doors.

Otis stood there holding the piece of paper as Candace left him the beside an empty table. He watched her walk across the Depot to the heavy wooden doors. But just before she walked out into the night, she looked over her shoulder at Otis and let a hopeful grin slide across her face.

Otis remembered that grin... the same one from when they watched the sun melt into Baymeadows Lake during those endless summers. Their firefly flashlights had lit up that same light-hearted smirk as they counted the stars in her backyard. And in the brief moment before Candace stepped through the doorway, Otis was felt like he was by that lakeshore again, staring over a sun-scorched sea that can only be appreciated when the wind is still and the soul is at peace. It was a welcomed contrast to the emotions he had felt since taking his seat in the legislature.

            Finally remembering the tiny piece of paper in his hand, Otis traced his fingers around its edges and slowly unfolded the halves. The blue-lined paper had a seven digit scribbled across the top. A small note graced the bottom of the page written in a delicate, feminine script:

            "Here's to second chances."

Episode V: The Tale of Shotgun Scrappy

The state house was just about finished with another long day in the capitol when the clerk called the last bill over the loudspeaker. A group of representatives had drafted a bill that would outlaw All-Terrain Vehicles on public roads, claiming Georgias children were getting hurt in random accidents. Nearly every representative took a turn speaking, and Otis was last in line. After waiting nearly three hours to speak, the young representative cleared his throat, and addressed the restless group of tired legislators.

"Look," Otis told the crowd. It seems to me that we all know how we're going to vote, so let's cut the bullshit and get right down to business. Personally, Ive ridden ATV's hundreds of times, and the only time Ive ever been hurt is when I was too drunk to steer the damn thing. Just remember: for every stupid person who wraps himself around a tree, there are hundreds of responsible thrill-seekers who genuinely love to ride. Let's end this waste of debate. Don't penalize safe riders for the mistakes of drunks like me."

A round of applause erupted from the audience as the speaker unlocked the voting machine. Now, nearly an hour after the bill failed, Otis was turning out the light in his office and walking to the set of golden elevators for a quiet night in his hotel.

Pressing the worn button between the doors, he waited patiently until the doors slid open revealing Robert Brown, better known as The Bear around the capitol. People started calling him this because of his big-brother demeanor, but also because he could shout down any junior member who stepped outside the party line. That, and he stood at an impressive 6'6" with hands that swallowed others in his firm, but gentle grip.

Bear let out a deep laugh as he pulled Otis close to give one of his patented Brother Bear Hugs. The old man had just entered his golden years, and the lines on his face traced the years of farm work he had done before his days as a representative from north Georgia.

"Just the man I was looking for, the man said in his booming, baritone voice. Helluva a speech today, son. I was wonderin' if youd like to come out with me and the misses for some dinner. Come on, now; the tabs on the lobbyists!"

Before long, the two were in cruising down Peachtree Street for a dinner at Bacchanalia. Otis made small talk with Bear Brown, telling him about how he got to the state house with nothing but a shoe-string budget and his four drunken friends.

"Boy, you're alright, said the mountain of a man. "You remind me of myself when I was younger. You say you went to the University of Georgia? I've got a story for you

---------- 

"I come from a small town in north Georgia right in the corner of the state. Our family wasnt the richest one in town (and no one else really was either), so we raised chickens so we could sell some eggs and keep some of them on the side. And that chicken coop was painted all red and black with a big G on the side for the Georgia Bulldogs.

"You have to understand my father loved the Bulldogs. Although he never went to the school itself, he cheered them on all the days of his life. If you lived within a mile of our house, you would always know when the Bulldogs scored a touchdown, because daddy would whoop and holler at the top of his lungs. Just the same, when the quarterback made a bad throw or the running back fumbled the ball, hed spit fire and piss vinegar.

"Living that close to the Tennessee border, we had a lot of Volunteer fans around town, and that made daddy hate them orange bastards even more than was allowed under friendly rivalry rules. Well, this one particular day, Georgia was losing to Tennessee, so daddy was in a bitter mood. After Tennessee had given Georgia a thorough thrashing, daddy was madder than a stirred-up hornets nest, and that was bad news for old Scrappy.

"Scrappy was one of several dozen dogs owned by a man that ran a junk yard behind his house. These dogs were the most pathetic, flea-bitten mongrels youve ever seen, because our neighbor purposely starved them to make them mean enough to guard his scrap heap. One day, that old dog Scrappy snuck through the fence around our coop and set his sights on all our chickens.

"The Georgia/Tennessee game had just ended and daddy had gone outside to smoke a cigarette to cool off. No sooner had he turned the corner behind our porch than he saw chicken carcasses scattered across the yard and that mangy dog chasing down the rest of them. Boy, I tell you what, daddy kept his cool considering the circumstances. He just walked over to his truck, pulled out the shotgun he had mounted behind the seat, calmly walked into the chicken yard, and blew the back legs off ol' Scrappy.

"Content to let that dog die in misery, daddy walked back to the front of the house to finish his cigarette. Now you wouldnt believe it, but ol' Scrappy had some kick left in him. Using only his front paws, the poor dog dragged himself back to the junkyard and died right on his master's porch.

"When our neighbor found his poor pooch dead on his doorstep, he got fightin' mad. With whiskey flask in hand, he walked into our yard, pointed his finger at daddy, and hollered, 'You stupid son of a bitch! You killed my dog! If you even look cross at me or my pups, Ill come over there and burn your house down. '

"That didnt phase daddy one bit, but I knew that he was boiling on the inside. Here was a man whose dog had killed nearly all our prized hens, and now he was threatening to burn down the house daddy had build with his bare hands. On top of all this, those bastards in orange had beaten daddys beloved Georgia Bulldogs.

"Although he showed no signs of it, I could tell something snapped inside him. Squinting his eyes across the yard, he calmly took a drag of his cigarette and turned to me. 'Boy, get in the truck, ' he said snuffing out his cigarette. 'Were going to the corner store for a bit. '

"We came back later that evening with a 50-gallon drum, 20 pounds of horse meat, and enough anti-freeze to keep a diesel rig running in the Sahara Desert. We threw that meat into the drum and stirred in the anti-freeze, making sure every morsel was saturated in the green fluid. The sun had set by the time the batch was stirred to daddy's satisfaction, so we loaded the mix into the back of daddys truck. With me holding the barrel on the edge of the truck bed, daddy put the truck into gear and slowly crept down the road.

"When we got close to our neighbors house, daddy opened the rear window and told me that when he gave the signal, I had to tip that drum over, dumping raw meat all over the road. As soon as the truck passed our neighbors mailbox, daddy yelled out 'GOOO DAWGS! SIC 'EM!' That was my cue. I kicked the drum off the truck bed and watched as chunks of meat spread across the road. Dozens of dogs clamored into the street as daddy and I sped off to get a drink at Tavern on the Hill.

"The next morning I woke up to the sound of the most God-awful screams I've ever heard. Grabbing my jeans from the bedpost, I bolted through the front door and ran through the yard to the road below. There I saw daddy standing with arms folded. Panting hard from my sprint, I asked if he was all right.

"Daddy didn't say a word. With a smug look of satisfaction drawn across his face, he simply nodded his head down the road and walked away. I slowly turned my head to find a scene pulled straight from the pages of D-Day. Nearly one hundred dead dogs lay strewn along the road and our neighbors front yard. Staggering from dog to dog was the man who had threatened to burn down our house, his hands combing through the thin hair on his head.

"I walked back up the house where daddy was sitting in his favorite rocking chair, smoking a cigarette. I sat down in the chair next to him as a cloud of smoke left his lips.

"'Son, ' he said to me in a low voice, 'when you grow up, dont ever think youre the biggest man on the block. Even though you may have the loudest bark, theres always going to be someone with even bigger teeth. '"

----------

Otis didnt know whether to laugh out loud or sit silent in awe. Bear Brown looked over at him with a smile on his own face.

"Youve got quite a bark on you, boy. Theres no doubt about that. Just be sure no one is bearing their teeth as you open your mouth." Suddenly, all the doors locked with a flip of the large mans finger.

The hairs on the back of Otiss head perked up as he laughed nervously. "Who would want to bite me, Bear?"

Bears smile disappeared as the car pulled up to a red light. The large man pivoted in his chair, his eyes glaring at Otis. "Well, maybe I would."

Otis' eyes widened in abject horror. He imagined this man letting out a huge roar, tearing off one of his arms and beating him to death with it. The young representative threw himself against the passenger door as small squeak escaped his fear-gripped throat.

But the smile returned to the big mans face as the light turned green.

"Ah, don't worry, son," the man said slapping the young representative on the shoulder with a smile. "You were right. We would have just been punishing all those responsible people for the foolish acts of a few drunks."

The car turned off Peachtree Street and pulled into a parking place marked RESERVED. "You were right to speak your mind because it was the right thing to do. That's when I remembered what my dad told me as he walked back into the kitchen that afternoon."

The two men hopped out of the car and walked up to the Midtown restaurant. "He told me that if a man ever threatens you and all you hold dear, never back down to that bully; never be afraid to do what you know is right."

The mountain-sized man reached for the door handle as he looked back at Otis. "You're going places, Mr. Dunby. Just don't forget to take that courage of yours with you." He let a sly grin creep underneath his round glasses as he leaned down to Otis.

"Now," the gentle giant said in a hushed whisper, "lets put a big ol' hole in this lobbyists pocket."

Carrying on a Conversation with one Language Tied Behind My Back

The Chronicles of Otis Dunby, Freshman Rep
Episode IV: Otis finds his long-lost love

      The sun was rising behind the Gold Dome as Otis walked from his car to the marble office building. It was Otis' daily hobby to sit on the bench outside the building with the morning's first cup of coffee and watch all the pretty, young ladies walk to work.

     It's a little-known fact that the most beautiful women in Georgia worked inside the state capitol, and Otis had come to appreciate this small luxury of political life. Every representative and senator hires young women fresh out of college to assist them, and every private interest hires beautiful women to persuade those lawmakers to cut corporate taxes, fund public/private initiatives, and pass laws that favor corporate interests.

      As Otis sat on the bench with his cup of coffee, he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her flowing brown hair swayed in the wind as she strolled across the capitol lawn towards the Gold Dome. She had eyes as blue as a summer's sky, and her face was a portrait of classic Greek beauty. Otis barely had time to pick up his jaw before he heard someone calling his name.

     "Otis... Otis..." The voice seemed to come from nowhere, echoing in the recesses of his captivated mind. "Otis Dunby, is that you?" Otis shook his head side-to-side, falling out of his hormone-induced trance. He looked around to see who was talking to him, and to his surprise, it was the same girl he had been gawking from across the street.

     "I thought I recognized you, Otis," the lady said with a wide smile. Her teeth glistened in the sunlight, adding to her angelic form. "You do remember me, don't you?" She threw her hands on her hips as Otis sat dumfounded. "Otis Dunby, don't tell me you forgot the girl next door."

       The girl next door... the words echoed in Otis' head as memories flashed before his waking sight. He was taken back 15 years to his old neighborhood, back to when Huffy bikes were a status symbol and a piece of candy was as good as hard money. He traced his way back to his family's house on Seagraves Drive, and he nearly choked on his coffee when he realized who this tall, breath-taking woman really was. It was Candace Kofskie, and she was all grown up.

       Candace's family lived in the house beside the Dunby family for as long as Otis could remember.  He had loved her with a schoolboy fervor ever since he saw her step on the bus for first day of elementary school. They played together in the summer, sometimes camping out in her parent's backyard and catching fireflies at night. It was the closest thing to love Otis had ever felt, but he was too young to know what to do with his feelings.

      One cold winter day, a moving van pulled up to the Kofskie's house and took Candace away to Texas. Memories of those young years slowly faded away, but at that moment, on that park bench in front of the state capitol, all the memories came flooding back.

    "Candace?" Otis could barely get her name out of his throat. "Wow, what are the odds? You look great. God, it's been… what, about 15 years?" Otis studied her face, trying to trace the years of her youth. He noticed she still had that small freckle just off on the corner of her mouth, the same one she hated so much in second grade that she nearly cut it off with a pair of classroom scissors. Now it was a bona fide beauty mark.

       "I thought you were living down in Texas," Otis said. "Rumor around the monkey bars was that you were roping cattle before you tackled long-division."

       Candace chuckled. "Well, I was for a while there. I just graduated from UT and now I'm working here with the Secretary of the Senate. They've got me filing papers and pulling bills. It's not much, but it's a foot in the door." Her eyes looked down towards her feet as she kicked a loose rock off the sidewalk.

      "Besides," she said, tilting her head a little to the side. "You know I can't just forget all the Georgia peaches I left behind."

       She looked up from the sidewalk, her sky-blue eyes meeting the representative's own. A smile slowly crept across both their faces as they sat in silence. Otis was so caught up in the moment he thought he felt a tingle in his gut… or near his gut. Actually, it was on the side of his hip.

        Otis's peeked down at his Blackberry to see that his committee meeting was about to start. He snatched it up with a scowl, annoyed that technology had ruined his Rockwellian moment. "Ah, damnit. I have to go. But hey, here's a shindig tonight at the Depot. Maybe I'll see you there and we can catch up."

        "Yeah, I'd like that," said Candace picking up her satchel. "I'm sure we've both have some good stories to share." She waved good-bye as she made her way across the crosswalk. A grin spread across Otis' face as he finished his coffee, happy to have a second chance at his first love.

---------------------

       A long day of committee meetings left Otis panting for free drinks at the Depot. He had fallen asleep in the House Human Relations committee meeting, which wouldn't have been too bad, but the new camera system made Otis' sleeping mug available to every news agency in Atlanta. He had made the 5 o'clock news without ever saying a word.

Otis quickly shuffled over the old Depot, the oldest building in Atlanta. This renovated train station was built before the Civil War when Atlanta served as the hub of nearly all railway transit for the South. The Confederate army had used it as a triage hospital during the war, and the Union army used it as a base camp after they burned Atlanta to the ground. It was a bustling railway hub into the 20th century, but that all changed after the automobile became a literal fixture of Atlanta traffic.

These days, the Depot is used for private parties and political functions, and Otis was looking forward to seeing Candace at the annual Beer Wholesalers Bash. Balloons and music filled the convention hall as lobbyists and legislators talked over plates of bar-b-que. All the spectacles under the Gold Dome are only acts for public record, but here among the open bars gourmet food, policy is written on loose napkins and inside information flows like wine from drunken lips.

This is where the rubber meets the road in Georgia politics, and it's where Otis shined. He could outlast any lobbyist or legislator in a drinking contest, and his drunken discourse was unmatched among his peers. Nobody would have guessed it, but Otis was a reservoir of hushed secret and hidden scandals; he knew more outrageous stories of double-dealing and sexual exploits than a Catholic confessional on Sunday.

Otis worked his way through the crowd, trying to find Candace in the swarm of policy-pushers. Much to his dismay, he only managed to find a legend among legislative lushes. Steven Brentfield was a nice guy during working hours. He worked in House Research, quietly studying proposed bills and analyzing them for committee chairs, but he had a reputation for his after-hours shenanigans. The man drank enough booze to float the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan, and he became a walking hard-on after a few stiff Jack & Cokes. Steven smelled like a moonshine vat as he slapped Otis on the back.

"Heeeyyy there, goo- *hiccup* goo- *hiccup* good buuuuddy." Steven's case of hiccups made him drunker with every contraction, and Otis could only imagine how many bottles of gin were being shaken up in that liquid-soaked belly of his.

"I have got to show you this chick *hiccup* I've been eye-ballin' alllll night." Steven pointed towards his eye, nearly poking himself right in the pupil. "I think she's been winking at me."

Otis rolled his eyes at this remark and started moving towards the tables to find Candace, but Steven grabbed the young representative by the arm, spinning him around and nearly knocking him off balance. With a surprisingly strong grip, he dragged Otis across the Depot floor to see this latest inebriated endeavor.

---------------------

Otis had heard about Steven's drunken selection of bar flies. The latest rumor around the capitol was that Steven got blindingly drunk at Daily's Downstairs after a late Friday session and ended up taking home a woman whose teeth looked were on loan from Mr. Ed.

This isn't to say the girl was unattractive, because everyone agreed she had more curves than a winding country road… it's just that her teeth stood out like a white picket fence. All the same, Steven pulled out all the stops to impress this girl, and everyone simply chalked it up to blind love.

The truth is that Steven had become Harry Hardon after throwing back a few tall Jack & Cokes; and by his third drink, he was content simply to stare at the girl's jugs for the rest of the night. This lapse in tact blinded him to the bar fly's well-endowed enamel, and he never once noticed her pearly whites.

What was even more surprising was that after Steven took her to his apartment, he didn't notice the teeth during their impassioned dance to the bedroom. He didn't even notice when she took them out for her trademark "Habersham Hummer," made famous in her hometown of Cornelia and the tri-county area.

Yes, the lusty bar fly's extensive overbite was actually a set of poorly designed false teeth, and everyone with Steven at Daily's had known this from the get-go. On Monday morning, Steven walked into the office with a swagger in his step and told the guys in the office about the smoothest blowjob he ever got. Word eventually spread through the office and they eventually passed the tale to every member of the General Assembly (this was the Communications office, after all.)

Even Governor Weathington caught wind of the story at a Republican fundraiser and nearly laughed himself hoarse in front of the President of the United States. He even leaned over to the leader of the free world to share the tale. "Ya won't believe the story I just heard, boss," the governor said in his southern plantation accent. "Ah say, it's a real knee-slappah. You ah gonna love it."

---------------------

Steven hustled Otis to the bar at the back of the Depot, stealthily positioning himself among the bottles of liquor. With a wobbly finger, he pointed to a crowd of women. "There *hiccup* she is," Steven slurred. "Thaz her riiight over there."

Otis pushed one of the liquor bottles out of the way to get a better view. He recognized a few comely lobbyists, but he spotted a woman in a cream-colored sweater that made him break out in a sweat.

"Who were you pointing at, Steve?"

"That girl there," the drunken Steve mumbled. "The one with the long brown hair."

Otis' jaw dropped as the woman turned around. Her long, flowing hair was unmistakable as her lips revealed brilliant white teeth. A small freckle punctuated her smile. Of all the women in the capitol – of all the lobbyists at this gala or the hundreds of underage high schoolers that walk under the Gold Dome – Smooth Gum Steve had honed his radar on Candace Kofskie.

"Oh yeah, buddy," said Steven with a hint of mischief in his voice. "That girl is finer than a frog hair split four ways." He licked the tips of his thumb and middle finger and then slowly smoothed down the thick, caterpillar eyebrows resting on his brow.

"Yessir, I'm calling shotgun on that cutie-pie. Now, *hiccup* just follow my lead and keep her friend company. If we're lucky, *hiccup* we'll both be tied up for the rest of the night… or we'll have them tied down, one!"

Steve nudged his elbow into Otis' side and let out a sinister snicker. It was the kind of laugh you'd hear the ax murderer at in a horror movie just before he brings the hammer down on some shrieking coed. Otis watched as Steven strolled over to the group of girls, walking with a staggered, bowlegged swagger. For a second, Steven looked like that psychopathic killer moving in on his unsuspecting victim.

Otis shook the image out of his head and made his way to the crowd of women just as Steven was telling one of his clichéd icebreakers. Otis wasn't going to let a horndog like Smooth Gum Steve keep him from making the most of his second chance.

As it turns out, Steven ruined his own game by making a complete ass of himself. He shamelessly hit on Candace from the moment he approached her and her entourage of lobbyists and senate aids. Even Otis, a longtime veteran of Athens' nightlife and a self-proclaimed social-scene scientist, was surprised at some of the lines his inebriated friend used on Candace. Some of the most memorable lines included:

·        "That outfit is very becoming on you. Of course, if I were on you I'd be cumming too."

·        "You must work at Subway, 'cause you're giving me a foot-long."

·        "Is that a keg in your pants? 'Cause I wanna tap that ass!"

The more Steven flapped his gums, the better Otis felt. Candace laughed at all of Steven's corny pickup lines, but she occasionally flashed her beaming blue eyes up at Otis, rolling them at Steven's more raunchy jokes. Before long Steven was swaying back and forth after downing one too many free drinks, and he publicly announced that he would have to excuse himself to toss his cookies over the railing. As Steven ran and/or drunkenly stumbled towards the old railroad tracks, Candace wrapped her hand around Otis' arm and reached up to give him a hug.

"I've got to get going," she whispered in his ear. It's getting late and we've both got a big day tomorrow." She let go of his shoulders and took hold of his hands. Otis felt her slip a small piece of paper into his fingers.

"Here's my number. Why don't you give me a call after adjournment tomorrow? Maybe we can grab some dinner." She gave his hand a squeeze as she made her way to the double doors.

Otis stood there holding the piece of paper as Candace left him the old railway depot. He watched her walk across the Depot to the heavy wooden doors. But just before she walked out into the night, she looked over her shoulder at Otis and let a hopeful grin slide across her face.

Otis remembered that grin… the same one from when they watched the sun melt into Baymeadows Lake during those endless summers. Their firefly flashlights had lit up that same lighthearted smirk as they counted the stars in her backyard. And in the brief moment before Candace stepped through the doorway, Otis was felt like he was by that lakeshore again, staring over a sun-scorched sea that can only be appreciated when the wind is still and the soul is at peace. It was a welcomed contrast to the emotions he had felt since taking his seat in the legislature.

Finally remembering the tiny piece of paper in his hand, Otis traced his fingers around its edges and slowly unfolded the halves. The blue-lined paper had a seven digit scribbled across the top. A small note graced the bottom of the page written in a delicate feminine script:

"Here's to second chances."