You’ve Got the First Move

The Entropy in a Closed System Never Decreases.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics

You’ve Got The First Move

I woke from a Dream in a cold sweat because then AC died in the night. So then I rolled out of bed and fell to my knees. “Almighty Creator bend me to Your will. Guide me on the Path of Righteousness. Deliver me from mine enemies. May the wind always be at my back. Thy will be done. Amen.”

After coffee and a smoke, I considered my plans for the day. I had decided to go to Atlanta the largest city in the South to see if it was still there. My hopes were not high.

I topped off the gas tank and grabbed a carton of smokes at a Pilot station just south of Missionary Ridge. The traffic was better than I had ever seen it. No shit. (Insert Interstate numbers here) Just as I entered Fulton County, I noticed grey smoke rising ahead and I immediately tapped the breaks and reached for my pistol with a sweaty palm. What could it be? Should I just turn around run?

I stopped the Jeep. Don’t be a chicken shit! Go see what or who it is. Maybe it’s a signal fire. I prayed, “Dear God grant me courage.” I asked over and over till I finally felt brave. So then I got out of my Jeep and walked toward the fire. I had my .45 in my right hand and a grenade in my left. I may be brave but I’m not stupid.

As I approached, I first noticed the smell of cedar. By now I could see a large bonfire right in the middle of the interstate. No one seemed to be around, but it could be a trap. I flipped off the safety on my pistol and pulled the pin from the grenade with my teeth. Again brave, not stupid.

A voice came from the tree line. “Put down your gun. Nice and slow like.”
Another voice, female: “He’s got a hand grenade!”
Yet another female voice from the opposite side: “Put down the gun, cracker. Now!”
“Please don’t shoot me.” I put down the gun, slow like. Then I put the pin back in the grenade, slow like. My Mom always said curiosity killed the cat. So much for the Power of Prayer.
I see one man and two women walk out from the protection of the trees. Only the man is not pointing a gun at me. “Are you alone?” Asked the man.
“Yes.”
“Good. What’s your name?”
“Jonah. What’s yours?”
“Erik. That’s Jo and that’s Rebeka.”
“Can you please stop pointing your guns at me?”
“Stand down, ladies.” Erik ordered.

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