God's Gonna Cut You Down

"Maybe, my bathroom isn't that nice because I don't have one," said Sea quietly and worriedly look for his reaction.

"That is unacceptable," said Prescott boorishly. "There are building codes. Your landlord will get in big trouble with the housing authority. You can't let yourself be pushed around. I saw that you have fire inside of you when you told me about your plans of taking over Pathway. Though, in the office with Purson, it was completely gone. You need to grow boss balls!"

A tear was teetering at the edge of Sea's eyes. She sniffed her nose and looked up to make the salty water roll back into her eye.

"I don't have a home. When I come back, be gone. I'll pay the check. Just fuck off!" With that, she got up and walked to the restroom without looking back. Prescott felt a punch to his stomach. All the food wanted to come back out. The barely audible click of the restroom door all the way across the diner stuck in his memory like a bell ringing out until the sound is no longer audible, yet one is still sure that still barely audible.

Prescott stayed sitting there. His mind was frozen. When the restroom door opened, Sea seemed happy and at ease until she saw Prescott still sitting there. She stormed to the table to grab her bag. "I told you to get lost, you stupid puppy!"

"I... I am technically homeless as well. The Princeton dorms are closed and my things are in storage. Well, they are at my mom's. My mom is like my storage facility. I live in a hotel here. It's no big deal," stammered Prescott.

"Oh, it's no big deal!" snapped Sea at him. "It's no big deal to go sleep in a little car and worry that the local prankster kids will try to sneak up on you!" Sea stormed from the table and slammed the bill with her credit card down at the cashier.

Prescott hurried after her, "You could sleep at mine!"

Sea hesitated. She looked down at the floor. She looked pained, rushed, and hopeful at the same time.

"I'll sleep on the floor. You take the bed!" offered Prescott.

With that, they walked to her car. It was gray hatchback with rust bites around the corners. He could see a little gas burner, an opened bag of Lucky Charms, and a Manga magazine. He got into the car with her. The radio player was ripped out. The cables were pulled forward and wrapped to an adapter with a standard power socket. There was a very heavy smell of girl in the car, a musky sweaty and stale scent with a hint of artificial raspberry flavor. Sea's cheek turned rouge. "I'm sorry."

She pulled the car into the hotel parking lot. They walked up the stairs. The curtains of the rooms were lit up yellow. Everyone else was winding down from the day. Like a gentleman, Prescott lay down at the foot of the bed. Sea slipped her jeans and sweatshirt off under the sheets and folded them on the nightstand while she kept the sheet wrapped around her chest.

"Hey, thank you! When I become CEO, you'll always have a job at Pathway!"

With that, they fell asleep.

The next morning had a very crisp feeling to it. The air was the same. The traffic was the same. Rather, the change was inside of Prescott, like his liver had gotten a shot of juice. He was crystal clear about the new designs for his software. Daniel was attentive to his ideas and following the lead.

"See Daniel, I have this perfect out of the box idea. The car coming on the main street goes at 40 mph. It takes 3 seconds to clear the intersection. The car from the side street comes out of a turn and goes at 20 mph. It takes 6 seconds to clear the intersection at that speed. If the cars have to stop at the light, the whole stopping and starting takes a lot of time."

"Now, imagine that two cars come from both streets. If one car comes a little earlier and the other a little later, they could clear the intersection without either car having to stop. Technically, we could give both cars a green signal. The big trick is that we have to make sure that one car enters the intersection a little later."

"I've got a solution for that as well. Imagine two cars perfectly timed for a collision. I'll switch the light to red for one car. It'll start slowing down way ahead of the intersection. Once the side street car has lost the three second equivalent of full speed, I switch the light back to green. So, the car never stops. I simply use the red signal to slow the cars down for perfectly interspersed traffic," Prescott finished with a smile.

"That is certainly thinking out of the box," said Daniel scratching his head. "Well, we sure never tried that. That takes a lot of trust that you can perfectly space the cars. The throughput of the intersection could be doubled if all sides essentially have a green light."

Prescott spent the morning very focused on building a predictive slow down table. His head was buried into the laptop. Daniel kept ticking of passing cars on the clipboard with the algorithm from yesterday still running. A car honked aggressively until Prescott looked up. The sun had a blinding yellow glare on the fenders that suggested that lunch time was almost there. A twenty year old woman with platinum blond hair was frantically pointing up at the traffic light with both hands. She was wearing a surprisingly tight jersey.

"The light's green," hollered Prescott and waved his hand for the seemingly confused and very agitated young woman to drive on. The young woman only rolled her eyes and let her face drop down like a melted Popsicle in the Sahara desert.

"Maybe, in her culture, they use a different color scheme. I mean, red could mean go. How we assign meaning to colors is pretty random," theorized Prescott to Daniel.

"Son, maybe you should learn your own culture! When a cheerleader tells you to switch the light to red, shut up, do it, and put a smile on your face!" admonished Daniel.

"Oh," escaped Prescott's lips. He switched to the terminal and punched 67 in to turn all lights to red.

The college cheerleader gave him a thumbs up. She was in a pickup truck. The truck bed was full of cheerleaders with pompoms. The driver turned the radio on full blast. She and her co-driver opened their doors and jumped out. The girls on the truck bed started swinging their hips and punching their fists into the air to the beat of the music. The little miniskirts kept fluttering side to side. Oh, and Prescott even got a little glimpse of the black panties under the white mini-skirt when the busty brunette in the middle did an extra high front kick.

"Son, that's the one reason why I volunteered for mentoring you. This city is crazy about traffic lights. About everyone is going to come out to be part of what you do here," said Daniel while he tapped Prescott on the head.

The song ended. The driver pointed angrily at the traffic light again. Prescott quickly punched 3 and enter into the terminal. The light switched to green. The brunette threw him something soft. He caught it as the truck drove off. They were pink sport panties from Victoria Secret. Every cheerleader had signed it with a fat black pen. There were little blown kisses and hearts doodled on the panties. He felt proud like a hunter who had caught a bear with his bare hands. He held the panties up to Daniel as if to make an offering. Prescott was so dazed and surprised.

"Those are yours. Put 'em away now. A Facebook internship would have never gotten you these. Do you see know what makes Pathway special?" asked Daniel.

The truck stopped at Will's traffic light. Will started immediately pouring the beer over his head while shaking his head vigorously to fling the beer into every which direction. He made the sound of a dying hyena. The cheerleader troupe got a little unsure if they wanted to go through with their whole routine. When Will started Heavy Metal head banging against the traffic light, they hopped into their truck and took off with squealing tires across the red light.

"The cultural quotient is very low today," remarked Daniel dryly.

After a couple more hours of heads down programming and pushing back lunch, Prescott looked at the screen and a happy "Compile succeeded" message looked back at him. "Daniel, I'm gonna plug the new algorithm in!" Daniel nodded with anticipation. Prescott typed on the terminal to upload the binary to the traffic control box.

Both looked over the empty intersection. A red Kia came out of the turn of the side street. A black Mustang came down the main street. The computer estimated their meeting point in the intersection to be offset by only one second, a sure crash impact. The light for the main street turned red. The red Mustang stepped of the gas. The red tail light was lighting up, visibly through the rear window. The computer display switched from one second to two seconds and finally 6 seconds. The light turned green again.

The Mustang driver slammed on the gas. The engine roared. The computer display counted down towards 0 seconds. The light switched to red. Prescott smiled at Daniel, "I added a subroutine to re-apply the red light if the projected speed deviates from the expected speed." The driver slammed on the breaks hard. The computer display shot pretty quickly up to 10 seconds. The light switched back to green.

The Mustang driver this time floored the gas to the effect of squealing performance tires. "Oh oh," exclaimed Prescott helplessly. "I didn't think about that." The red Kia was almost in the intersection. The black Mustang did its best to impact the red Kia. The red Mustang's fishtailed a bit under the power of the acceleration. The asphalt simply was not up to racetrack snuff in terms of traction. The computer display counted rapidly down to 0 seconds and impact expected again. The algorithm switched to a red light again. The red Mustang did an emergency break maneuver. Black skid marks painted across the road, the Mustang slid sideways and stopped on the pedestrian walkway. The red Kia casually drove across the intersection. The Kia driver flipped off the Mustang driver in passing.

"The user experience has a lot of upwards potential," said Prescott. "Studies show that the majority of users prefer a predictable user interface."

"Is that Princeton speak for 'I fucked up'?" asked Daniel.

"At Princeton, we believe in failing fast. Failing fast matures a new business idea faster than anything else," lectured Prescott.

"Do you think that's a good inscription for someone's tombstone," asked Daniel, starting to get annoyed.

"No, most people prefer tombstones with Latin inscriptions. I'm sure that there is a version of veni, vidi, vici that goes along the lines of 'I failed. Someone died. I IPOed.'" Said Prescott while getting up. "I'm going to get lunch now."

While Prescott was waiting for his New England chowder in the diner, Purson walked up to the intersection. He talked with Daniel. Prescott looked heavy heartedly at his soup that sent curled fingers of steam into the air. He stood up with a sigh and signaled the waitress that he'd be back. Then, he walked to the door. Daniel saw him coming, yet waved Prescott with the hand behind Daniel's back for Prescott to stay away. Daniel was dazed and stood right behind the diner glass door.

A F150 black pickup truck pulled up. Four players of the Elkins college football team were sitting there with their tight shorts, padded shoulders, and helmets. Purson talked with the players and made wild waving gestures. Then, he reached into his pocket and gave them money. While Purson was busy with his dealing, Daniel firmly looked at Prescott and shook his head to affirm Daniel's earlier "no." Prescott stayed inside the diner.

The F150 roared off towards Sea's intersection. Prescott pressed his face against the window to see at the shallow angle. The football team hollered at Sea, "Yo, village slut! Show us your titties!" Someone squirted a water bottle into her face. Sea quickly closed her computer. The black and meaty linebacker climbed off the truck bed down the tail gate with slow meandering movements. The sense of imminent violence was in the air. The linebacker had riled himself up to the point of readiness for violent action.

Sea powered down her laptop and closed the lid to protect it from water damage. She got up to move away from the 250 lbs. mass of fat and muscle. A white runner with a light bulb body (skinny legs and big upper body) stopped her from slipping away. He simply puffed his chest up with those giant pecs like oversized pillows and let her run into him. She bounced back towards the linebacker who was closing in. She went down in a fetal position to curl herself around her laptop.

"Fucking bitch is making it hard."

The two football players went on their knees and started pulling on her. Like an iron ball, she curled tightly around her laptop. They tried to pull her pants down and rip her clothes off to shame her. However, Sea held desperately onto her laptop. They only got her shoes and socks off her body.

"Fuck it. We'll just throw her with the laptop into the Tygart. That should finish her laptop. She can probably swim. Yeah, all white bitches are taught to swim by their rich parents."

The linebacker grabbed her and lifted her up like a spare tire and stared walking to the truck bed. Prescott burst out of the diner at full stride. Daniel yelled, "No!!" Prescott kept running at full speed.

The runner paused and seized up Prescott. "Who's that dude? He can run." The runner looked in awe. The whole football team froze as if they had never seen anyone else challenge them before. Prescott was huffing heavily by the time he reached them. Not having a plan at all, he ran head first into the runner. The runner tightened his abs. The scene reminded of a rain drop hitting an M1 Abrams. Prescott bounced back and fell on the ground. The runner never stopped his look of awe, so lost was he in observation and didn't feel the attack at all.

"He's obviously not from around here," said the runner.

"Dude, look at his clothing! Who walks around like that! He's obviously not from Elskin," responded the linebacker.

"Was he fighting me? Or did he have really poor aim running past me?" asked the runner.

Prescott got up to his feet. He made a few shuffle steps having a hard time to stay standing. Then, he launched a punch at the linebacker.

"Yo, I think he's fighting you," replied the linebacker. "But maybe, his aim for a handshake is really poor as well."

"Yeah, no, I'm pretty sure he is fighting me," said the runner. The big hairy hand of the runner wrapped around Prescott's throat and lifted Prescott a foot of the ground. Prescott still kept swinging punched into the thin air, while his feet were trying to run forward despite being off the ground. "Why doesn't he stop fighting?"

"I think he's lovesick for that one," said the linebacker as he tossed the curled up Sea on the truck bed.

"That's kind of cute. I bet she'll give him a blowjob for that later," said the runner. "What should I do with him?"

"Maybe, he's like a remote controlled car. When I pick up my cousin's car, they tires keep spinning despite them being in the air. So, maybe turn him around, put him down, and he'll run away," suggested the linebacker.

The runner did so. Prescott spun around and came right back at the runner. The runner put his big hand on Prescott's face to keep Prescott out of punching range. "That didn't work," said the runner bored.

Daniel showed up at the scene huffing, "Guys, I'm sorry for my intern causing trouble. Prescott, get back here!"

Prescott stopped punching after the runner and pushing forward. Purson caught up to them. Two cars stopped. The patrons of the diner came out into the street. The blond football player on the truck bed exclaimed, "What is she doing here? She doesn't get a ride from us!" He threw her off the truck bed. The runner and linebacker jumped onto the truck and the truck sped away.

Purson hissed into Prescott's ear, "I'm gonna cut you down, just like I will her!"

"Sea!" called out Prescott to the pile of bruised young woman on the ground.

Yet, Daniel kept him from running towards her. Daniel kept pulling Prescott away and soothingly whispered into his ear, "not now! If you want to truly help her, you can't be seen with affection for her." With that, Daniel kept pulling the stirred up youth toward the diner. Walking backward and being pulled, Prescott saw Sea getting up, holding her ribs, and limping to her foldout chair. The right knee looked injured from the way she limped.

"Why do you put up with this?" blurted Prescott out!

"Pssst! Quiet down," hushed Daniel. When Prescott calmed down a bit and looked ready to listen, Daniel continued, "Purson is holding something over me. He knows everybody's secret. You stole and drank your professor's urine! That's despicable. Though, it's also the reason that you got the job offer. He's a demon! Have some soup! Food will calm you down."

"The best thing that you can do for Sea is to win the traffic light competition. Before you came, the only applicants were Will and Sea. Sea was going to win hands down. So, Purson brought you in to make sure that Sea wouldn't win. The thing is that Sea has prepared for this her whole life. You haven't. So, she is leading in the score. That makes Purson desperate. Once you take the lead, he'll lay off Sea," explained Daniel.

Daniel pulled the red-speckle-faced Prescott backwards down the street. "Now, you use your head first, boy." The voice was soothingly quiet like a father pulling his kid out of a football pileup that's gotten too heated. His lips still vibrating from the adrenaline, Prescott gaped at the air. His feet stumbled backwards underneath him, catching on a little crack in the sidewalk, feeling Daniel pull him up the shoulder, and dragging the opposite foot back. Prescott watched Sea on the ground checking her elbows and carefully extending her road rashed finger. In slow motion, Prescott watched her sort herself out. He had an out-of-body feeling of watching himself. The anger burned deeply in his bones. Purson's words echoed in his head, "I'm gonna cut you down."

The ringing of the diner door snapped Prescott out of the trance. Daniel pushed Prescott down in the booth with the lukewarm soup still waiting on him.

"Eat!" pressed Daniel. "For fuck's sake! Eat!"

Prescott put a first hesitant spoon into the soup. The heartiness of nutrition spread in Prescott's stomach. The second spoon was already surer. The third was filled with hunger. Daniel watched Prescott eat. Daniel ordered a chicken sandwich with gravy for Prescott. Daniel watched the lad eat solemnly, rapidly consumed of making sure that Prescott would feel better like a father would watch a child that's tormented by night fever. By the final finishing touches on that chicken, Daniel's lips whimpered to fight his face with tension. Yet, a tear rolled down his face anyway. He looked to the aisle side of the booth and struggled to blink his eyes clear.

"Fuck you, Purson. Fuck you! I can deal with what he puts met through. I can't watch someone else go through it."

With that the tears started streaming down Daniel's face. Daniel grabbed Prescott's hand on the table as if Daniel was going to comfort Prescott, even though Daniel was the one that needed comforting. There was a long moment of silence. The past of the booth had seen many such meltdowns and joys. The booth gives privacy. Human moments happen in privacy. Daniel looked at Prescott with an open mouth. His eyes showed the white. Daniel was pushed into reality. The metal hit the metal.

Daniel fumbled with shaky hands for the breast pocket of his shirt. He pulled out a photo. He pressed it into Prescott's hand. The photo showed Daniel ten years younger: The head hair was full. The beard was carefully trimmed. He had energy and a little spunk in his eyes. A young ankle biter of four years old sat on his lap. A woman with long, blond hair stood behind him, putting her hands on his shoulder. A blond and white Border Collie with its fluffy fur and telltale loyal, adventurous face was lying at his feet. It was the typical, faded all-American family photo.