A fat chick in a wheelchair rolls up to the bar.
"My usual, Mike," she says.
Mike fills a huge kawfee mug with Hawai'ian Kona, fresh heavy cream, and three sweet 'n lows, and hands it to her.
"Here ya go, Jenn," he responds.
Jenn slowly wheels to the line, her shoulders really not made for this pushing business, but she shrugs off offers to assist her. This is her journey alone.
"Fifteen years ago, our country was woken up to the news that we were not as safe and protected as we had always thought we were. I woke up just in time to see the second tower fall, and I screamed and howled in anguish as I watched it. I have never had such a powerful response to any event in my life, and I hope that I never do again."
She takes a swig.
"What I did not know was that my distant cousin, Peter Hanson, his wife Sue, and their not quite three year old daughter, Christine, were on one of the planes that struck the towers. Christine had never met her maternal grandparents. They were meeting up in San Francisco, then driving down to Disneyland for Christine's first visit with the 6 foot tall mouse. They never got there."
"Since then, I've seen a lot of crazy shit in my country. We've gone from an open and accepting place to a place filled with paranoid fucktards filled with hate for any group they don't understand. These fucktards lost nothing and nobody, except their illusion of safety. My family lost a whole lot more, and yet, we are not full of hate."
A final swig.
"Here's to Peter, Sue, Christine, and all of the victims of a handful of crazy bastards whose idea of a wise thing to do was to cause wild destruction and death. Here's to not letting it change who we ARE, not allowing it to fill us with hate and more hate. Here's to our country some day regaining its sanity."
"Here's to not letting the fuckers win."
She pitches the kawfee mug into the fireplace with a loud *CRASH* and slowly wheels away.