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Make a vocabulary quiz with below.Crisis: a very difficult situation or emergency; “Investors are worried that continuing problems in the stock market might lead to another financial crisis.” Short-staffed: not having enough employees or workers; “We laid off dozens of employees to save money, but now we’re short-staffed and can’t fill orders quickly.” To drive someone nuts: to make someone upset or annoyed; “The autocorrect feature on my mobile phone really drives me nuts.” To arise: to happen or start to develop, especially for problems or situations; “Problems arose for the developers when local residents voted against construction of the new shopping mall.” To moan: to complain about something, especially in a way that bothers other people; “Every Monday morning my colleagues moan about having to come to the office so early.” Optimism: the feeling or belief that good things will happen; “Analysts are expressing optimism that the real estate market will bounce back quickly.” Pessimism: the tendancy or belief that the worst will happen. “Now is not the time for pessimism, we need to believe we can do this or we will fail.” Hurdle: a problem that must be overcome or dealt with in order to reach a goal or do something; “Lack of capital is a major hurdle for many young entrepreneurs with good business ideas.” © 2013 All rights reserved: www.businessenglishpod.com 2 To give up: to stop trying to do or achieve something; “After being rejected by over a dozen universities, Roger gave up on his plans to study for an MBA.” To keep your eye on the prize: to stay motivated and focused on your final goal or reward; “Okay folks, I know things have been really busy, but let’s keep our eye on the prize and we’ll get this done before Christmas.” Down the road: in the future; “Sales our good in our retail outlets, but 10 years down the road we’re going to have to be more competitive in the online market.” To overcome: to deal with a problem successfully; “You are going to have to overcome your lack of confidence if you want to be a good salesman.” Decisiveness: having the ability to make decisions and act firmly. “Decisiveness is a quality we look for in new managers.” Bumpy: we can use “bumpy” to describe a road or process that has many problems; “We had a pretty bumpy start-up phase, but we finally managed to turn a profit in our fifth year of operations.” To display: to show a feeling, emotion, or characteristic; “David displayed tremendous preparation and diplomacy during the negotiations.” On the fence: someone who is “on the fence” is having difficulty making a decision or taking a position; “While the executives support expansion wholeheartedly, the shareholders are still on the fence about it.” All-in: in poker, if you are “all-in” you put all your money on one bet, but we can use this expression more generally to say you are completely committed to something, especially a plan; “This sounds like a good idea, but before I go all-in I need to know more about the project partners.” To have what it takes: to have the ability or intelligence to do something; “I thought I’d enjoy law, but after a few years as a junior lawyer I realized I don’t really have what it takes.

Why and How Managers Plan Importance of planning The planing process Benefits of planning Planning and time management Types of PLans used by managers Long term and short term plans Strageic and tactical plans Operational plans Planning Tools and Techiqunes Forecasting Contrigency planning Scenario planning Benchmaking Use of staff planners Implementing Plans to Achive Results Goal setting Goal management Goal alignment Participation and involvement Planning Def: The process of setting objectives and determining how best to accomplish them Planning at Eaton Corporation “Making the hard decision before events force them upon you, an anticipating the future needs of the market before the demand asset itself Objectives and goals Identifity the specific results or desired outcomes that one intends to achieve Plan Def: A statement of action steps to be taken in order to accomplish the objectives (goals) Steps in the planning process: Define your objectives Determine where you stand vis-a-vis objectives Develpo premises reagrdsing future conditions Analyze alternatives and make a plan Implement the plan and evaluate results What are the benefits of planning Improves focus and flexibility Imporves action orteitation Imporves coordination and control Imporves time management Time Managment Personal time management tips Do say “no” to request that distract you form what you should be doing Dont get bogged down inn details that can be addressed later Do screen telephone calls, emails and meeting request Dont let drop in visitors, text messaging use up your time Do prioritize your important and urgent work Dont become calendar bound by letting other control your schedule Do follow priorities; do most important and urgent work first Some 77% of mangers in one survey said that digital age has increased th number of decisions they have to make 43% said there was less time available to make these decisions Types of plans used by Managers What is teh time horizon Long term vs Short term Long term Look three or more years into teh future Short term plans Typically cover one year or less However: the increasing environmental complexity and dynamism of recent years has severely tested the concept of “long-term” planning Plans are subject to frequent revisions Most executives would likely agree that these complexities adn uncertainties challenge how er actually go about planning and how far ahead we can really plan At the very least we can conclude that there is a lot less permanency to long term plans today and that tey are subject to frequent revision Managment reaeracher Eillot Jaques believes tha people vary in their capability to think with different time horizons Types of Plans used by Managers (3 of 5) Strategic plans Set broad, comprehensive and linger term action directions for teh entire organization or major division Vision Clarifies purpose of the organization and what it hopes to be on the future Typical plans Specify how the organizations resources are used to implement strategy Tactical plans in business often take the form of functional plans Functional plans Incidate how different component within the organiztion will help accompnlish the overall strategy Production plans Finacial plans Facilites Plans Logisitc plans Marketing plans Human Resource Plans Operation plans Describe short-term activities to implement strategic plans Policies: Are standing plans that communicate guidelines for decisions Ex: Policies on office romances: The media is quick to report when a top executive or public figures runs into trouble over an office affair. Are there ant policies on office romances? Employer polices on office raltioshiis vary. One survey find teh following: 24% prohibit relationships among employees in the same department 13% prohibit relationships among employees who have the smae supervisor 80% prohibit relationships between supervisors and subordinates 5% have no restrictions on office romances Procedures: Are rules that describe actions to be taken in specific situations Budgets: are single use plans that commit resources to projects or activities Zero based budgets: allocate resources as if each budget were brand new There is no guarantee that any past funding will be renwer. All propsales, old and new, must compete for available funds at teh start of each new budget cycle Forcasting Attempts to predict the future Qualitaive forecasting uses expert opinions Quantitative forecasting uses mathematical models and statiscal aanylsis of historical data dna surveys Contingency planning Identify alternative course of action to take when things go wrong Anticipate changing conditions Contain trigger points to indicate when to activate plan (or a specific course of action) Scenario planning A long term version of contingency planning Identifying alternative future scenarios Plans made for each future scenario Increases organizations flexibility and preparation for future shocks Benchmarking Use of external and internal comparisons to better evaluate current performance Adopting best practices: things people adn organization do that lead to superior performance Staff Planners Experts who assist in all steps of the planning process They help bring focus and expertise to a wide variety of planning tasks Important: Communication between staff planers landline managers is essential for teh success of teh planning process Goal Setting - Always set SMART goal The solution: Goal Aligment Between Team Leader and Team Member Jonintly plan: Set objectives, set standards, choose actions Individually acy: Perform tasks (member), provide support (leader) Jointly control: Review results, discuss implications, renew cycle x4 Collective effort and commitment Participatroy planning Includes in all planning steps that people who will be affected by the plans adn askedd to help implement them Unloacks motivational potential of goal setting Management by objective (MBO) promotes participation Participation increases understanding and acceptance of plan and commitment to success Participatory planning - Number of people involved in teh decision making process Amazon is intensely focused on what it does. It believes in creating tight single-threaded teams, also known as “2 pizza team.” Data and Decision Making What are some of the important competencies managers must have today? Delegate Marketing and technology Manager must have Technological competency Ability to understand new technologies and to use them to their best advantage Information competency Ability to locate, gather, organize and display information for decision-making and problem solving Analytical competency Ability to evaluate and analyze information to make actual decisions and solve real problems What is the difference between Data and Information Data Raw facts and observation Information Data made useful and meaningful for decision-making Important concepts Big data Exists in huge quantities and is difficult to process without sophisticated mathematical and analytical techniques Data production today Bernard Marr is an internationally best-selling author. He helps organizations improve their business performance, use data more intelligently Data mining The process of analyzing data to produce useful information for decision-makers Management Analytics The systematic evaluation and analysis of data to make informed decision Information drives management Bad Data Refers to information that can be erroneous, misleading, and without general formatting The challenge: Can er use the data that is available in the “Big Data” Needs to be valid Can not trust everything out there Being ethical Look at the trends Data is structured and unstructured Data BIg Data = Structured + Unstructured Information Drive Management decision making What are the characteristics of useful information Easy to access If its credible Accurate Characteristics of useful information: Timely High quality Complete Relevant Understandable What about bad data It's not credible Miss information If it is not structured/ organized Bias based on opinions Confusing If its updated Bad data Refers to information that can be erroneous miss What are some examples of Management information system Business intelligence -BI Information systems to extract and report data in organized ways that are useful to decision-makers Executive dashboards Visually update and display key performance metrics (or Key Performance Indicators -KPIs) and information on a real-time basis Information needs in organization External Environment Information exchanges with the external environment Gather intelligence information Provide public information Information needs within the organizations (internal Enviroement) Information exchange within the organization Facilitate decision making Facilitate problem-solving Managers as information processors Continually gather, share and receive information Now as much electronic as it is face-to-face Always on, always connected How many people telecommute at least once a week 70% of people globally work remotely at least once a week, Work at home after covid 19 our forecast Our best estimate it that 25-30% of the workforce will be working form home multiple days a week by the end of 2021 As of 2023, 12.7% of full time employees work from home, while 28.2% work a hybrid model Managers as problem solvers Problem-solving The process of identifying a discrepancy between actual and desired performance and taking action to resolve it Ishikawa Fishbone diagram To identify the cause of problems Decision A choice among possible alternative courses of action Performance threat Something is wrong or has the potential to go wrong Performance opportunity The situation offers the chance for a better future if the right steps are taken Problem-solving approaches or style - from textbook Problem avoiders Inactive in information gathering and solving problems Problem seekers Proactive in anticipation of problems and opportunities and taking appropriate action to gain an advantage Problem solvers Reactive in gathering information and solving problem Managers - can approach problems in a systematic or intuitive manner Systematic thinking approaches problem in rational, step-by-step and analytical fashion Intuitive thinking approaches problems in a flexible and spontaneous fashion Multidimensional thinking- applies both intuitive and systematic thinking Managers face structured and unstructured problems Structure problems Are ones that are familiar, straight forward, and clear with respect to information needs Program decisions apply solutions that are readily available from past experiences to solve structured problems Know how to solve them Familiar Know what we are dealing with Unstructured problems Are ones that are full of ambiguities and information deficiencies Nonprogrammed decisions apply a specific solution to meet the demands of a unique problem Commonly faced by higher-level management Crisis decision making A crisis involves an unexpected problem that can lead to disaster if not resolved quickly and appropriately Ruled for crisis management Figure out what is going on Remember that speed matters Remember that slow counts, too Respect the danger of the unfamiliar Value the skeptic Be ready to “fight fire with fire” Managers make decisions with various amounts of information Certain environment Offers complete information on possible action alternatives and their consequences Risk environment Lacks complete information but offers probabilities of the likely outcomes for possible action alternatives Uncertain environment Lacks so much information that it is difficult to assign probabilities to the likely outcomes of alternative Ex: Certain and uncertain environments: The worldwide Governance Indicators for over 200 countries, comparing distinct environments (Canada-Brazil) Step 1-Identify and define the problem Focuses on information gathering information processing and deliberation Decision objectives should be established What are some common mistakes in definding problems? Common mistakes in defining problems Defining the problem too broadly or too narrowly Focusing on symptoms instead of causes Choosing the wrong problem to deal with Step 2- Generate and Evaluate Alternative Courses of Action Potential solutions are formulated and more information is gathered, data are analyzed, the advantages and disadvantages of alternative solutions are identified Common mistakes: Abandoning the search for alternatives too quickly Step 3- Decide on a preferred course of Action Two different approaches Behavioural model leads to satisficing decisions Classical model les to optimising decisions Behavioural Model Rationality is bounded because: There are limits our thinks capacity Available information (incomplete) Time constraints Step 4-Implement the decision Involves taking action to make sure the solution decided upon becomes a reality Managers need to have the willingness and ability to implement action plans Problems: Lack of participation error should be avoided Step 5 - Evaluate Results Involves comparing actual and desired results The positive and negative consequences of the chosen course of action should be examined If actual results fall short desire results, the manager returns to earlier steps in the decision-making process At all steps, check ethical reasoning Ask these spotlight questions Utility Does teh decision satisfy all constituents or stakeholders Rights Does the description respect the rights and duties of everyone? Justice Is the decision consistent with the canons of justice Caring Is the decision consistent with my responsibilities to care? Issues in decision-making How do errors happen? Heuristics: are strategies for simplifying decision-making Availability Bias: Bases a decision on recent information or events Representativeness bias: Bases a decision on similarity to other situations Anchoring and Adjustment Bias: Bases a decision on incremental adjustment from a prior decision point Framing error: Tring to solve a problem in the context perceived, positive or negative Confirmation Error: Focusing on information that confirms a decision already made Escalating commitment: Continuing a course of action even though it is not working Creative Decision making Creativity is the generation of a novel idea or unique approach that solves a problem or crafts an opportunity Big C: Creativity occurs when extraordinary things are done by exceptional people Little C: Creativity occurs when average people come up with unique ways to deal with daily events and situations The three types of situational creativity drivers Chapter review What are objectives and goals? The specific results or desired outcomes What are the 5 characteristics of great (SMART) goals? Forecasting - Attempts Qualitative forecasting uses options Quantitative forecasting uses mathematical models and statistical analysis of historical data and surveys Scenarios-Oracle’s crystal ball combines qualitative and quantitative methods

Broken windows are covered. Floorboards are patched and doors screwed back on. The road that was ruined by German tanks is shovelled and raked smooth. Boot-shaped bruises turn yellow then fade and disappear. Flowers grow and spread across the ugly German footprints stomped into garden beds. The village looks pretty once more. School stops for the summer and everyone is put to work on the kolkhoz, the village farm. Women and big boys begin harvesting the barley crops in the outer fields. The biggest girls milk the cows, morning and night, and keep the barns clean. Old Nikolay mends ploughs, horse harnesses, pitchforks and scythes in his workshop. Anna Pushinka teaches Yelena and her friends how to get the honey from the beehives that are scattered through the orchards. I am in charge of collecting eggs. My friends Olga and Nina help. Olga and Nina are five, a year younger than me. They are twins and look exactly alike, except Nina’s nose is a little bit crooked from when she fell out of bed and squashed it sideways on the floor. The hens, ducks and geese wander free in the summer, so collecting eggs is like a treasure hunt and takes hours. Catching the hens for their daily hugs takes even longer, but I think it’s important because hugs make everyone happy and happy hens lay bigger eggs. Olga says I’m the best hen-hugger in all of Russia. Nina says I’ll be the best cow-hugger, too, when my arms grow longer. But good hugs have nothing to do with the size of your arms. It’s all to do with the size of your heart. When we are done with the hens, Olga, Nina and I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever we like. We climb the apricot trees, chase squirrels, lie in the meadow marvelling at how hot Ushanka’s black fur becomes in the sunshine, make daisy chains and race little boats of bark in the stream. I teach Olga and Nina the alphabet and we use charcoal to write our letters and our names all over the village – on doors and walls and the freshly cut ends of firewood. In between, I practise my knots. In case the German princemonsters return. I slip into Old Nikolay’s workshop and tie knots in the harnesses hanging on the walls. I wander into gardens where the washing is hung out to dry and tie knots in the laces on pants and smocks. I creep up behind Anna Pushinka and tie knots in her apron strings. I find baling twine in the hay shed and tie my own ankles together. I do such a good job of these last knots that I can’t get them undone. I have to jump all the way to Olga and Nina’s house and ask them to cut me free with their mama’s knife. At the end of each day, Ushanka and I run out into the distant barley fields to meet Mama. This is my favourite part of the day, because Mama always shouts, ‘Little Rabbit!’ and smothers my head with kisses. And as we walk home, we sing. Everyone – women, big boys and me. I love to sing. Almost as much as I love to be kissed by Mama. Sometimes one of the boys, Mikhail, has his balalaika with him. He takes the instrument out from beneath the sheaves of barley piled high on the wagon and plays music. We sing about forests and orchards and people who find their true love. As we walk home, arm in arm, my heart fills with happiness and my belly swells with pride that I am allowed to sing along with the big boys. And I can almost forget about the German prince-monsters and their lies about Russia and their big ugly boots. Almost. But today, when Mikhail reaches for his balalaika, I see other things hiding beneath the barley sheaves. Three of the mamas rush forward and cover them up, but it’s too late. I know they are there. I’ve already seen them. Rifles. Lots of rifles. Mikhail hugs his balalaika to his chest and blushes. ‘So play!’ cries Mama, her voice oddly loud and high. ‘Let’s play Sasha’s favourite song, “The Little Birch Tree”.’ So Mikhail plays and everyone sings about the lovely birch tree with its curly leaves and the branches that will be turned into silver flutes. They sing too quickly, too loudly, and as they sing and walk, they cast nervous sideways glances at me. ‘It’s alright,’ I say, when the song comes to an end. ‘I didn’t see the rifles.’ Mama nods and smiles, and I know it was the right thing to say. But I did see the rifles. And I think about Yelena wanting to get lots of guns and dynamite for the Partisans so they can shoot the Germans and blow them into thousands of tiny pieces, and Mama looking as though she agreed, and I know this is what the mamas and the big boys are doing. As well as harvesting, they are helping the Partisans. Three days later, I wake before dawn and I am all alone. Yelena is always here beside me when I wake. But not this morning. I climb down from our bed above the stove. Mama is filling a cloth sack with bread. She ties it closed with a piece of string and hands it to Yelena. ‘Stay out of sight,’ says Mama. ‘And don’t return until after dark.’ ‘Where’s she going?’ I ask. ‘Nowhere,’ snaps Mama. ‘Then why does she need all that bread?’ I ask. ‘There’s nothing left for us.’ Mama baked four loaves last night and she has stuffed them all into the sack. Yelena opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mama shoves her out the door and sends her on the way to nowhere. Mama turns and stares at me, her blue, blue cornflower eyes wide with worry. ‘I know,’ I say, flopping down on the bench. ‘I didn’t see any bread.’ Mama sits beside me and takes my hand. ‘And . . .?’ she prods, obviously waiting for more. I puzzle for a while, then say, ‘And I don’t have a sister called Yelena.’ Mama laughs, softly and with a little bit of sadness around the edges. ‘Sweet Little Rabbit! You do have a sister called Yelena.’ ‘I do?’ I ask, now confused. ‘I haven’t seen the rifles or the bread, but I have seen Yelena?’ ‘Yes.’ Mama smiles and the magic makes me smile, too. And I am glad that Yelena is real because I love her very much. ‘Yelena is real,’ Mama explains, ‘but she does not carry sacks of bread into the forest for the Partisans.’ ‘Of course not!’ I shout, slapping my forehead. ‘Because there is no bread!’ Mama laughs loudly now, with not a hint of sadness. She hugs me, pressing me against her warm, loving heart, covering my head with kisses. ‘Clever Little Rabbit,’ she murmurs, and then, in barely a whisper, ‘Your papa would be so proud.’ When I wake the next morning, Yelena is sleeping beside me, her mouth open, her braided hair unravelling. Mama is serving kasha to a strange woman seated at our table. I crawl down from above the stove and slide along the bench beside her. I stare at her pants, her tunic, the rope she is using as a belt and her big boots. She’s dressed like a man! And there’s a rifle leaning against the wall near the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m Sasha.’ The woman doesn’t reply. She just shovels down her kasha. I line my four wooden bears along the table in front of her bowl and say, ‘These are my bears: Big Bear, Medium Bear, Little Bear and Even Littler Bear.’ ‘Hello, Sasha. Hello, bears.’ She smiles but she doesn’t tell me her name. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’ I ask, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Because men’s clothes make it easier to run and climb and crawl and shoot,’ she says. ‘You’re a Partisan!’ I gasp. ‘But she’s not real,’ says Mama, placing a bowl of kasha before me. ‘Is the kasha real?’ I ask. Mama laughs. ‘Yes, Little Rabbit.’ I’m glad the food is real, because I’m hungry. But I’m disappointed that the woman is not real. I was going to ask if I could use her rope-belt to tie her ankles together. For practice. But if she’s not real, then the rope and her ankles aren’t either. The woman finishes her kasha, hangs her rifle over her shoulder, kisses Mama on the cheek then slips out the door. I run to the window to watch her leave, but by the time I get there, she’s gone. Vanished. ‘Because she’s not real,’ I whisper. A week later, Mama and I are working in the garden. We sing as we weed between the flowers and pluck caterpillars from the vegetables. Anna Pushinka is picking strawberries in her garden and wanders over. ‘Taste these,’ she says, holding out the basket. Mama reaches in and takes out a fat strawberry and a tiny piece of folded paper. The strawberry goes into her mouth, the paper into her pocket. ‘What’s on the paper?’ I ask. ‘Paper?’ Anna Pushinka replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Goodness, Sasha! Who has money for paper? These are lean times. We must choose between paper for writing and noodles for our soup. And I always choose noodles.’ She chuckles and I know the paper is yet another thing that is not real. That night, Mama slips the paper to Yelena, but she drops it on the floor. I pick it up for her, and I see that there are tiny words and numbers written all over it. I wish I could read better. I’m desperate to know what it says. Or rather, what it doesn’t say, because it’s not real. Later, when Mama has tucked us into our bed above the stove and Ushanka has wrapped herself around the top of my head, I ask Yelena, ‘What’s on the paper?’ ‘What paper?’ says Yelena. ‘The paper that isn’t real,’ I reply. Yelena stares at me, nibbling her lip, then whispers, ‘A message for the Partisans. Stuff about where the Germans have their headquarters and when their trains are travelling and where they store their ammunition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So the Partisans can blow them up.’ Yelena grabs my arm. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.’ ‘What’s a secret?’ I ask. ‘The message.’ ‘What message?’ I say, my eyes wide. Yelena laughs. ‘Good boy, Sasha.’ My belly swells with pride. I know how to play this game. ‘How are your knots coming along?’ asks Yelena. ‘Good! Yesterday, I crept into the dairy and tied knots in the apron strings of all the girls who were milking and only one of them noticed. Today, I tied Olga’s ankles together with Mama’s embroidery thread and just now, while you were taking a bath, I tied the sleeves of your blouse together in an enormous knot.’ Yelena rolls her eyes, then says, ‘I’ll see if I can find you some rope for practising.’ ‘Practising what?’ I ask. ‘Your knots,’ she says. ‘What knots?’ Yelena, my big sister who is twelve and always serious t

Write 5 multiple choice questions for the following transcript ...Setting goals and budgeting. [tranquil music] Getting where you want to be involves three important skills. Setting realistic goals, knowing your net worth, and budgeting. [energetic music] Setting goals is a way to get control of your life. A goal is not the same as a dream. It's not pie in the sky stuff. It's something that's achievable and it comes with a time frame. If you have a big goal, like buying a house in five years' time, you might need a plan that involves a whole series of mini goals to get you there in stages. The important is finding something you know you can do. Most people find longterm goals hard to stick to. Don't worry about it. If 10 years seems too far away, set your horizons a little closer. Give yourself a set sum of money to save in the next few years. You can use it as a springboard to get to your next goal and it'll get you in the savings habit. Changes in your life circumstances may also affect your goal, so use this opportunity to review them. Think about your financial goals when you have some quiet time. It may sound a little obsessive, but write down what they are and how you're going to achieve them. Be specific, be realistic, and always, always keep your goals within reach. Achieving a goal is a great excuse to celebrate, so don't forget to reward yourself for your achievement. [energetic music] Imagine if tomorrow you had to sell everything you own and pay off everything you owe the bank or anyone else, would you be left with much? Would you be left with anything? That figure is called your net worth. It's a measure of your actual financial wealth and growing it over time is what getting sorted is all about. Use Sorted's net work calculator to find out where you're at. Decide what you want your net worth to be in a year's time. Think about your cash and other assets and work out how you might get there. Monitoring and growing your net worth over time is the thing that will eventually get you to retirement in good shape. [energetic music] Budgeting is another one of those, I can't believe I didn't do something so basic, type of things. Do a budget. Stick to it and you're in control. There are two approaches to budgeting. The first is what we call cold turkey. Each time you get paid, you work out what you need to pay for all your essentials. Use Sorted's budget calculator to do this. You then take the rest and put it straight into savings. Going cold turkey on all those other things that you usually throw your money away on. Be realistic with your savings. Don't be too hard on yourself as it could take time for you to get into the saving habit. But if you remove the temptation to spend, you'll improve your financial position each month. If that seems a bit rigorous, try the alternative nip and tick approach. Do a budget using Sorted's budget calculator and then take a hard look at where your money's going. We're prepared to bet there's a nip here and a tuck there that will result in savings and every month you save, you increase your net worth. So go to it. ChatGPT What are the three important skills needed to achieve your financial goals? A) Budgeting, investing, and saving B) Setting realistic goals, knowing your net worth, and budgeting C) Planning, tracking, and monitoring How can you make a big goal more achievable? A) By dreaming about it often B) By breaking it down into a series of mini goals C) By setting a longer time frame What is net worth? A) The amount of money you have in savings B) The value of everything you own minus what you owe C) The amount of money you earn each year What are the two approaches to budgeting mentioned in the transcript? A) Cold turkey and warm turkey B) Nip and tuck and cold turkey C) Nip and tick and warm turkey How can you increase your net worth every month? A) By dreaming about your financial goals B) By sticking to a budget and removing the temptation to spend C) By investing in high-risk stocks

Create questions based on the following text Not long ago, I grabbed breakfast at a hotel in southern Spain. The only cereal available was a local version of frosted corn flakes, so I readied myself to enjoy a bowl of my childhood favorite. But my sweet indulgence wasn't what I'd expected: The cereal milk was heated — apparently standard in this part of Spain — and my poor frosted flakes immediately turned to mush. Not so grrrrrrreat. Soggy flakes or not, I find breakfast to be a fun part of my travel day, especially because the experience varies so much from one country's breakfast table to the next. The farther north you go in Europe, the heartier the breakfasts. The heaviest is the traditional British "fry." Also known as a "Plate of Cardiac Arrest," the fry is a fundamental part of the bed-and-breakfast experience, and is generally included in your room price. A standard fry comes with cereal or porridge, a fried egg, Canadian-style bacon or sausage (and sometimes mackerel or haggis), a grilled tomato, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried bread or toast. This protein-stuffed meal can tide me over until dinner. You'll quickly figure out which parts of the fry you like. Your host will likely ask you up front which breakfast items you actually like, rather than serve you the whole shebang and risk having to throw out uneaten food. The Scandinavian breakfasts buffet is the perennial favorite for the "most food on the table" award. It pays to take advantage of breakfast smorgasbords when you can. For about $20 (a cheap meal in these parts), you can dig into an all-you-can-eat extravaganza of fresh bread, cheeses, yogurt, cereal, boiled eggs, herring, cold cuts, and coffee or tea. In place of cereal and milk, Scandinavians like to pour thick yogurt over their granola. Throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and most points east of there, expect a more modest buffet — but still plenty of options (rolls, bread, jam, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, yogurt, and cereal). In these countries, there's a good chance of finding hard-boiled eggs, but scrambled or fried eggs are relatively rare. In Poland, track down jajecznica, the local wake-up call of eggs scrambled with kielbasa sausage, served with a side of potato pancakes. The breakfast of choice in Russia is oladi, pancakes perfectly fried to be crisp on the outside but soft in the middle, then topped with sour cream, honey, or berries. Germans have an endearing habit of greeting others in the breakfast room with a slow and dour "Morgen" ("Morning" — short for "good morning"), though they have plenty to be happy about. Breakfast is usually included, and offers hearty fuel for the day: ham, eggs, cheese, bread, rolls, and pots of coffee. In Switzerland, don't miss an opportunity to try Bircher Muesli, a healthful mix of oats, nuts, yogurt, and fruit that tastes far more delicious than it looks. If breakfast is optional, take a walk to the nearest bakery — every German, Austrian, and Swiss town has at least a few bakeries offering a world of enticing varieties of bread and pastries, baked fresh every morning. As you move south and west (France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal), skimpier "continental" breakfasts are the norm. You'll mostly likely get a roll with marmalade or jam, occasionally a slice of ham or cheese, and coffee or tea. The good news? These little breakfasts compel you to sample regional favorites: In Spain, look for chocolate con churros (fritters served with a thick, warm chocolate drink), pan con tomate (a toasted baguette rubbed with fresh garlic and ripe tomato), or a tortilla española (a hearty slice of potato omelet). Italian breakfasts are particularly tiny, but the delicious red orange juice you get is made from Sicilian blood oranges. And you can buy a delightful toasted sandwich from a corner bar anywhere, anytime in Italy to make up for the minuscule breakfast. In France, locals just grab a warm croissant and coffee on the way to work. Queue up with the French and consider the yummy options: croissants studded with raisins, packed with crushed almonds, or filled with chocolate or cream. If you expect breakfast to be too sparse, plan ahead to supplement it with a piece of fruit and a wrapped chunk of cheese from a local market. Being a juice man, I keep a liter box of OJ in my room for a morning eye-opener. Coffee drinkers know that breakfast is the only cheap time to caffeinate yourself. Some hotels will serve you a bottomless cup of a rich brew only with breakfast. After that, the cups acquire bottoms and refills will cost you. Juice is generally available at breakfast, but in Mediterranean countries, you have to ask…and you'll probably be charged. In many countries, breakfast is included in your hotel bill, though if you make prior arrangements with the hotelier, you may be able to skip breakfast and pay a lower price for the room. If breakfast costs extra, it's often optional, and you can usually save money and gain atmosphere by buying coffee and a roll or croissant at the café down the street or by brunching picnic-style in the park. When deciding whether to request breakfast, consider your timing; if you need to get an early start, skip the breakfast — few hotel breakfasts are worth waiting around for. Come to the European breakfast table with an adventurous spirit. I'm a big-breakfast traditionalist at home, but when I feel the urge for an American breakfast in Europe, I beat it to death with a hard roll.

Not long ago, I grabbed breakfast at a hotel in southern Spain. The only cereal available was a local version of frosted corn flakes, so I readied myself to enjoy a bowl of my childhood favorite. But my sweet indulgence wasn't what I'd expected: The cereal milk was heated — apparently standard in this part of Spain — and my poor frosted flakes immediately turned to mush. Not so grrrrrrreat. Soggy flakes or not, I find breakfast to be a fun part of my travel day, especially because the experience varies so much from one country's breakfast table to the next. The farther north you go in Europe, the heartier the breakfasts. The heaviest is the traditional British "fry." Also known as a "Plate of Cardiac Arrest," the fry is a fundamental part of the bed-and-breakfast experience, and is generally included in your room price. A standard fry comes with cereal or porridge, a fried egg, Canadian-style bacon or sausage (and sometimes mackerel or haggis), a grilled tomato, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried bread or toast. This protein-stuffed meal can tide me over until dinner. You'll quickly figure out which parts of the fry you like. Your host will likely ask you up front which breakfast items you actually like, rather than serve you the whole shebang and risk having to throw out uneaten food. The Scandinavian breakfasts buffet is the perennial favorite for the "most food on the table" award. It pays to take advantage of breakfast smorgasbords when you can. For about $20 (a cheap meal in these parts), you can dig into an all-you-can-eat extravaganza of fresh bread, cheeses, yogurt, cereal, boiled eggs, herring, cold cuts, and coffee or tea. In place of cereal and milk, Scandinavians like to pour thick yogurt over their granola. Throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and most points east of there, expect a more modest buffet — but still plenty of options (rolls, bread, jam, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, yogurt, and cereal). In these countries, there's a good chance of finding hard-boiled eggs, but scrambled or fried eggs are relatively rare. In Poland, track down jajecznica, the local wake-up call of eggs scrambled with kielbasa sausage, served with a side of potato pancakes. The breakfast of choice in Russia is oladi, pancakes perfectly fried to be crisp on the outside but soft in the middle, then topped with sour cream, honey, or berries. Germans have an endearing habit of greeting others in the breakfast room with a slow and dour "Morgen" ("Morning" — short for "good morning"), though they have plenty to be happy about. Breakfast is usually included, and offers hearty fuel for the day: ham, eggs, cheese, bread, rolls, and pots of coffee. In Switzerland, don't miss an opportunity to try Bircher Muesli, a healthful mix of oats, nuts, yogurt, and fruit that tastes far more delicious than it looks. If breakfast is optional, take a walk to the nearest bakery — every German, Austrian, and Swiss town has at least a few bakeries offering a world of enticing varieties of bread and pastries, baked fresh every morning. As you move south and west (France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal), skimpier "continental" breakfasts are the norm. You'll mostly likely get a roll with marmalade or jam, occasionally a slice of ham or cheese, and coffee or tea. The good news? These little breakfasts compel you to sample regional favorites: In Spain, look for chocolate con churros (fritters served with a thick, warm chocolate drink), pan con tomate (a toasted baguette rubbed with fresh garlic and ripe tomato), or a tortilla española (a hearty slice of potato omelet). Italian breakfasts are particularly tiny, but the delicious red orange juice you get is made from Sicilian blood oranges. And you can buy a delightful toasted sandwich from a corner bar anywhere, anytime in Italy to make up for the minuscule breakfast. In France, locals just grab a warm croissant and coffee on the way to work. Queue up with the French and consider the yummy options: croissants studded with raisins, packed with crushed almonds, or filled with chocolate or cream. If you expect breakfast to be too sparse, plan ahead to supplement it with a piece of fruit and a wrapped chunk of cheese from a local market. Being a juice man, I keep a liter box of OJ in my room for a morning eye-opener. Coffee drinkers know that breakfast is the only cheap time to caffeinate yourself. Some hotels will serve you a bottomless cup of a rich brew only with breakfast. After that, the cups acquire bottoms and refills will cost you. Juice is generally available at breakfast, but in Mediterranean countries, you have to ask…and you'll probably be charged. In many countries, breakfast is included in your hotel bill, though if you make prior arrangements with the hotelier, you may be able to skip breakfast and pay a lower price for the room. If breakfast costs extra, it's often optional, and you can usually save money and gain atmosphere by buying coffee and a roll or croissant at the café down the street or by brunching picnic-style in the park. When deciding whether to request breakfast, consider your timing; if you need to get an early start, skip the breakfast — few hotel breakfasts are worth waiting around for. Come to the European breakfast table with an adventurous spirit. I'm a big-breakfast traditionalist at home, but when I feel the urge for an American breakfast in Europe, I beat it to death with a hard roll. Can you make 5 questions based on the text

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

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