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Just Rights : Why Justice Should be A Fundamental Right

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Bhuwan Ribhu

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“Millie was never possessive, never effusive, and never demonstrative. Her even-tempered approach to her marriage should have been enough to convince everyone that she admired, but did not love, her husband. Yet for years now, his sisters had suspected something else. Perhaps unrequited love was like a specter in the house, a presence that brushed at the edge of senses, a heat in the dark, a shadow under the sun.”

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“What about Millie?" "Millie?" he says, spinning back around to face me. "Oh yes, Millie Vagaboss. Let's definitely talk about her." His sarcasm really isn't bad for a Midwestern boy. "It's none of my business, really," I say as I realize I don't actually want to hear this, most likely. "No, no, it's your business, especially since you gave her your blessing to basically dry hump me in the van last night." "What the hell?" I think I feel my nostrils flaring, but I really hope not. "I did?" "Yeah, thanks for that," he says. "She told me you said there's nothing going on between us, and you were cool if she hooked up with me, like I'm some guy in your personal boy harem and you're giving me to her as a token of your appreciation." "It was so not like that! Are you kidding me?" "She was really drunk," he says. "But that was the gist of it, yeah." Now I'm mad. I have no idea why, since I basically did tell Millie she was free to go for it with Bean. "What's wrong?" he says. "Did you really expect to find her hiding in my closet? Were you going to fight for my honor or something?" "Stop making fun of me." "Stop giving me to your friends like I'm some kind of manslut.”

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“Who the hell is Warren Ellis again?” Hardison gaped at the man. “Only one of the greatest comics writers in the past twenty years. Might as well ask who Alan Moore is, or Frank Miller, or Mark Waid, or Brian Michael Bendis, or Marv Wolfman, or Geoff Johns.” Eliot gave Hardison a blank look as they wove their way through the hall. Parker took the lead, toting a printed sign with her. Eliot and Hardison trailed in her wake. They made a point of striding right past Patronus’s booth. They didn’t turn to see if he noticed them. “No one?” Hardison said. “Nothing? Not even Kurt Busiek? Neil Gaiman?” “I have a life. I do things, active things. I date women.” “Stan Lee?” Eliot gave Hardison that one with a wag of his head. “Who hasn’t heard of Stan Lee?” “All right,” Hardison said with satisfaction. “You had me worried there, man.”

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Book:The Con Job
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