<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/4474/fy1ijwqfvup45ew6g.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Peter Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">CGDA Benefactor</span></strong></div></div></div><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/0d06/edp7l4ylbdz97uv6g.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Ari Warcaof </span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Businessman <br/>(of sorts) </span></strong></div></div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"><em>Ari:</em>  As we sit in the cab, I watch Peter.  We need not speak.  We know each other’s thoughts.  Things have not gone well.  We were observers, not our plan, but still the plan is awry.  Du Monde’s temper is legendary.  She with red hair is no surprise.  Some have even said they’ve seen her hair turn ablaze in tantrum.  Clearly, legend only, apocryphal.<br/><br/>“<em>Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.</em>”  That’s what each of us has said to the other from childhood.  He knows this.  It need not be said, but it feels right.<br/><br/><em>PW:</em>  I smile at Ari’s words.  The traffic is unwound, but where do we go?  <strong>“Agreed.  Patience.  Do you think du Monde might be counseled on that?”</strong>  <em>Hee-hee!</em>  <strong>“I’m calling this number.  If I get Jaclyn, I’ll advise her to trust no one.  Absolutely no one.  We can get a room at another hotel, even that brothel.  Or another.  Patiently form a plan.”</strong>  Dialing the number, Ari nods in agreement.   <br/></span>