B21 pulled the cloak tighter around himself. There was a draught. Sharp, silky and pin like. Pricking. The cloak was held together with daggers. Sharp, silky and pin like daggers. Creating the assurance of protection. The aegis of toughness. Inscrutable toughness. The kind that extracted isolation as the price for protection. Tough. Luck.

Scenario 1

Another week. Another flight. Another security check.

The officer frisking me stopped and looked up. A Minister had shown up and he had to be sent through on priority.  So he was sent through. No frisk, no check.

I casually asked the officer who had resumed frisking me, Mantriji hai kya?. 

Haa sir. Xyz hai.

I couldn't resist. Toh unke paas to bandook ya bamb ho hi nahi sakta? I asked.

He was a quiet child. His mother claimed he never cried. But when he did, he was loud. He grew up with the usual insecurities of a child. But he knew how to behave when people were around. He has no memory of pre-school apart from the one time he wet his pants.

He loved pictures. And he loved books. He read with no predispositions. His siblings thought he kept to himself. His parents called him well-adjusted and social. His errors were ordinary, but his excuses were fresh.

Q www eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee rrrrrrrrr tttttttttt yyyyy uuuuuuu iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ooooooooo pppppp aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sssssss ddddd ffff gggggg hh j k llll z x cc vv bb nnnn mmm ,,,,,,,,,, …….. ???? !!!! @#$%&!
Instructions: Assemble according to preference into witty, insightful blog entry

Come with me and we'll have a drink
And we'll have it standing by the sink
And we'll have it over the nagging chimes
And we'll have it munching our old times

And we'll have it as we burn those stares
And we'll have it as we turn those dares
And we'll have it as we take those chances
And we'll have it as we fake those glances