Wendy Rhoades Jr makes her way to the Streets.  She's been to two funerals.  One of which was particularly difficult to attend...  She steps onto the soapbox and begins to speak...

"Wendy_Rhoades cared about this place, and these Streets.  She wanted to help people the best versions of themselves.  Sometimes, she had to facilitate the confrontation of that which lived within those she sought to help.  One person in particular, who Wendy tried to help, failed to make progress.

She offered him help.  Counselled him.  Reached out to those close to him.  She tried, she tried hard.  But she failed.

Wendy was minding her own business, walked down the street in Pasadena, Los Angeles, and from out of nowhere...

CLANK!!!

A shot rang out!  But it missed her.  She couldn't believe her luck.  A Consigliere, the leader of a crew, a man with a formidable reputation, had tried to kill her.  But her training paid off.  Her defences were good.

She worried about that man.  She didn't want him to die, but she knew that this thing of ours had rules, and that those rules were ruthlessly followed.

And that man did die.  And that was sad.  And then, well, Wendy was sent for.  And then she died.  And she accepted that.

And as for me?  Well.  I just don't know.  I'm not sure that this life is for me.

Wendy asked me to pick up the mantle of the writing contest.  And I think I will do that, and then I will retire.

I just don't think that I'm cut out for this life.

Very sorry to hear about Wendy's untimely passing. It is a massive loss that I'm sure will be felt for generations and generations to come. As a wise person once said, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' 

Wendy_Rhoades was one of these helpers. Selflessly trying to do her best to make sure that society was better off for it. I just hope that we can use this as a learning experience and build a better world on the stepping stones left for us. 

WendyRhoades if you find yourself needing anything be sure to stop by. It's the least I can do. 

Dr_Kenneth pulls a small candle out of his pocket, as was the style at the time, and lights it. 

Thank you, Dr_Kennethnoisewater

She asked that I continue the work with the writing competition.  After that, well, I think I'm going to go back to Wall Street to work.

More pay, less danger.  And those Monsters don't shoot performance coaches.

Sorry, I missed some events, it seems. I was foxhunting and didn't really pay attention to the Streets. Let me start of with telling you I would like to verbally bring you my condoleances. But then..

They don't shoot performance coaches, you say?

Hang on.. That could be interesting. Let me grab a bottle of port to consume whilst I listen further.

Did your.. Your mother, I presume.. Did she do something to make Monster shoot her then? That could mean that Monster's death itself could be an error, in retrospect?

Looking at his empty bottle, John mumbles

They make these bottles smaller and smaller each day, it seems.

There was a ring at Runway's door as she stretched after taking a sip of her morning coffee. Oh good, that must be the telegram boi. She plucked a bottle of whiskey from her kitchen counter with the note she wrote up after one two many bottles of wine. You know, an average Thursday night.

Or whatever day it was. She walked down the hallway of her apartment and opened the door. A boi who couldn't have been more than 12 years old beamed a bright smile at her. 

"g'mornin' to ya, miss. Do y'have a letta for delivery?"

The boi's accent was thick. Somewhere in Europe or may have just picked it up from his pa before his pa went out for a pack of smokes and never returned. 

I can't remember, do y'all do bottle service?

Runway aked and the boy nodded. She dropped the bottle into a brown bag and secured it with a ribbon. Using the ribbon to attach the note to the bag. It looked like a fine present. No, no, not for anyone's birthday. Exactly the opposite. Sorry about your mother's death day. 

Perfect, please deliver this to Miss WendyRhoades Jr. 

Runway thought it was weird to have a woman be a junior. When they met for tea would she call this new Wendy Junior? Who knew. The boi still stood on her stoop and she rolled her eyes. She pulled two dollars from her bra and gave it to him. He then took off down the sidewalk. 

-----

The note:

Dearest WendyRhoades Jr,

I am saddened to hear about your mother. We spoke briefely on the streets, but I had always wanted to get to know her further. I feel that the services she offered to this community could have helped many including myself. Along with this note you should find one of my current favorites bottle or alcohol. If it is not included I hope you did not tip the delivery boi. When you decide to step out from underneath the spider's web of mourning please get in touch with me. I would love to catch up with the Wendy's next of kin.

Signed: Runway