South Dakota State University

5 Aug 2009. "I need something with a bunny on it!" Ahh, I left satisfied. SDSU's logo wasn't bad before (a ripoff of Bugs Bunny) but it wasn't great either. The running rabbit is one of the best upgrades around. Royal blue and gold dust. Great nickname, great colors, great design. A credit to the Lagomorph order.


It was raining cats and dogs. And rabbits.
"It's locked!"
"You don't have keys to your own office?!"
"They're locked in my car! You're the janitor! You should have a skeleton key or something."
"'Skeleton Key'? I'm not a witch doctor. If you mean master key, then no I don't have it. I was already on my way out when you flagged me down. It's back in the admin building."
The janitor splashed away in his golf cart. South Dakota State University President Brookings huddled under the SDSU Campanile, getting soaked.
A lightning bolt flashed nearby, followed immediately by a tremendous crack of thunder. A gust of wind blew through a tree towards the bell tower, sending streams of water onto Brookings' front. He handled his tie, inspecting it.
That can't be good for the silk.

******

Seconds earlier and a hundred feet above, a hawk was caught in the storm, trying to get home for dinner. Dinner tonight was a young hare in its clutches. Even with hawk's eyes, it was difficult to navigate.
Luckily, there was a flash of light to help.
Unluckily, it consisted of lightning.
With a BURST and a BOOM, the hawk, now roasted, dropped to earth. The petrified hare fell through some branches and bounced against a cold, hard surface. This knocked it unconscious as it continued to descend. Down the bricks of the Campanile. Between the mounted aluminum SDSU lettering.
And into the hands of a man in a long black wool overcoat and a ruined tie.

******

Brookings heard a faint clang from the Campanile. He looked up. His palms were still open. And now they were filled with wet rabbit.
It was just a bunny, no bigger than a silicone breast implant, and about as lifeless and unnerving to hold.
The janitor returned and opened up the doors to the president's office. They both walked in and dried off.
"Whatcha doing with that muddy little thing?"
"It just fell from the sky!"
"A flying rabbit??"
"I don't know. Do rabbits nest in trees now?"
"No, they don't. You know a sky-rabbit is a sign of the end times. It's in Revelations."
"What?"
"I'll drive you to your car. Found your spare keys?"
Brookings dug through his desk drawers. "Actually...no. I don't know where...I can't find them! I'll have to call my wife. She can bring our other spares, then drive me to my car."
He thanked the janitor and sent him home.

******

Brookings called his wife, who appeared fifteen minutes later. Running in from the rain, she found him making a bunny-burrito. His tie was the tortilla and his desk lamp was the incubator.
"Hi, Suzette. You happen to have a hare dryer?"
"What?" She walked over to his bundle.
"Oh, hare dryer. Ha ha. How long were you waiting to say that?"
"Fifteen minutes. You dealt with rabbits before?"
"Yes, and hares, too. Which this little guy is, a leveret to be specific."
"I was trying to warm it up. It fell from the bell tower."
"From the bell tower? At least he's still breathing. It's difficult to look for broken bones on such a small specimen. Gut feeling right now is, he won't make it. The desk lamp was a good idea, but here, put your tie away. Do you have any cotton towels?"
"You can check the kitchenette." Brookings pointed down the hall. Suzette returned with a white dish towel and a bowl of soapy water.
"I didn't know you had a veterinary case or I'd have brought some supplies."
"What are you doing?"
"If I can't treat the injuries, at least I can clean him up some. He's filthy. Oh! He's opened his eyes!"
"Really? Wow! Suzette, you're amazing."
"I do this all the time. No big deal." The bunny wanted to move but could not stand. It tried to drag itself away with its front paws. It didn't get very far.
"Whoa, now, boy. Don't go throwing yourself off the table." Suzette found an empty Splenda box in the kitchenette. She placed the towel and the bunny inside.
"He's not returning to the wild anytime soon, or else he'd be eaten in ten minutes. We're keeping him."
"How about right over there?" said Brookings, pointing to a corner in his office.
"What, here in your office? Are you sure? It might get smelly."
"I can keep the windows open, or move him to the kitchenette or the patio if it gets bad." Suzette turned to the hare.
"You hear that? You have a new home..." She turned to Brookings.
"Ah, well, if you're keeping him, you get to name him."
"Hmm, okay. How about - "
A fierce BOOM shook the entire Campanile and office. An ugly-sounding RIP and CRACK sounded above. The lights went out. Water seeped through the ceiling. A spat of bricks fell and broke into pieces on the sidewalk below. Brookings and Suzette walked to the window, watching the falling debris.
"Did we just get hit by lightning??"
"Suzette, look!" Brookings pointed at the soggy lawn. The aluminum letters had been blasted off the side of the Campanile. The SDSU now lay scrambled as

S U D S

Brookings and Suzette both turned back to the infirm rabbit. He was still covered in soap bubbles, gnawing a flap of cardboard.
Brookings said, "I was thinking 'The Electrodent' but 'Suds' works too."

******

Suds The Rabbit, who grew domesticated but healthy, became the symbol of South Dakota State athletics. His finest moment, aside from surviving a hundred-foot drop, was during the annual Homecoming Week, when he headlined the parade. He wore a tiny toga, which he gnawed on, and was drawn in a mini chariot by a remote control car decorated with lightning bolts.
After Suds passed away, he was replaced by 'Jack', a student in a rabbit suit and a blue beret.

These are attempts to photograph the Campanile bell tower while driving. Do not try mobile photography at home.

Swing and a miss.

You can see the base of the tower on the lower left.

Far left! You see it?

It's there, but you have to already know it's there to see it.

The best I can offer. You get the gist.

Anyone know the story behind this hobo doll on display in the student center?

North Dakota State University

5 Aug 2009. Everything about Fargo was welcoming. No menacing skyscrapers. No grumpy people. No Steve Buscemi.


"Burger's up!"
A slim man in a shirt, tie, and apron, grabbed the oval plate and walked with urgency to table 31.
"I apologize for the delay, sir. I caught one of the chefs putting your bison burger in the microwave. That is not the level of food quality that we here at The Prairie Oyster - "
"That's all right. I understand what a perfectionist you are, Steve."
The customer removed his fedora and looked up. His neatly trimmed mustache widened with his smile.
"Knut?! How are you?"
Knut stood up. The two exchanged hugs and backslaps as old friends would.
Steve removed his apron and handed it to a roving server.
"Tina, watch the line, would you?" Steve sat down.
"So what's new, Knut? What have you been up to?"
"I've been up to what you're going to be up to. Travel research."
"Oh, not again. Knut, Christmas is coming up. I don't have vacation money. Or time. You know that."
Knut already had spread out his brochures in front of him on the table. He took a bite of his bison burger and tapped his temple with his free hand.
"Then I guess I'm a little dense. It's just not getting through to me. Great bison as usual."
Steve flipped through the glossies.
"Thank you. What are you proposing here anyway? ...Nova Scotia? I barely know where that is."
"The Maritimes. Eastern Canada. There's a culinary conference in Halifax in November. It's entirely about seafood. It'd be perfect for you to talk up The Prairie Oyster."
"I don't like being shoehorned as just a seafood restaurant. Our bison burgers have been voted the best in the Fargo micropolitan area."
"Come on. Let's look at your menu again. Prairie Surf and Turf, Tarragon Quail and Mussels, Lobster Cayenne Campanelle, Panko Flounder Flatbread, Red River Trout Soup..."
"Yes, Knut. I know my own menu. What's your point?"
Knut polished off the burger. He wiped his mustache clean and started on the cinnamon sweet potato fries.
"My point is, it'd be great for you to mingle with some other bright restaurateurs outside of Fargo. You've reached the ceiling here. Time to move on to bigger things. The north Atlantic area is a hotbed now for young chefs like you. The Maritimes, Iceland, Scandinavia, even Greenland..."
"Wait a minute, 'reached the ceiling'? There's still work to be done here. I have plans for a heated patio, our cost controls need to be overhauled, our server training program is nonexistent..."
"Okay, Steve, okay. I don't mean to start an argument. And I'm not out for a commission, please don't think that. Your well-being is worth more to me than a couple hundred bucks."
"I'd pay it anyway. It reserves my right to complain."
"God forbid you waive that right." Knut punctuated his jab with a grin. Steve's face remained straight. Knut finished off his water in thirty uncomfortable seconds.
Steve said, "Let me get you a refill here."
He took Knut's glass and walked off. Tina showed up with a full glass and took his empty plate. She quickly returned with the check. Knut understood the indirect message. Although Knut never had to ask, Steve had always taken care of his tab.

Knut looked around at the customers. The place seemed to be pretty full. Tables of downtown businesspeople sat beside others filled with NDSU students. Despite (or because of?) the higher prices, The Prairie Oyster had solid lunch sales.

Steve returned to the table.
"Knut, I have to get back to the line. If I take you up on your offer, how much time does it buy me before the next sales pitch?"
"This is the last one whether or not you go to Halifax."
Steve cocked his head. "Hmm?"
"That's where I'm moving Go Far."
"You're moving - to Halifax? Why??"
"Actually, Halifax is only temporary. My brother-in-law Carl is helping put me up until I am ready for the final move, which is Oslo."
"Oslo, Norway?"
"No, Oslo, Minnesota. Yes, Oslo, Norway!"
"Again, why?"
"Same problem that you don't see as a problem yet. Fargo only provides so many customers for a travel and tour company. And remember when I did study abroad in Norway - "
"Not really."
" - well, I have always wanted to move back since then."
"But even the name - Go Far - is thanks to Fargo!"
"Then it will accurately reflect the company's - and my - roots. I've already gone over all these hurdles, Steve. I knew that you wouldn't come to Halifax just for a personal visit, so I found this seafood conference that you could get some business worth out of."
Steve stood shocked. "I can't believe all this."
Knut folded a twenty into the check book. He slipped a business card in Steve's hand: Knut Ericsen, Go Far Travel.
"You truly can't believe it? Truly? Who would choose to stay in Fargo if they could help it?"
"I could help it. I'll see you later."
Steve walked back to the line, past the servers demanding his attention for something or other, and into the kitchen office beyond anyone's sight lines. He crumpled up the business card and tossed it away. He sat down and rested his forehead on his fist. Was Knut right? Was he wasting his time and talent in Fargo? Why did Knut care? Where was the balance between comfort and ambition?
Steve took a deep breath and slowly stretched his palms down his face. He plucked the card out of the trash. He flattened it out and noticed the handwriting on the back:

Carl Hammerfest
808 Fundy Road
Halifax
See you in November
-Knut

NDSU students, chillin'. Seriously, it's, like, 2 degrees there.

Montana State University

4 Aug 2009. Wheat Montana was a great recommendation by the ladies at the MSU bookstore. Like Panera but with corrugated metal instead of pastel overstuffed easy chairs.


"Those falls weren't that great."
"The real Great Falls is a few miles downstream. But there have been so many dams built on the Missouri that the falls today are only a fraction of the spectacle that Lewis & Clark encountered in 1805."
"Could we take a break from the interpretation, please?"
The horse-mounted ranger looked hurt. "Sure."
The young driver exhaled. "I'm sorry. After being abandoned by Alicia, I'm just ready to zone out for a while." He shifted on his seat. "And my butt's numb again. How do you handle it, uberglutes?"
"Yoga. Though I tell people cross country skiing."
"Yoga? You??"
The driver laughed. The ranger frowned.
"All right, all right. My lips are sealed. Cat claw?"
He foisted up an almond-studded pastry through the opening in his cage.
"No, thanks."
The ranger's horse flipped his neck right and grabbed the pastry with its frightening lips.
"Whoa! Look at those lips!"
"Oh! Bad Pompey! No sweets! Please do not feed my horse junk food."
"I have some 9-grain bagels."
"Maybe later. We still have 200 miles to go."
So continued the molasses slow journey of Otter, driving a miniature Bobcat tractor, and Ranger Redfeather, astride a pony.

******

Otter, senior biology major at Montana State in Bozeman, was not content to have his final report be based on mere library research. He did not want his findings on bobcat habitat conservation to exist in a vacuum; he wanted to have impact. A caffeine fueled brainstorm with his academic advisor yielded an original proposal: a fundraising journey from the continental divide in Glacier National Park to Bozeman.
The poetic synergy made Otter's loins tingle with glee: To save the bobcats, a student, whose school mascot is a bobcat, would drive a Bobcat skid steer.
Glacier National Park donated the dark green one-seat machine, retrofitted with a second seat over the shovel. This bumper seat was reserved for Otter to keep a video journal of the trip. He recruited a girl from the MSU conservation club named Alicia to drive. The small cockpit of the Bobcat was basically a Humvee for someone as small as Alicia.
As far as food, it wasn't hard to gather non-perishables for a nonstop three-day trip, but Wheat Montana stepped up anyway. The local chain donated loads of loafs from Kalispell, and also for his stops in Great Falls and Bozeman.
The only group that did not cooperate was Parks Canada. Otter wanted a greater audience for his message. He reckoned that since his starting point was Glacier-Waterton International Peace Park, the northerners would be interested. He reckoned wrong.
Even without Canada's help, Otter was packed and ready. Alicia was not. She was unprepared for inclement weather, and in a Teton County rainstorm, she caught a cold. She dropped out, her parents picking her up roadside in Great Falls.
This crammed Otter's long swimmer's limbs behind the wheel, taking the camcorder out of his hands and limiting his video footage. The shovel-seat was now used as an equipment shelf.
They ate up the road at 7 mph, swapping stories and making fun of Canadians.

******

"I still can't believe they refused to get on board on account of 'bobcats not being endangered enough'. That's not even the point! What, do you have a long list of college student fundraising slo-mo marathons?"
Ranger Redfeather concurred. "Canadians are small-minded."
"I would always defend them. I would always give them the benefit of the doubt. But if you can't even be bothered to send a maple leaf bumper sticker for the Bobcat, then what other conclusion can I reach?"
"I have known of their ways and now you do too."
"So the US Park System has to step it up and donate a Bobcat, a horse, and a ranger's time."
"Pompey is mine. And Glacier did not donate me. I am donating my own weekend."
"Are you serious? Why?"
"One: The bobcat is my totem animal. Two: Conservation is never a poor choice. Bobcats are numerous now, but so were passenger pigeons right before their extinction. Your cause is a good one."
The sun was setting behind the Big Belt mountains. The shadows of Otter and Ranger Redfeather merged and stretched twenty feet into the brush.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Redfeather."
The ranger touched the brim of his beige Stetson.
"And when I heard the Canadians wouldn't help, I had to! Ha ha ha!"

******

"Bozeman in view, Otter."
Otter strained his face to focus. He bit his tongue and slammed his head against the metal cage to wake himself.
"Finally! All I have left is 9-grain bagels. Awful. I think I was starting to see things in the road too."
"Hallucinations are common when not sleeping for two days."
"How are you and Pompey doing?"
"Why do you think we use the word 'workhorse'? He is fine. As for me, I have trained with sleep deprivation before."
"So you're a trippin' yoga Indian Ranger."
"Trippin' yoga Nez Perce Ranger, yes."
Otter and Ranger Redfeather puttered onto the MSU campus.
"Look, there's my parents. And some of my friends. And the conservation club I guess." Otter sounded disappointed.
"What were you expecting? A local news crew?"
"Actually, yes. It's not like much happens in - whoa!"
"Otter??"
Otter and his Bobcat sunk out of view. Ranger Redfeather dismounted. Otter, distracted by the welcoming committee, had driven right through some yellow caution tape and onto a rain-weakened embankment. It gave way, sending the Bobcat tumbling into a natural gutter. The stream was only a few feet below, but the Bobcat had rolled upside down, sending cold muddy water into the driver's cage. Ranger Redfeather knew well that it took no more than a few inches of water to drown someone. He needed to get Otter out. Or at least set the Bobcat upright.
"Someone get help!" Ranger Redfeather yelled to the other end of the field. He jumped into the muck. His boots quickly got suctioned off. He pushed his weight against the Bobcat. There was no way he was going to pull it out on his own, or even set it upright. Otter struggled to turn himself rightside-up, but there was little maneuvering room and he was running out of air. Some of the crowd ran away, most ran towards the creek.
"HELP! Someone get a rope!"
Five ropes fell on Ranger Redfeather's shoulders. He looked up. Five stallions that dwarfed Pompey stood with ropes tied to their saddles. They were mounted by men in Red Serge and flat-brimmed Stetsons. Ranger Redfeather tied the loose ends to the back of the Bobcat cage. The horses turned tail and easily pulled the Bobcat up. When it was on steady ground, Otter kicked open the front of the cage and tumbled out. His family gathered around him as he spit and coughed, snotting out mud and gathering his breath.
"Otter, are you okay?"
"I'm ready for a hot shower, please. Thank you for coming everyone. Save the bobcats and so on. Alicia, you made it?"
"Of course, I'm still the historian. Say cheese!"
"Oh, man." Otter grimaced and shivered. He turned to the Mounties. Ranger Redfeather was talking to them.
"Looks like you used a bowline, Ranger?"
"Nothing works better."
Otter said, "Thank you all for saving me. But...I am surprised to see you. I thought Parks Canada didn't want to get involved?"
One of the Mounties addressed Otter. "I'm not privy to that information, but like Ranger Redfeather here, we are volunteering our time. When I picked up my daughter from Great Falls, she convinced me to be here to make up for her leaving early."
"Oh. Well...she couldn't help that she got a cold and...wait, wait...your daughter? Alicia, your dad's a Mountie?"
"Yep, we're Calgarians. Except for the constables, not sure where they're from."
Alicia's dad nodded and the other Mounties called roll.
"Constable Mackenzie, Banff."
"Constable Logan, Medicine Hat."
"Constable Rupert, Moose Jaw."
"Constable Fraser, Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump."
Otter shook each of their hands. "Your towns have awesome names."
Alicia's dad said, "Bozeman has a unique ring to it as well."
"Couldn't tell you where it came from. But I'm sure there's a story behind it..."

Sleep deprivation prevented me from getting a better shot of Bobcat Stadium.

University of Montana

27 Jul 2009. Montana, a majestic state and majestic campus with a majestic mascot, required a majestic souvenir. I had to splurge a little bit, but for now the Grizzly Growler (fine, it's a stein) is the crown jewel of the collection.


"Hello, Singapore!"
Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh lifted off her sleeping mask and noise-canceling headphones. She felt refreshed and energized; hundreds of business trips had acclimated her to sleeping on planes.
Persephone looked out the window. There were no lion statues or buildings over four stories high.
She spoke to the triple-paned window, "S...Singapore? Ohhh, right, Seattle connection." But everyone else looked dismayed.
She asked her seat neighbor, a portly Hawaiian-looking man, "What's going on?"
"Didn't you hear? Some lady went into labor and we had to land in Missoula."
"Missoula...Montana?!"
She clicked on her Blackberry.
"Russ, hi...No, no, I'm not...I've been grounded by a fetus."

*****

Despite its impressive name, Missoula International Airport was not used to accommodating 747s. The ramp staff had to jury-rig a custom sized fuel nozzle from some coffee cans. That killed a couple hours, killing Persephone's chances of catching her connecting flight at SeaTac. The next flight to Seattle was in twelve hours. The decision was made: she would not be joining her competitors in Singapore.

"Russ, without my participation, our project will never gain any traction."
"I'm sorry, Persephone, but being late is more offensive to them than spitting on their grandmother. Unless our digital proposal absolutely floors them, we'll have to move to Plan B. Considering our competition, we are basically out of the running. Yeah, it's a punch in the gut, but as of now we're looking elsewhere."

She was put up at the GallatInn for the night, scheduled to fly back to Philadelphia the next afternoon.
She could not get Russ' word unless out of her mind. It meant to her there was still a chance, no matter how farfetched.
Stuck in Big Sky Country for the morning, the unless started driving her up the wall. She needed to burn off some steam. She changed into a t-shirt and workout shorts, tied back her blonde curls, and found the exercise room. All the treadmills were taken. She went to the front desk.
"Excuse me, any good running trails around here?"
"Running trails? Let's see, there's Mt. Sentinel but most people usually hike it, not run it." The front desk manager pointed to an imposing hill. Persephone was surprised she had not noticed it from her hotel room window. A big white M crowned the mountain.
Persephone said out loud to no one in particular, "M for Missoula."
"More like Murder," said the front desk lady. "If you only knew how much illegal trapping goes on up there. They've arrested half a dozen poachers this year alone, and that's only the ones they caught. If you can imagine how many poor widdle wabbits - "
"Okay, Mt. Sentinel, thank you!"
Persephone jogged away.

*****

Persephone instantly felt better breathing in the clean, cool air. She admired the maroon brick buildings and the trimmed lawns on U of M's campus. Once on the trail, she ascended the inclined switchbacks in several minutes.
That's it? I bet that wasn't even a mile.
She sat down on the concrete M and pulled out a Luna bar. She read the label: Heavenly Honey & Pomegranate, Loaded with Folate for a Healthy Fetus!
Ugh. There's marketing, and then there's pandering.
After taking a bite, she heard a grumble behind her. Reminded her of an old man emerging from an unplanned nap. She thought it was odd - she saw nobody on the run up.
"Hello?"
A hairy, meaty grizzly bear sauntered out from the brush. Persephone froze. She tried to dig from her brain any bear survival tips. Nothing useful, only the old joke where a hiker has to only outrun his friend, not the bear itself. It wasn't very humorous at the moment since there was nobody around to outrun. There was something good about the old joke though: Persephone knew that bears can easily outrun humans.
She started backing down the trail slowly.
It took all her mental discipline not to turn and bolt. And she was about to find out how long she could maintain that 100% resolve.
The bear began to follow her down the trail.
Not too closely and not too fast, but enough to torture her for 3/4ths of a mile.
A few hikers on the way up turned tail and ran. Persephone dearly wanted to join them, as well as throttle them for not getting help. Her breathing grew fast. Her heart couldn't beat any faster without popping out of her chest.
How long is this bear going to follow me??
At the bottom of the trail, she spotted a cab on the other side of the campus quad. She couldn't hold back anymore. She sprinted for her life. The bear picked up the pace of pursuit.
Passing a lifesize grizzly sculpture, she saluted it with a big chosen finger.
She reached the cab and slammed on the passenger side window.
"Let me in! Get me out of here!"
"No more fares, crazy pretty lady. I'm headed to the car wash then I'm off the clock."
"Please! There's a freakin' bear after me!"
"Huh?" The cabdriver saw the gallopin' griz.
"Great Canadian Ballet! Get in!" He unlocked the doors. She buckled in and the cab peeled out.

*****

"Were you teasing the bears, Miss?"
"That is...not...appreciated...right now. Thanks." Persephone was still gasping.
"You don't mind if I stop through the car wash? It's on the way to the GallatInn."
"I don't care."
"Good. It's a mess now. What did you smear all over the window anyway?"
"What? Oh, I guess the rest of my energy bar. Sorry."
"That's all right." The cab driver sniffed. "What was it, raspberry?"
"Pomegranate and honey I think."
"Clark my Fork! The only thing grizzlies love more than honey is pomegranates. No wonder she was after you! We need to clean this car, now!"
"You're saying if I just dropped the bar then he would have left me alone?"
"Hmmm. Hard to say, but yes, definitely."
The cab driver was glad to see no one in line at the car wash. He rolled down his window, put in the coins, rolled the window up again, and pulled forward.
There was a loud SLAM. The passenger window spidered with cracks. Persephone screamed.
The bear was back and now he was licking crumbs from his paw. The bear followed the cab into the car wash and proceeded to contentedly scratch and lick the cracks. Shards fell into the cab. Persephone clambered into the backseat behind the driver.
"Where's the damn water?"
"I'm trying to trigger it! These things all always so sensitive."
The green light flashed red and turned green again.
"Dang! Too far. I gotta reverse it now."
"COME ON!"
The light turned red. It stayed red.
"Got it!" The driver switched into P and pulled the handbrake. "Mind if I join you in hiding? This water can get hot." He piled in the backseat next to Persephone.
"You know, I've made a lot of car insurance claims but never one from bear attack."
"Car insurance? We might need life insurance!"
"Hold on now, did you know bears hate hot water? They're already baking under all that fur. Watch."
The water pumps whirred to action and flooded the car wash with a hot mist. The bear squealed and shook its face. Giant blue fabric flaps dropped from the ceiling and slid from bumper to bumper, herding the bear back. After a few rounds of the flaps, the bear gave up and ran away. Soaked, Persephone and the driver looked back.
"He actually looks kind of funny all wet. A little scrawnier."
"See? She wasn't trying to eat you, just your pomegranate and honey."
"How can you tell it was a she?"
"By the backside! You're not from here, are you?"
"No, I'm from Philadelphia."
"What are you doing in Missoula?"
Persephone rubbed her temples. "It was a horrible, horrible mistake."
"Hey. We like it here."

*****

Persephone was back at Missoula International Airport, this time at the boarding lounge. A fresh set of clothes and a hot meal later, she was in high spirits again.
"Russ, hi...No, I'm way past that...Listen, is it too late to change our digital proposal?...Axe the man in a business suit. It needs to be a bear in a car wash...destroying a car and driving out with it...Trust me, it'll draw them in...Yes!...Thank you, Russ...See you then."

Persephone's proposal drew additional interest from the Singapore group. It did not win the full bid, but was accepted as limited promotional material for a chauffeur services firm. The tagline read, "Driving Is A Bear."

The Mt. Sentinel Ramp, a big chosen finger to the wheelchair-bound