Breaker Whiskey

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] “Letter date?” - that was your last message. As in…the date on the letter? It’s April 6th, 1975. What’s important about that? Four, six, one, nine, seven, five. Our first thought was coordinates, of course, and it’s the right amount of numbers to be a latitude, but seventy-five isn’t a valid number for the seconds. So maybe it’s just the degrees and minutes and you’ll send the seconds through later? Or it could just be the degrees and you want us to leave out the year entirely. If it is a latitude, we’re not that far from it. We would just need the longitude, obviously. We’re getting somewhere, I think, so let me know if this is entirely the wrong track. Otherwise, we’ll keep working away at it. [click, static] [beeps] -.. --- -. .-..-. - / ... .- -.-- / .- .-.. --- ..- -.. Don’t say aloudSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Harry’s letter…what about Harry’s letter? Are you asking if we’ve talked about it? Or…what? As it so happens, we haven’t talked about it. It’s not really relevant anymore, is it? She doesn’t need to know that I was worried sick that she’d been killed and I don’t need to bring up the fact that she secretly likes Hank Williams. She hasn’t mentioned my Rothko lie so…we’re even. It’s not like the letter was really all that revealing anyway. It was mostly…logistical. And yeah, it was clever of her to sew it into the jacket, but honestly, I’m kind of pissed that she wore the jacket to butcher chickens. And butcher them badly. God forbid she gets any of her clothes dirty. I still have it. Not that it’s very wearable anymore but. I don’t know. I had to abandon the house I’ve lived in for six years and the car that took me back and forth across the country, so I don’t have a lot of things worth sentimental value. If we were going to talk about any kind of correspondence…well, you think she’d have some specific things to say about what I’ve said on here over the last year. Both the good and the bad. And the…vulnerable. Anyway, I don’t understand why you’re asking about Harry’s letter. Is there some kind of…information she shared that you think would be useful? I don’t think it’s very smart of us to revisit any of the old potential meetup spots and you’re sending us West anyway so…again, a little more clarity please. [click, static] [beeps] .-.. . - - . .-. / -.. .- - . ..--.. Letter date?See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You do know that you’re going to have to give me a little more than “West” right? I mean…we’ll do it, we’ll start going West now, but there’s still a lot of West left, so I need you to narrow it down. She keeps calling me Whiskey. Harry, I mean. And she seems to really not mind—she seems to even like that I call her Harry but I never expected her to even call me Abi with any regularity but… She said that she started to think of that name when she thought of me because listening to all my transmissions made her feel like she was finally meeting the real thing. The real me. I said that I’d never tried to hide from her before, that other than certain…feelings, I’ve always been exactly who I am. She—well, she skated right over the feelings bit, which I’m honestly grateful for—and said that it’s different, to hear someone talk when they think no one is listening. That she started to understand more about the way that I think, the way I feel things. And she’s started to think of that person, the real me, as Whiskey. I think it’s a little more than that to be honest. I think…I think Abi—Abigail is the person that she betrayed. The person she lied to, that she hurt, whereas Whiskey is someone who spends a lot of time talking about her, but maybe isn’t carrying as much anger around as Abi was in those last few months we were together. I sometimes wonder if she would want to go back to being strangers if we could. I sometimes wonder if I would want that. If I’d been alone when I got here—pretending, for sake of argument, that I ended up in this little wasteland of a world through some other means. What if I’d been alone and I went on my road trip and Harry was the person I found. In that context, what would we have been to each other now? It doesn’t matter in any case—life doesn’t work like that. I can’t forget everything I know about her and everything she’s done to me even if I tried. Even if I could…that’s the easy way out, isn’t it? And nothing with Harry has ever been easy. [click, static] [beeps] .... .- .-. .-. -.-- .-..-. ... / .-.. . - - . .-. Harry’s letterSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, Birdie, we’ve gone North. We’ve gone so far North that we’re quite literally at the Canadian border. I’ve never been to Canada. Well, I guess I have now—the moment we got to the sign, I stopped the car and Harry and I both jumped out and ran for the other side of the border. One of those moments where we both had the exact same idea at the exact same time. I missed that. The way that we can be in perfect sync. Sometimes on a job, we could communicate with just a look. The whole crew had that ability to some extent, but it always felt…you know. Better. With Harry. Things have been…better. With Harry. I demanded she tell me anything else she’d left out about Pete and her snitching and…I think I know everything now. Even if I have no idea what to do with it. But it’s cleared the air some. Made me understand her a little more. Even if I’m still furious so much of the time…that fury is not aimed solely at her anymore. It’s her birthday today. June 30th. She didn’t mention anything to me—it’s not like we’ve got a wall calendar hanging off the rearview mirror or anything, so it was only when I was doing my usual marking of my atlas that I realized. I didn’t get her a gift, obviously. A trip to Canada, I guess. When I wished her a happy birthday, she just sort of…quietly said thank you and that was that. We’re both a year older and not any wiser for it. We know more now, about the world, about each other. It doesn’t feel like—I’m not sure what other secrets we possibly would have to reveal to each other. And yet, I don’t feel like I actually understand anything. I’m still just…out to sea. I don’t know. I miss Donnie. I wish I could talk to him about this stuff, I wish—I wish I could talk to him about Pete. I wish I could have someone else’s perspective on her. On us. And the real problem is that, despite everything, I still— The look on her face when she got to the other side of the border. We were both out of breath and red faced, like kids who had raced to the front door. And she smiled so big and she looked at me and said “Didn’t I tell you once that I’d take you to another country someday?” I honestly couldn’t believe that she remembered that. She said it one time, years ago. I remembered it of course, because at that time I was looking for any kind of scrap that she… We were at a new exhibit at the Morgan Library—rare manuscripts, I think from the renaissance, I can’t really remember. Pete—(voice cracking) uh, Pete, um, loved—loved stealing manuscripts. They were hard to steal, because they had to be so delicately handled, but Harry knew how to do it, which gave Pete an advantage that most thieves didn’t have. With big exhibits of them, we could steal just one, not a whole collection, and still get a really good deal for them. Especially since there is always a wealthy person out there who wants to own one just for the sake of having something rare and won’t fuss too much about where it came from. Anyway, we were casing the place, her and I, because Harry could spend hours looking at every corner of an exhibit and make it seem totally natural, like she was just looking at the art. She usually went alone, just to get the layout of the exhibits, but we’d never tried robbing the Morgan Library before, so I went with her to get a sense for the whole building’s security. And we… We had a good time. We had a really good time. We laughed at all the weird margin drawings that the monks would leave in the books of hours, or whatever they were, and Harry would tell me about the history of when and where these things had been written and, if she’d been to the place herself, she’d talk a little bit about what it was like now. I’ve never been…anywhere. And when I told her that, she said, “I’ll take you someday. Everyone should leave the country at least once”. Actually, I think she said “continent”. That’s…obviously not possible now. Well, I guess we could go to South America but…I’m just happy she remembers that conversation at all. I thought about it for weeks afterwards. What she meant by it. The implication that she would be with me if I traveled. That she’d be the one to take me. You know, I could get her a rare manuscript for her next birthday—I could walk into any museum in this country and walk right out with one, just like I did with that painting in Santa Fe. "Her next birthday”…guess I am thinking that we’ll still be, well, that we’ll still be alive and that we’ll still be together a year from now. But I really don’t know that for certain, do I? Anyway, should we keep going North or…do you want to give us a little direction here? Literal

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I’ll—I’ll get to your latest in a second but first… I’m already having a hard enough time ordering my thoughts—talking out loud on the radio and spending my days talking to Harry…it’s like my brain is more active than it’s been in months and I feel like I’m bouncing from thought to thought with no order or intention. And it’s so much worse than usual right in this moment because Harry just told me something that… I don’t know why she didn’t tell me this a year ago—maybe because when she first confessed everything I refused to hear more about it. But I talked to her about what I was saying yesterday, the messed up logic of her view of me and her view of Pete and she—she said it was different. Because what Pete did was cold blooded murder, not an accident, not an escalation of a confrontation. And I didn’t buy that, how could she know, she wasn’t there and she— It was his partner. Um, two of the people who died—one was a teller who refused to open the vault and the other was um— (pause) was a seventeen year old boy who tried to take Pete’s gun away. And that’s—I mean, I didn’t expect one of them to be just a kid—but I figured that’s what happened, that something went wrong, someone tried to interfere, a gun went off and— But the third person was Pete’s partner. His…mentee, his protege. The two of them, after they did get into the vault, after they—well, they, um, snuck out through the back and Pete—Pete shot him point blank in the head and left him in the alley behind the bank. Which…does put the other killings in a different light. Suddenly the death of the teller doesn’t seem like a robbery gone wrong, but instead… It’s different. That’s what she said. I mean, she also said that she doesn’t want to kill Junior, that she doesn’t think that’s a way to solve anything, but that she’s had to think it all through anyway. She had to consider it, because if it was the way to make things right with me, then she would— But she knows it’s not. She knows it wouldn’t fix anything, especially since she already learned that taking extreme action to protect yourself from the possibility of harm can lead to something so much worse. Because that’s why she turned Pete in. Because she felt it was just a matter of time until he did what he did to his old mentee again, but this time to me. She didn’t think she could convince me that he’d ever hurt me—and…she’s probably right about that—so she…made a different choice. And now I have to live with this knowledge and figure out how it changes my entire world view and feelings about one of the most significant relationships in my life. [click, static] So…I’ve had some things to process. Clearly. But I’m not—I’m not ignoring you, especially since what you said— “I’ll transmit safe location”. That’s what you said. Birdie does this mean…are we going to meet? I assume you mean a safe location for you to…leave me something, or somewhere Fox can’t find us or…I don’t know. I know what I’m hoping for and I also know that I need to hold that hope tightly so it doesn’t grow out of control. I don’t know how you plan to transmit a location without Fox or Junior hearing it, but I have no doubt you’ll come up with something. So for now I’ll just…wait. I’ll wait and I’ll keep going North. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You want to explain what? All of it? You want to explain everything to me, is that what you’re saying? Because I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—you can transmit as long a message as you want, just make sure it repeats and I’ll sit by the radio and transcribe it all out. When we got that message, Harry asked me what an explanation would change for me. She wants to know if I’ll—if you really do tell us everything and it all makes sense and the world becomes clear, and after all of that, it really is true that killing Junior would put us back…would that change my perspective on it. And I—well, I told her I don’t know, because I don’t know. I can’t know, not really, until I know what I don’t know right now. When I don’t have the information, I can’t predict how it might change what I think. But if I’m honest with myself, I really doubt it would change that much. I’m not a killer. I don’t want to be a killer. I know that technically I am, but I—well, I don’t know! I don’t feel less guilty about Billings just because I didn’t mean to kill him, I still fought with him. But Harry seems to think it’s different and that’s what I don’t understand. How does she look at Pete and decry what he did and then look at me and say it’s okay and I can do it again—I killed a man and can kill his son and that’s not as bad as what Pete did. It doesn’t make any sense to me, that logic. And I can’t imagine a world in which Harry would want to do this particular bit of dirty business herself so it would be - it would be me. It doesn’t matter—I’m not entertaining the idea. No matter what we learn. No matter what you tell us. [click, static] [beeps] .. .-..-. .-.. .-.. / - .-. .- -. ... -- .. - / ... .- ..-. . / .-.. --- -.-. .- - .. --- -. I’ll transmit safe locationSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Have you ever read The Screwtape Letters, Birdie? We’re stopped off the highway for some lunch—Harry has set up a little fire so we can have something hot, I don’t know why. She knows I’m not fussy about what I eat, especially on the road, but maybe she just wanted to stretch her legs. It is…a lot harder to be stuck in a car with her than a house. I’m happy to sit there and focus on driving, let the static of the radio fill the silence between us, but Harry has never been one for awkward silence. Angry silence, judgmental silence, cold silence, comfortable silence even…sure. But if she feels like she’s not the one controlling the silence…well. Anyway, she was telling me about The Screwtape Letters. It’s a C.S. Lewis book. When she started in on explaining it to me, I really had no idea what she was talking about—I thought she was just trying to cut the tension between us. But it ended up being sort of relevant. Relevant to you specifically. It sounds nothing like the Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe stuff he wrote, though I guess those were meant for kids and this one was not. It’s about these two devils—demons? Servants of hell, I guess, I don’t know exactly what they’re called in the book. Harry says it was supposed to be a satire, but nothing about it sounded that funny. The older demon, Screwtape, is writing all these, yeah you guessed it, letters to this younger demon Wormwood. And he’s telling Wormwood how to corrupt the soul of this one human. Which, to me, seems a little ridiculous. In my experience, human beings are pretty corruptible, I can’t imagine that you’d ever need two demons on the job. I don’t know, maybe this one guy was particularly upstanding. I don’t know if you’re picking up on the resemblance yet, but Harry thinks that you and Fox are a bit like Screwtape and Wormwood, with me caught in the middle. I told her I’m hardly a pure of heart person that needs to be tempted into surrendering my soul to Satan or whatever, and besides, aren’t we already in hell? She didn’t take that very well. Between this and the Asimov, you’ve got to wonder if some of these authors knew something the rest of us didn’t. Did they get punted into their own timeline offshoots only to somehow find their way back? The long and short of it was that Harry does not think I should trust you. Because for all we know, you and Fox are playing a twisted game over the ownership of my immortal soul. But I do trust you. Maybe I shouldn’t. Actually, I probably shouldn’t. But I do. I just wish you could explain it all to me. Even just one thing. [click, static] [beeps] .-- .- -. - / - --- / . -..- .--. .-.. .- .. -. Want to explainSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] ‘Keep going north’—very helpful. Not at all an answer to the question I was asking, but…okay. What the hell. Why not. It’s guidance of a sort, I’ve got nothing better to do and I actually haven’t been to— [click, static] I guess I shouldn’t say where it is I’ve been or haven’t been, given that that might give us away, the state we’re in now. Then again, if Fox can find us wherever we are and tell Junior… [click, static] But, okay, fine. We’ll go north. You know, Harry’s got a lot of opinions about you, Birdie. If I didn’t know any better, I might say that she’s jeal— [click, static] She’s not very pleased with you. She’s…frustrated. Which I get. I’m pretty much always frustrated with you. But I still like you, for some reason. I still like talking to you. I’ll never forget the first time we spoke, really spoke, in dits and dashes. I don’t think I’d ever experienced that kind of joy before. Not until I found Donnie. Harry…Harry did finally get an apology out for that. For her part in that. For the part I feel she played. She cornered me in the kitchen this morning—we’ve been staying in this little house for the last week, I think we’ve probably got to move soon but for now we’ve been getting by. Though it is weird to be in a new space with her. She’s always somewhere I don’t expect. But I guess I don’t really expect her anywhere anymore. I’m so used to not seeing her. I keep trying to not see her, if I’m honest. I’ve spent a lot of time in my car, scanning all the open channels and looking at my atlas, trying to figure out where we should go next. Even when we’re in the same room, I try not to look at her for too long. Because I know that if I do, I’ll—I’ll let her talk to me. I’ll let her apologize. Apparently she wasn’t keen on waiting for me to cave. She withheld the hot water and stood in the doorway and wouldn’t let me leave or get tea until she said her piece. It was clear that she’d practiced it. Or, at the very least, come up with a plan of what she wanted to say. She said she was sorry for Don. That she had never wanted anyone to get hurt, that she’s lived every day in terror since Junior showed up at the house. Terror that he would catch up to her or, worse, catch up to me. That’s what she said. That it would be worse. And she said, straight out, that she does feel responsible, for all of it. She always has. Even when we thought it was nuclear war or some rampant disease, she thought it was just…the universe punishing her. She seemed…annoyed, that I’m the one the universe chose to punish for my decision. Almost like she’s offended that she’s not the main character of the world. Maybe that’s unfair. Probably that’s unfair. Maybe she was annoyed because she doesn't want me to be punished. She did say—she said I didn’t deserve it. That I didn’t deserve any of it, that she would take on the burden by herself if she could. She also did assure me that she had no idea about any of this—the timelines, Birdie and Fox, the direct consequences of my actions. She really was just scared that something terrible would find us if we left the safety of our house and I guess she was sort of right about that, even if she didn’t know it for certain. She said she’d do anything to make it right. That all I had to do was tell her what I wanted and she’d do it. I have no idea what I want. She can’t fix the things that are broken and I also…I wouldn’t know how to make demands of Harry. I’m too used to being the person who steps into line, I wouldn’t know where to begin making a new path. Anyway, going north. We’ll do it. At least I’ll have someone in the passenger seat with me this time. [click, static] See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Breaker breaker, this is Whiskey calling out for any goddamn clarification from Birdie. We’ve been talking about it more, the whole “Junior is already dead over there” thing. And we can’t think of any other explanation than the one we first came up with—that he must have died over in the original timeline, the “correct” timeline, whatever you want to call it, and that…because he no longer exists there, removing him here would allow our timelines to merge. But I need to know, is that…right? I mean, I know that that’s been the solution for a while—or at least we’ve been operating under the assumption that that was the solution—but does he really not exist in that other timeline anymore? Is there nowhere for him to go if we—if we did fix it? Through some other means? (sighs) I don’t know. There are plenty of things in this world that can’t be fixed. Time can’t be turned back on itself—at least, I don’t think it can, but, god, after everything I’ve learned this past year, who knows what’s possible— I can’t think about that. There’s only so many insane hypotheticals I’m willing to humor. Harry wants so badly to fix it. Even knowing that it was me killing—that it was Billings’ dying that brought us here I think she…I think she heard me when I talked about where the blame stops. And I don’t mean just heard my broadcast, I think she really…heard me. I think she understands that I can hate myself for what I did and be furious with her for putting me in that position in the first place. In all these years, she never—she never called me a murderer for what I did. She knew that sometimes the guilt would fill me up so much I’d start to drown and she…she never held me under. I don’t know if she judged me for it—judges me for it. If it changed the way she saw me—she never gave any indication that it did but finding out that Pete messed up and killed—I mean, it changed her perspective on him enough to rat him out, destroy his life. Destroy all our lives. Maybe it’s because it was an accident or self-defense but neither of those things ever made me feel any better about what I did, so… Maybe Harry sees killing Junior before he can kill us as some kind of self defense but I don’t think it is. I’m not sure I believe in preemptive strikes. I just…I don’t know what to do. I could really use a little guidance here. [click, static] [beeps] -.- . . .--. / --. --- .. -. --. / -. --- .-. - .... Keep going northSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] So Harry— Well, she told me something interesting today. I’ve been—well, the whole point of doing these transmissions on my own is that it’s my time, my words, my choice to tell you what I want. By that nature, I’ve been wanting…privacy, I guess. Which is silly, maybe. Wanting privacy from one person so I can speak to the whole world, whatever’s left of it. But it—well, it doesn’t have to make sense for me to feel it. And even if it so often feels like I’m just talking to myself, that I’m just speaking thoughts out loud and no one hears them, maybe there’s something to be said for actually saying these things to people. For letting some of those inside thoughts out. Harry told me—well, that she’s started to enjoy being called Harry. How’s that for a surprise? Over months of hearing my transmissions, she felt like—she said it felt like forgiveness, every time I called her that. Like I must be important to her still if I was bothering to give her a nickname, to give her some space in my head as someone unique. “Some space”—like she doesn't know she’s consumed entire sections of my thoughts. And for once, I turned the question back on her—why she always calls be Abigail instead of Abi if nicknames are supposed to be a sign of affection. Seems like maybe she was just being hopeful in assuming what it meant for me, given that she doesn’t seem to abide by that rule. Except, well, turns out it was just another way of keeping her distance. Formality as the bricks in the wall between us. She’s started calling me Abi since she got here. She’s even called me Whiskey a few times. I’m not sure what to do with that. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Harry’s asleep—went to bed hours ago and I just…can’t. [click, static] In all the time away, I forgot. I forgot how much I like Harry. And that’s different, isn’t it, than being in lo— I mean, I like her the way I like—liked Donnie. And Pete and Richie and Francis and Sylvie and Martha and Millie and every single person I’ve ever cared enough about to spend time with. I like her weird little bits of trivia, and her love of puzzles, and the way that she sees art as something important and vital in the world. I like her sharp sense of humor and how she’s gotten worse and worse over the years at pretending not to find my jokes funny. I like that she cares about doing right, but not doing good. Her moral compass is…well, it’s fucking infuriating, but its hers and she sticks to it. Okay, maybe I don’t like that as much as I respect it. I like that she demands respect. She always has. The guys always respected her and any time we were out and a man would be creepy toward her or condescending or just…annoying. She never took it. And I never did either but I’m —Harriet’s not built like I am, she’s slight and soft and feminine and men often think that means— She’s strong in other ways. Ways that matter. Ways that I’m not. It’s not just the strength of her convictions, her immovable morality but the way that she weathers every single storm with grace and never breaks. We’ve both had our share of hardships, and they’ve been different kinds of hardships, but…I don’t know. If she’s telling the truth, which I think, finally she is, then she spent six years in the company of someone she wanted, someone she knew wanted her back and she denied herself out of a sense of guilt fueled by that moral compass. I denied myself out of fear, out of insecurity and doubt, but she…she resisted getting what she wanted because she felt she didn’t deserve it. I don’t know, maybe that isn’t strength. Maybe that’s just cruelty. Or maybe it’s neither of those things—I’ve never been a reliable character witness when it comes to her. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I keep—I keep calling her Harriet. I hear it, feel the shape of her name in my mouth, and it feels…not wrong, but—well, I grew so accustomed to using her nickname—the nickname I had for her, the one that I’d use to talk about her to other people. But with her here, I find myself saying “Harriet” even when she’s not in the room. It’s…helping a little, in some ways. Helping me keep my distance, reminding me that she’s not just an abstract idea in my head, the way she has been the last year, but that she’s a real, three dimensional person who’s here and who I still… We finally talked about your latest messages, Birdie. And she—she agrees with me. That you’re probably saying that Junior needs to die in order for us to go back to where we’re from. Because…well, in that timeline we’d be free people, wouldn’t we? Are we? Do we exist back there too the way we do here? Are there infinite versions of us in infinite timelines? If we fixed things here the way that Fox says they can be fixed, would we just…be absorbed into whatever life we were in back there? I—I honestly doubt that Harriet and I even speak anymore. If we hadn’t escaped, we would’ve—according to Harriet—been let go and turned witness. I would’ve refused to testify and maybe…maybe that means the deal would’ve been bad and I’d just go to jail anyway. But even if I didn’t, even if I was somehow free, I don't think I’d have talked to her again after what she did. Fucking all of us over like that, out of some misguided fear about Pete…she’s the only other person in the universe who doesn’t want to kill me right now and I’m still not sure how to forgive her. If I can. Sometimes I think that maybe forgiveness isn’t necessary. For me to…for us to… I wonder how many versions of us figure it out. Figure us out. I wonder if any versions do. Or if we’re fated to get close, but never step over the line. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] “Dead over there. Where you’re from.” So. Junior is…supposed to be dead? In the—the proper timeline or whatever you want to call it? So if he…if he died here… [click, static] Nope, I can’t think about that. Not—not right now anyway. Maybe later, Harriet and I can… [click, static] I guess I haven’t really said much about our grand reunion. Well, it wasn’t that grand. I told her where to go, she remembered enough about the song to figure out where it was, and she showed. It’s…it’s fine. It’s good. It’s terrible. I don’t know. We— Well, we’re not really talking about anything, you know? Everything that happened before I left, everything that’s happened since, her being alone this whole time, me finding Donnie and then… Harriet actually—well, unlike Donnie, she wanted to come on the radio with me, “if I insist on broadcasting still”. But I… I told her no. I don’t know who’s listening to this anymore—or at all. I never know if Birdie is going to drop off the face of the earth, or if Fox gave up, or if there are other people out there who can hear my voice and just not speak back. But this is…this is mine. And maybe it’s selfish, but I’m not—I’m not gatekeeping the radio waves from Harriet. She has her own radio, if she wants to broadcast, she can. But I don’t want to argue with her on here. I don’t want to have my thoughts and feelings and perceptions called into question when I’m just trying to get all those things out, work through them. And she hasn’t done that so far, not yet but I— I can’t think straight around her. And I need to be able to…I need to keep a level head. I need— We still haven’t talked about Don. She started to say sorry, but I cut her off before she could finish. I couldn’t bear to hear how to finished it. Would it have been “sorry for your loss”? Or “sorry you blame me for Don’s death”? “Sorry I betrayed you”? “Sorry I led you on for years and we still haven’t—“ [click, static] It is both harder and easier to be angrier at her when I’m with her. Easier because I have something to aim at, because sometimes I’ll look at her and I’ll see her face in the moment that I told her I— And then other times, she’ll enter a room and I’ll get that whiff of lavender and turpentine and everything inside me just…melts. I want to be able to make her the villain in my story—I remember thinking…those first few days I was driving around, I remember thinking that if I found someone, if I really found someone else and we got to talk and get to know each other and really form a bond…well, you know how you practice conversations in your head? Ones you had ten years ago, ones you’re planning to have, ones you know you’ll never have. Well, I would practice talking to this imaginary person and telling the story of my life. It would be so easy to make Harriet the villain—rival into turncoat into nemesis. There’s a clean narrative there, one that I wouldn’t have to lie about to tell. Leave certain things out maybe but…that imaginary person, they’d believe me. They’d be on my side. But I didn’t find anyone. I just kept talking to the open airwaves and it was so much harder to keep the story straight when I wasn’t telling it all at once. When my feelings on the subject changed every day. When I hadn’t seen Harriet in months and I started to miss her so badly I’d get in my car and start driving back to Pennsylvania only to turn around when I had to stop to refill my gas tank. I never told you that, I don’t think. I spent so much time, wasted so many miles driving back to her. I always turned around right back around again, had to watch the same road go by. So maybe I haven’t done a good job of making the story simple, me as hero, her as villain, but the story I’ve been telling is still mine. And I don’t—I’m not ready for her to tell her side of it. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] “He’s already dead”? What the hell does that mean, Birdie? Is Junior dead? Did something happen to him? Did Don…injure him somehow when they—I mean, is that what happened? Did he get into an accident? Did Fox do something to him? Fuck. All this time, everything that happened, Don—and this is how it ends? Junior is just…dead? I don’t know how to feel about that honestly. When I told Harry—I mean, god, why am I even on here talking about this with you? I can just go talk to Harry about it, she’s here, she’s in the next room— Just…clarify what you mean, Birdie. For fuck’s sake. [click, static] [beeps] -.. . .- -.. / --- ...- . .-. / - .... . .-. . .-.-.- / .-- .... . .-. . / -.-- --- ..- .-..-. .-. . / ..-. .-. --- -- Dead over there. Where you’re fromSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Well, another day on this stupid fucking street corner, sitting in my car, hoping that Harry remembers all the lyrics to a song she heard a decade ago. I might live on hope, but even I have my limits. And yet, here I sit, staring out at an empty street and trying not to lose my mind. I don’t know what to do with the message that Fox sent. “Junior dies you go back”. I told myself I wouldn’t listen to anything that Fox has to say—and I don’t want to—but I can’t exactly help hearing them, and once I have… Is that why Birdie went silent the other day? Not because they had to go, but because they didn’t want to answer my question? Confirm my worst fear? Junior dies, you go back. I don’t accept that price. If it even is true. And why would it be? What about him being gone would fix things? I don’t accept it. I won’t do it. I— [click, static] Oh my god. Harry. She’s—she’s here. [click, static] [beeps] .... . .-..-. ... / .- .-.. .-. . .- -.. -.-- / -.. . .- -.. He’s already deadSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I’m bored. All I’ve done since I got here is sit in my car on this street corner and wait. Harry had farther to travel, I guess, but not by much. Maybe she didn’t hear me. God, part of me hopes that’s it. A big part of me hopes she didn’t hear anything I said yesterday. A part of me wishes that you didn’t hear it, that no one did. But what do I have to lose by putting it all out there now? I wasn’t really honest with Donnie when he asked and I—I really regret that now. Maybe she did hear me talk about where I was going and she’s decided it’s not worth it. After everything I’ve said on here the last few weeks, I’m not even sure I could blame her. What does she owe me anyway? What do we owe each other? [click, static] What if…what if she’s had the same thought that I’ve been having? That something needs to happen to one of us, or to Junior, to make things right. What if she thinks that she can fix what’s broken? What if she thinks that’s how she finally repents? I’d really love to hear from you, Birdie. Give me…give me some kind of direction here. Please. [click, static] [beeps] .--- ..- -. .. --- .-. / -.. .. . ... / -.-- --- ..- / --. --- / -... .- -.-. -.- Junior dies you go back See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I just realized—I never even finished my story the other day. I got distracted telling you about that other fight, the one we had when I came in from the cold. After she said that, about our future, I stormed off. Obviously. I couldn’t stand there and look at her after I’d revealed so much in one simple sentence and been completely rejected so I took a shower and ignored her for the rest of the day. Then, that night, I was sitting by the fire, and I remembered, I was reading—god knows what, I don’t think I was paying attention to a single sentence, I think I just wanted something that would make it look like I wasn’t just sitting and moping—and I fell asleep. And when I woke up—well, I was woken up. I felt something, on my face, a warm brush of something and I opened my eyes and Harry was there, pushing my hair off my forehead. And she’s bookmarked my place in the book too, closed it and put it on the coffee table and then she’d… She jerked back the moment I opened my eyes. But there was no mistaking what she’d been doing. And I just…lost it. That’s what broke me. That she’d show me affection only when I wasn’t awake to see it. I never expected—never planned to ask her outright. But I did. I just asked her what she felt for me. What she wanted from me. And she—she fucking refused to answer. Fifty seconds earlier she’d had her fingertips tenderly stroking my hair and she couldn’t answer a simple fucking question. So I told her my answer. I told her—I told her I’d been in love with her since the first time I saw her laugh. That I’d respected her first, stood in awe of her art knowledge, her talent, her expert way of handling beautiful things. I’d watch her hands when we were packing up the goods and thought I’d never seen someone treat something with such care and make it look like art unto itself. Like some kind of meditative practice. Like something holy. And then, the moment it left my mouth, I told her that was actually a lie—that I’d really been attracted to her first, and then came the respect. And that I’d bounced between those two feelings and complete irritation for months and months and then I saw her crack up at a dumb joke and it was like an air raid siren went off in my head. I immediately knew I was in the kind of trouble I wasn’t going to get out of. And the whole time—the whole time I’m telling her this, she’s just backing away and shaking her head like she doesn’t want to hear it. Like I’m being cruel to her in saying it. And I say that I thought that maybe, maybe, she felt the same way but clearly I was wrong. And that it’s been long enough, and the house is…in shape enough and that she’s got enough supplies and know-how that she’ll be fine, probably, and now she’s looking at me like I’m crazy because she doesn’t understand yet what I’m saying. So I tell her outright—I have to go. I have to leave, have to see what’s out there, who’s out there, because staying here now that I know we have no future is torture and that’s when she shouts at me. That she’s the one who’s been agonized all this time. That she’s wanted me for so long, but she never had the courage to do anything before and that she couldn’t now because it would all be a lie. That she couldn’t let me think she loved me when I didn’t know that she’d betrayed me. Well, she didn’t say exactly that. I was the only one who used…that particular word in the conversation. Not betrayed, the—the other one. I’d never used that word for anyone before, not since my parents, and never in that kind of context. And she couldn't even… It didn’t matter. Once she started telling me what she meant—started telling me the truth, the full truth…it was worse than any rejection would have been. She tried to explain it away, tried to say that she was trying to protect me, that she wanted to get us both out of a bad situation but all I heard was that she’d betrayed me and then lied about it. All I heard was that she, like always, thought she knew what was best and removed my own wants and needs and fucking free will from the equation entirely. And then she begged me not to go. She begged me to let her make things right and I…I couldn’t look at her like that, after all that, and walk away. So I didn’t. I stayed and I— I stayed and I punished her. I didn’t speak to her, didn’t let her try to apologize, I barely stayed in a room if she walked in. And then even that got to be too much to bear. So I did the thing she was most afraid of, and I left. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You know what? I think it’s shit that you betraying us was something that was supposed to happen. Apparently. But me protecting us…that’s what fucked everything up forever. You loved throwing that into my face when you finally told me the truth. That if I’d just trusted you, I never would’ve tried to escape, I never would’ve killed Billings, we wouldn’t be fugitives. Little did you know, right? Just how right you were. If I’d just trusted you. Except…you gave me no fucking reason to trust you. You told me nothing about what was happening, as far as I was concerned, we were just two prisoners being transported, not fucking…states’ witness or whatever the fuck you were. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me. And you know what? You were right about that too. I would’ve told Pete. I was loyal to him and I—well, I would’ve tried to talk you out of doing something stupid but if you’d told me after you’d already gone to the feds, yeah, I would’ve ratted you out to Pete. A snitch for a snitch. None of this would’ve happened if you’d just trusted us. And if I do see you again, if you do come find me, then I think we need to have a very long conversation about what trust looks like from here on out. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I keep replaying our fight in my head. The one that marked the beginning of the end. It’s weird, I remember so many things she said with perfect clarity. “Do you have any idea what kind of torture it’s been sharing a space with you all this time?” She shouted that at me. Harry so rarely shouts—the fact that she was raising her voice for so much of the conversation was almost as jarring as what she was saying. Torture. Here I thought we’d been living in relative peace and every day was torture for her. Torture she thought she deserved. Torture that, since that fight, I’ve sometimes thought she deserved. Except it wasn’t just her being drawn and quartered, was it? In denying herself something she thought she didn’t deserve, she put me through the wringer too. That’s how the argument started. I finally just…snapped. There’s only so much one woman can take, you know? And the signals I got from Harry had always been mixed, but that night…I was sitting by the fire, Harry was in her studio, as she so often was and I was…honestly, I don’t even remember what I was doing. I’d fixed yet another leak in the roof that day, the house had really been starting to fall apart and there was only so much I could do and— That’s the thing, we fought earlier that day. I came in from outside and it was—it was a fucking cold day, you know one of those February days where it feels like winter is never going to end and my hands were frozen solid and when I came into the kitchen, I was—I was rubbing them together, trying to get them to warm up and Harry had already put the kettle on and she came over and—and she stepped right up to me and put her hands around mine. And we stood there, barely a breath apart, her body heat sinking into mine, my eyes still watering from the cold air outside. There were so many of those little moments—moments when she’d look at me and I’d think…here it is. Finally. After years of holding my breath, the exhale is finally coming. But then she stepped back. She started fixing me tea and it felt like I was going to suffocate, from holding the air in for too long and we’d—well, she’d agreed to go out more the last few years. To that picnic, on small hikes, supply runs that were a little more far flung and so I—I tried to get some relief, from all of it, from the cold and the breathlessness and so I said something about going somewhere warm. A vacation. I suggested we go on a fucking vacation. And of course it turned into the fight that we always had when I made that suggestion—how we were safe where we were, how we didn’t know what else was out there and I—well, I think I did tell you about this particular fight once, maybe, because for a long time it was the only part of that day I could allow myself to think about—but I—I told her that we were never going to move forward if we didn’t literally move forward, that we wouldn’t have a future together if we kept standing still and that was the first time either of us had ever spoken anything like that out loud and she just said “we don’t have a future either way” and that…that was that. (laugh) What fucking irony, huh? Both of us arguing about the future when we were in one of our own making. Did you know, Harry? Did you know that things weren’t safe out here? Did you know where we were all along? If I find out that you—I mean, I’m already having a hard enough time forgiving you for—there are some things that I’ll never get over, Harry. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I’m. I’m here. Where I said to meet me. If you remember that day in Philly, if you remember the song, if you remember the lyrics well enough to know where I’m talking about…it’s a lot of ifs. But I’m not sure what else to do. I’m not even sure I want to see you but— What other choice do we have? I tried being away from you. But we’re tied together, whether we want to be or not. We were always connected, weren’t we, but it was by choice. We chose to work together, to be part of the same crew. We could’ve walked away at any time. You could’ve walked away. Why didn’t you just walk away? Instead, you ratted us out, you cut a deal on my behalf—you sliced a fish hook underneath my skin and dragged me along with you and when I tried to wriggle free, all I did was get you stuck to that very same hook. And now I worry that if we pulled it free from our flesh, we’d both bleed to death. The thing—the thing that really infuriates me is that…I was ready to forgive you. I was ready to move on from it, move forward, figure out how to deal with our new reality together. Hell, there were times when I thought I should just sacrifice myself so that you could live. That’s how much I— [click, static] I didn’t want you living with the consequences of my actions. When all I’ve been doing for years is living with the consequences of yours. And now Don—Donnie’s dead. And I still have no idea who to blame. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I’ve still got the fucking ingredients for ambrosia in my passenger seat. Donnie— [click, static] He—he made fun of me for calling him “Don” when I talked about him before we actually found each other. Because I almost never called him that to his face. But it was like all that time had passed and he became a cardboard cutout of himself. Don D’Agostino. Pete always called him Don—so did Harry actually—but Richie and I, all his friends really, called him Donnie. I didn’t even notice that I instinctually reverted to that until he asked why I’d been referring to him as Don on the radio. I don’t know how to refer to him now. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] She said it was the right thing to do. That the gravy train had to stop at some point, and that she wanted to get off before she became a casualty of it. I think that’s a pretty fucking presumptuous thing to assume—plenty of thieves don’t get caught and we were good. And, besides, she could have just quit! She didn’t have to be doing what she was doing, but when she found out about Pete… When I’ve said that I never knew much about Pete’s life, that was true. Mostly. I really never did know anything about his personal life or what he’d been doing before putting together this crew. I never asked and he never volunteered any information. But that wasn’t the whole truth. I didn’t know much about his life then but Harry…Harry filled in some blanks. Pete wasn’t just an art thief. It wasn’t all penthouses and auction houses for him, apparently. He started with banks. And something like ninety percent of all bank robbers get caught, but Pete was…the best of the best. The feds had no clue who he was, barely even had his height and race. And then, one off the robberies went bad and he—a few people died. Three people. So he came back to his hometown of New York to disappear among the millions. He cooled his heels and then he started in again, just on a higher brow racket. I don’t know how Harry figured this out. We…we didn’t get to that point in our conversation. (scoffs) “Conversation”, there’s a euphemism for it. Argument? Screaming match? Dropping a nuclear bomb into our tentatively okay existence? I was a little more focused on the revelation that the person I’d been living with for six years had betrayed me and the people we cared about. The revelation that my mentor had killed a few people… I don’t know. I’m still not sure…Harry has no reason to lie. Not about this. And, I guess, there were things through the years that made me think Pete’s past was a lot more checkered than even your typical thief. But I wasn’t lying when I said he always seemed like a stand-up guy to me. He was. He was good and kind and fair and the fact that he made his money through illegal endeavors felt really secondary to all of that. I’m not sure the knowledge that he’s killed people—multiple people and not—not entirely by accident, not like— It should change things. I know it should. And it isn’t that I don’t believe Harry, even not knowing how she found out about it, it—I don’t think she would have done what she did unless she’d been certain. I’ll give her that. But it hasn’t reshaped who Pete is in my head. He took me in, mentored me, was a friend. He made me his ally when he could have just as easily made me an enemy. He saw something in me. Something worth…something worth attention and care. And I hadn’t had that since my father died and I— I’ve thought a lot about what I would have done if I’d known before. I’ve shared nearly every other thought I’ve had in my head besides these ones, because I had to make room somehow, over this past—god, year, since I learned the truth. What if Harry had come to me first before going to the feds? What if I’d been the one to uncover Pete’s past and not her? What would I have done? I wouldn’t have betrayed him, that’s for sure and fucking certain. I probably would’ve confronted him about it. Maybe. I would’ve wanted to hear his side of things. I would’ve wanted to know why he did what he did, how he felt about it now. And maybe I wouldn’t have—well, I wouldn’t have understood it, the way I do now, if I’d known before, because if I’d known, we never would’ve been arrested and I’d never have killed Billings and— [click, static] I still think I would’ve been sympathetic. Empathetic. I don’t know. I would’ve given him…grace. Forgiveness. Even if it isn’t mine to forgive. I would’ve loved him just the same. And that’s the rub, isn’t it? Harry said that she could never—she said that she wasn’t honest about how she felt because she was too swallowed up by guilt, was too scared to tell me the truth and have me run away and too scared to start anything when she had this secret but what if it wasn’t that at all? What if the way she felt about me—the way she’d ever be able to feel about me—changed the moment Billings hit the pavement? She found the truth out about Pete and stopped caring for him in a blink. She saw what I did, so surely— [click, static] Well, in any case, I guess she was right. I did run away. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I’m tired of taking all the blame, Harry. I know—I know it’s my fault that we’re here, it’s my fault that Junior’s here, it’s my fault that Don is dead and Leann lived the end of her life alone, but it’s not only my fault. I’m not the only one that led us here. I made a choice—a bad choice in terrible circumstances—and, you know what? I’m not sure I did choose it. It was an accident, I got unlucky, I made a mistake. I chose to try and escape, I chose to try and help you escape and it cost a man his life. But we would have never been there in the first place if it hadn’t been for you. And I’m fucking tired of pretending like I’m not mad at you for it. [click, static] Who am I kidding? I haven’t been pretending anything—it’s more that I’m mad at you for a different thing every other week. But I’ve been keeping your secret. I’ve been keeping it from Birdie and Fox and Junior and whoever else is listening here and I kept it from Don. And he died thinking he had two friends in this world. Me. And you. And that’s a lie. I’m done with telling that lie. You weren’t his friend. Not really. I’m not sure you’re even my friend, even if you think— [click, static] Did you hear my conversation with Birdie the other day? That they have a not-quite-friend-not-quite-enemy in Fox? That they tried to meddle in things and it went very very badly? Any of that sound familiar? You betrayed us, Harry. You—you cut a deal with the fucking FBI to get off scot-free and you set us up. I don’t know how I spent so many years not suspecting a thing because we’d never even been close to caught before but that night, out of nowhere— [click, static] Maybe I haven’t been pretending to not be mad at you for it, maybe that has been very fucking apparent, but I think I’ve been pretending—even to myself, especially to myself—that I can forgive you for it. I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure I will. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] We—we figured out where Junior was holed up. I couldn’t say that on the radio when we were still…I didn’t want to mess up anything we might attempt by blabbing about it. Even if we weren’t agreeing on what we wanted to attempt. He wanted to kill Junior. I wanted to run. It’s a big country, we can—I’m confident that we could hide. Junior could keep coming and coming but if we went far enough and remote enough and I threw away my radio and just lived with Harry and Don, gave up hope finding anyone else…we would’ve been okay. Finding us would’ve been a nearly insurmountable task. Then again, with Fox giving coordinates out of peoples’ locations…maybe not. That was Don’s argument. I figured we could defend ourselves if it came to that but… But he wanted to go home. He—he was so much the same, but I think being here, alone…I think it broke him somehow. He was…harsher, had a shorter temper. I didn’t—it didn’t fucking matter, you know? That he had this look in his eye or that he snapped a little more because we were together and also, I understood. I got softer and he got harder and the central difference between our experiences is that he was alone and I wasn’t. If I’d been by myself all that time, I think I’d be out for blood too. I didn’t want to believe… It turns out he was right. I think he was right. I know Birdie didn’t answer me, but what if Junior dying is the solution? I don’t understand how but, would I… No. I’ve already—I’m paying for what I’ve done. And it’s not my right to try and undo that. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I—I’m not sure what to do with that. “You seemed lonely”. You always do this, say just the right thing to keep me wanting to talk to you— [click, static] I know I seemed lonely. I was fucking lonely. I am fucking lonely. But if you’re observers of all of this shit—and there’s no way that we’re the only ones, I know that—then you have to be observing a lot of really lonely people. Why me? Why choose to talk to me? Why…(sigh) [click, static] [a beep] Am I going crazy or did you just— [click, static] [four dots, two dots] Say again. [four dots, two dots] “Hi”. You’re saying fucking…hi. Well. Hi. [four dots, two dots] Is this Birdie? [one dot] I guess you remember. I— I want to be happy to hear from you, to talk to you, I do, but I… Okay, same as last time—one dit for yes, two for no, three dits if the answer is too complicated to explain and one dash for “I don’t know”—and I better not hear those last two very much. Alright? [click, static; one dot] Right then. [click, static] Did Junior kill Don? [one dot] Did he— did he mean to? [one dash] It was a struggle, wasn’t it? They got into some kind of altercation and… [one dot] Right. (deep breath) Right. [click, static] Okay, uh, what else ask you…if you’ve been listening, am I right? Am I right in thinking that when I killed Billings, I branched us off into another future, and dragged Harry and Junior and Leann and— and Don and who the hell knows who else? Am I right about that? [one dot] Okay. I mean, not that I totally believe but…okay. You and Fox—you’re observers. Do you control the timelines? [two dots] Who does? [one dash] You don’t know? You don’t know who your own boss is? [two dots] Fuck. Is it God? [two dots; one dash] No, you don’t know. Okay. Helpful. Do you know Fox? Personally? [one dot] Are you friends? [two dots] Are you enemies? [one dot; two dots] A yes and a no. I’m guessing that means it’s a little more complicated than just friends and enemies. [one dot] Yeah, okay. You both work for the same…entity though? You’re both bookkeepers for the universe or whatever you want to call it? [one dot] Are there others? [one dot] Where are they? [click, static] Okay, yeah, I guess that’s hard to answer yes or no. Are they observing different timelines? [one dot] How many timelines are there? [one dot] (scoff) Yes, there are many? What, is the number infinite? [one dot] Oh. How many are you looking over? Dozens? [two dots] Hundreds? [one dot] Shit, okay. And it’s the same for Fox? [one dot] And you don’t like each other…when you said you betrayed your job, did you betray Fox? [two dots] No. Did you betray your boss? Another…coworker? [two dots] Also no. Did you betray…the people you’re observing? [one dot] Because what—because you observed wrong? [click, static] Did you interfere? Did you try to fix it? [one dot] Yes. And it went wrong. People got hurt. [one dot] Yeah, well, that’s the way it fucking goes, isn’t it? Is that why you don’t like Fox? Because they’re trying to…I don’t know, are they trying to fix it in their own fucked up way? [one dot] They’re the one who turned me onto the Asimov book…that’s what they want, isn’t it? They want one perfect exact timeline? [one dot] And they’re going around to a bunch of different timelines, trying to correct it? [one dot] Jesus. Do I—do I have to die for that to happen? Do we all have to die? [two dots] Thank god. Does Junior have to die? [click, static] Birdie? [bad interference] Birdie? [click, static] Birdie are you there? [click, static] Shit. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, but here’s what I don’t understand—and, yes, I know I’m not supposed to be talking to you, I’m supposed to be clearing my head and enjoying the fucking warm weather and— Why did you even talk to me in the first place, huh? Why reach out at all if you’re not supposed to interfere. And sure, you never gave me anything actually useful or actionable, not in the way that Fox did but— [click, static] I also…listen, my head isn’t exactly cool, but I’m not quite as—that is to say, I’ve calmed down a little. And I realized that it was really goddamn stupid of me to just…drive away from where Harry was just because I— Well, I’m still furious. I’m sick over what happened with Don and I’m not sure how I could look you in the face, Harry, not when none of this would’ve happened if you’d never— [click, static] But you’re the only ally I have. Or, at least, the closest thing to an ally that I’ll get. So I don’t want to abandon you entirely. I’ve been trying to think of the best way to communicate a location to you without revealing anything to Junior and I’ve really had to dredge this memory up, so I have no idea if you’ll… There was a song playing when—that job that we did in Philly in sixty-six? We went to that all-night diner to talk about the plan and Richie and— the guys were arguing over what to use their one quarter for to play on the jukebox and as they were going at it, a song was playing that I knew but that you didn’t. Or, at least, you didn’t like it if you did know it. And I was tapping my foot in time and my leg was bouncing the bench we were sharing and you snapped at me to stop and then I snapped back and Pete snapped at the guys and basically all of us were in a terrible mood that started with you losing your patience. That song. There’s a place mentioned in that song. I’ll be there in two weeks. Meet me there or don’t. I…it’s not that I don’t care. I just—I can’t be responsible for you, anymore. You have to make it on your own. [click, static] [beeps] -.-- --- ..- / ... . . -- . -.. / .-.. --- -. . .-.. -.-- You seemed lonelySee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You ‘can’t interfere’? Are you trying to make me fucking furious? What the hell has all of this been then? [click, static] Observers, huh? That’s what you are? And that means…what exactly, you’re bookkeeping for the universe? Making sure that everyone who does something bad, who makes the wrong choice, gets their just desserts? (sighing) I can’t do this. I’m—I’m clearing my head, okay? I’m not in fucking New England anymore, I’m not in the tri-state area, Junior can spend all his time searching Massachusetts and New York for me and he won’t find me. And you can keep sending messages to me but I— I’m just done. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I’m—(sigh) I don’t know how much I’ll be on here, I don’t know what to say. What the hell can I— [click, static] How can you say this doesn’t need fixing, Birdie? How can you look at this situation and behave like this is the way that things are supposed to be? Is this your system, your version of Eternity? Is this really how you want to be spending your existence, watching people suffer for a single mistake they made? [click, static] I—I’m in Maine. Waking up after putting him in the ground, I just wanted to be near someone— [click, static] I’m not this naive. I’m not this desperate. After everything she’s done, after everything you’ve done, why should I trust either of you. I’m—I need some time to myself. I’m turning around, I know you’re probably still at the gallery, Harry, but get in your car and go somewhere else, and—and— [click, static] I’m going somewhere else. I don’t know where yet but even I did I wouldn’t— [click, static] I know no matter where I go, you’ll be able to reach me, Birdie. So just tell me. Who are you? What’s your stake in all of this? [click, static] [beeps] --- -... ... . .-. ...- . .-. ... .-.-.- / -.-. .- -. .-..-. - / .. -. - . .-. ..-. . .-. . .-.-.- Observers. Can’t interfere.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Harry, I’m sorry but I’m…I’m not coming. Not—not right now. I don’t know when I’ll be able to—I mean, I know I can’t stay. I know that I have to keep moving, that I can’t let myself become a sitting duck for Junior to— [click, static] I buried Donnie today. It took…all day. It wasn’t easy or pleasant or— I just wanted to give him some peace. I think I picked a spot that he would have liked. I did what I could to make a marker and— [click, static] Fuck. I just can’t believe he’s gone. Nothing about it feels real. Nothing about finding him even felt real, I was just getting used to the idea and now he’s— [click, static] It’s not that I blame you, Harry. But I also…don’t not. I know this is all my fault, that we’re here, that Don is—was here—that Junior feels he needs to get revenge or find his way out through blood but— How far do we go back, you know? How far until we find the root of the blame? Billings’ death was the catalyst, but I never would’ve tried to escape if we hadn’t gotten that flat tire. Is it the prison’s fault for not taking care of their vans? Is it some administrator’s fault for transferring us to wherever it was we were going? Is it Pete’s fault for deciding on that job? Or all of our fault for not fighting back the moment the cops found us. Or is it your fault, Harry, for us being in that position in the first place? For your selfish and short-sighted— [click, static] Goddammit. [click, static] I buried Don today and all I can think about is every single thing I did that led to this point. Back then, sure, but also…this week. Yesterday. A month ago. If I hadn’t sought him out, if I hadn’t found him, if I hadn’t left to find you— [click, static] If I’d just listened to Fox. What if I had listened? Did you know this would happen, Fox? Is that what you were trying to communicate to me? If so, you did an absolute shit job. If there was a way—if there is a way—for me to fix all of this, you need to tell me, and tell me plainly. [click, static] [beeps] -.. --- . ... -. .-..-. - / -. . . -.. / ..-. .. -..- .. -. --. Doesn’t need fixingSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [content warning: death and violence] [click, static] It doesn’t even look like it was on purpose. He wasn’t shot, it’s not like Junior came here and— [click, static] He tried to get on the radio to tell me. It wasn’t—it wasn’t interference or something wrong with the equipment, it was just that he was already— [click, static] Why did you go outside? Why not stay put by the radio after you called me? And what were you trying to say? Your voice was so weak and— [click, static] He was—he was stabbed, I think. And there’s a bruise on his face that wasn’t there when I left so they must have had some kind of fight and why would you stab him, Junior? Why that? Or was it that Donnie had the knife first and rushed you and— I keep playing out every possible scenario in my head and they’re all ghoulish and terrible. But I can’t stop it. Like a film reel going round and round in front of my eyes, a million ways to die, a million ways to be killed. The—the injustice of it, the irony. I want to throw up. It shouldn’t have been him. It should’ve been me. I just found him and— [click, static] I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [content warning: death] [click, static] He’s…he’s dead. Donnie is… [click, static] I got back and I wasn’t even out of the car before I saw— [click, static] His body isn’t even cold yet. He’s soft to the touch, if I’d just driven faster, then maybe he’d— [click, static] But I didn’t. And he’s not. He’s…oh, I’m gonna be si— [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I got—Donnie and I, we rigged up a long range radio to transmit slightly off frequency— Apparently, after hearing snippets of my transmissions, Donnie got…uncharacteristically into radios. Being in New York, he had access to way more information than I did and has surpassed my knowledge by…a lot. I guess having a decently functioning radio and Birdie to occupy me early on left me less inclined to really dig in. Anyway, he figured out a way to transmit off the normal channels and still be received through my radio by me just turning the Delta Tune knob and thirty minutes ago— [click, static] Maybe I’m being worried over nothing. He’s been sending me updates, not extensive, just check-ins and little observations about how things have been going—we chose some predetermined times for me to switch over to the off-frequency and at our last check-in— It’s probably nothing. Interference or a bad connection, or something wrong with his push-to-talk. Because it sounded like— [click, static] It’s better to be safe rather than sorry. I’m only a few hours away—though still have several hours to go before I reach Harry, I think I over did it on the zagging—so I’m just gonna…I’m gonna go back. And I think I’m going to insist he comes with me. We can—we can find new supplies and all the rest as we go forward after picking up Harry. It’s more important now to stick together. Well, either way, I picked up the ingredients for ambrosia salad so…at the very least, I can make it for him now, rather than later. If a ladder has fallen on him or something, at least I’ll be able to cheer him up. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Breaker, breaker, this is Whiskey Alpha Romeo calling out for anyone else who might be out there. [click, static] Maybe my mistake this whole time was not staying in the Northeast—everything is so close here, and now that I know why—or at least, I have an idea why certain people are here and others aren’t—it stands to reason that most of the people who’d be in this place would be in the Northeast. That’s where most of my life was centered and… Well, I guess there’s no point in using any callsign or code name. If I have other enemies out there beside Junior…well, I’m not sure who they’d be and I’m not sure how it gets worse, so… [click, static] Breaker, breaker, Channel 19, this is Abi Rogers driving through New England, looking for other survivors. [click, static] Maybe it’s strange to use that word. What did we survive? The last seven years living on our own I guess. Survivors of my mistake. In any case, I’m zig-zagging as I move up north, just to be safe, and I’m going to be on this channel all day on the off chance I come into someone’s radius. A long shot, I know, but I’ve been feeling more optimistic lately. It’s odd, isn’t it? Not too long ago, I came face to face with a man who wanted to kill me and then one of my mysterious fair weather friends tried to repeat that particularly unpleasant encounter. By all accounts, I should be feeling the most downtrodden and scared that I’ve felt since I got arrested. But finding an old friend, someone I truly never thought I would see again…it’s like air in my lungs. Despite being alone, Donnie really is so much the same person he was when we first met. It’s like a warm cup of coffee, talking to him, hearing his ridiculous stories, being teased by him. It’s easy to fall back into the regular patterns. The other day I said he thought I was softer than I was, but what he actually said was “you seem sadder than you were, Abi”. Which I guess I can’t fault him for noticing. Even with how happy I was to see him, there’s still this cloud… I don’t know if I realized how much it had sunk into who I am. Loneliness isn’t new for me, hardship, fear—while there have been new kinds of challenges these last seven years, the fundamentals of who I am haven’t encountered anything they can’t bear. I have been missing people more than I thought I would. As in—if you’d told me a decade ago that I’d be stuck in a place without strangers, a place where I just had to focus on living, and I could technically do whatever I want, I’m not sure I would’ve seen that as a bad deal. But the reality…well, being with Don has just put into stark focus just how much I miss talking to people. Being in New York reminded me just how much I loved getting lost in a crowd. So there was bound to be some change in demeanor, I think that’s pretty normal. I have no idea how Donnie was able to stay sane by himself all these years, how he was able to stay so much the same. I think being around Harry has been making me sad for a really long time. It’s a funny thing, that. When I first told Donnie that that’s where I’ve been—that Harry and I have been hiding out—he made a joke that I’d won the top prize in this shitty world. That he often felt like locking the two of us in a room until we could work things out. I had no idea—that our…dynamic was so apparent to other people. But according to him, it was a point of discussion amongst the other three. Which is absolutely mortifying and also, strangely validating. So he was plenty happy for me that I’d finally been given the time and space to knock down whatever wall was holding us back. He couldn’t comprehend why, over six years, we never managed to do it. And, of course, I can’t really tell him why, can I. I didn’t understand why myself until the months before I left, didn’t understand why Harry kept herself at arm’s length, I took her coldness for disinterest, not guilt. So I just told Donnie that we’re both too stubborn to make the first step. After all, that’s not exactly wrong. (sigh) I don’t know, maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe now that everything’s out in the open, now that we know why we’re here, that it was my fault, now that we’ve got a little bit of the gang back together… I’m not saying I’m over it. I’m not saying forgiveness is that easy, but maybe…maybe we can move forward. Either way, I don’t feel sad anymore. Not like I have been. The loneliness that I felt with Harry, that got worse these past months as I’ve driven all around this country, that was at it’s most engulfing when I found Leann…it’s like that weight has been lifted off of me. Moving forward shouldn’t be so hard now that I’m not dragging it. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, Donnie and I have been having a fun time playing, well, if not “house”…”normal weekend away and the world is just outside the door”, but now that we’ve just…agreed to disagree about Junior, we realized it’s time for the old crew reunion to be complete. Donnie thinks it’s going to be easier for me to just go get Harry, than to try and broadcast something to tell her where we are that could be picked up and deciphered by Junior. So I’m getting in the car today and head North. Once I get her and come back…we’ll figure it out from there. There’s no reason that Junior would be able to find us where we’re at—not if he hasn’t found us so far—so I think we’ve got a few more days at least before we need to seriously consider moving. But we’re rats in a maze here in the Northeast. It’s three against one now, so I’m not exactly concerned but after hearing about my whole encounter with Junior, Donnie went into that protective older brother mode he would get in sometimes, the one that led him to teach me self-defense. Another thing about him that hasn’t changed. He’s staying behind to “fortify” the place we’re staying, whatever that means, and to start building up the kind of supplies we’ll need to safely move to a new spot. Sounds to me like he’s expecting a war, but there really is no reasoning with him when he sets his mind to something. I don’t know, maybe war is exactly what we’re doing. If it is, we’ve got a much better chance of surviving now than I did a week ago. With both Donnie and Harry…well, trying to stay alive with two whole other people to pick up the slack feels like luxury. But I don’t want to be at war with anyone. Though, if I have to be, there’s no two people I’d rather have in the trenches with me. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, we’re at a bit of an impasse. Neither of us will budge on what we think the right way forward is so we’re going to… Well. I don’t know. We’ll figure something else out. A compromise. We need some more supplies first. We can’t actually survive on beer and beer alone. Though it has been nice to drink together like the old days. Donnie said he hasn’t had very much to drink the last few years, just a beer on special days or when things were particularly hard to handle. Sounds like he spent the first two years— I don’t know if this is okay to share. I guess he told me all this stuff. Not you. He agrees with me about the cigarettes. That it’s a fucking tragedy they taste the way they do now. There’s lots of things that we both miss from the real world, and not just sex and cigarettes. Donnie misses ambrosia. You know, the fruit salad? I could never stand the stuff, but he loved it. And I think…I mean, I could probably make that, right? With canned fruit? Any marshmallows I find might be pretty stale at this point but…yeah, I bet I could make it. One of us should have something we want. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] God, it’s fucking helpful having someone else around to bounce ideas off of. My stupid hungover brain wasn’t exactly functioning at the highest point this morning but I think we burned through so many conversational topics last night that over breakfast we actually talked seriously about this whole…deal. Not just the Junior of it all, not just the basics, but the particulars of how this fucked up world works. He agrees with most of my theories—that we’re in a separate place, but time marched on normally without us somewhere else. That the photographs are a glance into that place. He’s heard some weird sounds though the years too, so the sounds of cars, the tornado siren…all that stuff, everything he’s heard, he agrees that it’s probably bleeding in from that place. From home. Or maybe other timelines, because we’re definitely not the only people stuck in a place like this. That wouldn’t make any kind of sense. He’s less certain to say with any finality what he thinks the situation with Birdie and Fox is. We both have a hard time with the idea of any kind of all-knowing, all-powerful entity, but we’re also both familiar with being on a government’s wanted list so…the idea of some kind of surveilling body isn’t crazy. That’s what he thinks they are. That they’re supposed to be monitoring us, monitoring the other timelines, which is why Birdie disappears sometimes. And he had the thought—the idea that maybe that’s why they use morse code too. That maybe it’s easier to transmit over long distances using only morse, that maybe they’ve got some kind of relay system built into the country. Which would make sense, I guess—something that existed before the timeline split off, something that’s maybe operating off of old telegraph lines. What’s a longer distance than trying to communicate across all of space and time? That still doesn’t answer the question of where Birdie and Fox are. Are they here in this timeline? Are they in the real world? In somewhere in between? And…who are they? Part of the US government? Independent scientists? Something other than human? I’m not sure we’ll ever know, but it’s been nice to theorize with someone. And I’m not holding my breath that Birdie or Fox will respond—and I’m not sure I even want to hear from Fox—but that’s bothering me less than it usually would. It’s easier to bear not knowing when I’ve got someone else who is equally as clueless as me. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] (tipsy) Donnie and I have kissed and made up. Well, obviously we haven’t kissed. But, you know what I mean. We drank a lot of beer—apparently the moment he got to Massachusetts, he started stockpiling, which is really so typical. But it helped. Our issues are resolved. Without anyone having to kiss anybody else. (a laugh) Poor Donnie. He was pretty sad when I told him I hadn’t found anyone else beside Leann and Junior. Not that there’s no one else out there to find but…you know. The odds don’t look great. But the poor guy hasn’t had sex in seven years and I think it’s making him crazier than not having anyone to talk— [click, static] (off mic)—c'mon [click, static] (off mic) —not. Sh! (on mic) Anyway, not like I’ve seen any action in the last seven years because I haven’t. Despite what some people might— [click, static] (off mic)—not ever, I promise. (on mic) He doesn’t believe me. But he should. If I did have anything to report, I’m sure you would’ve heard about it already, my night people, my listeners, because I’m not sure I would’ve ever been able to fucking shut up about it. Oh, come— [click, static] He’s laughing at me. This is an absurd conversation. (off mic) And you’re an absurd person. (laughing) Oh yeah, well how about the impressions, how do you— [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, Donnie is driving me crazy, in that way that he always had, that I guess I’d just forgotten in the years and the distance. And I just need to… [click, static] I needed a break. I wonder if bull-headed people just draw in other bull-headed people. Like attracts like, right? Or maybe it’s simply a necessity of our profession. Or maybe we were drawn to criminal enterprises because we’re stubborn and immovable. Either way, it feels like every single person in my life—both back in the real world and here—is fucking…intractable. We’re still not agreeing on the best approach. I’m—well, I’m obviously not going to say what the nature of the disagreement is. Whatever we end up doing, if we end up doing anything, I clearly can’t tell you until after its done. If then, even. I will say, my need to speak my feelings and thoughts into my CB has definitely been tempered by finding Donnie. Sure, maybe I’m not as uncensored with him, but that has less to do with trust than with actually getting a response back. It is easier to say everything that comes into my head to a radio that doesn’t talk back. I trust Donnie with my life, would tell him practically anything he wants to know, but he has things to say to me, and it…I don’t know, it quiets everything in my brain. Even if he is driving me up the fucking wall. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been inoculated to Harry’s particular form of crazy-making behavior. Not that I was unbothered by her—that isn’t the case at all, that’s for fucking sure—but more that I eventually stopped immediately blowing my top when we’d get into a snit. But even sharing a space with a new person, the littlest things are irritating. Tripping over his shoes, having him yell “what?” when I’m talking to myself and he thinks I’m talking to him. Hearing him talk to himself and doing the same. None of it…it’s not a problem. That’s not why I’m sitting in my car talking on this. The argument we had—it’s not about leaving your shoes out. I’m just. I guess I’m making an observation. About how ill-equipped I feel to be around other people, even when it’s all I want in this world. It doesn’t dull the joy—the argument, the annoyances. I’m still on the top of the world. Just hearing his voice in the morning as he grumbles about waking up feels like the sun coming out after a storm. I might want to throttle him right now, but I still wouldn’t let him go for anything. And I think he feels the same way. Anyway, I should get back to him. Signing off. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Breaker, breaker, this is Whiskey calling out for Harry—I don’t know if you can hear this where you are, or if you’re even listening, or if you’re just waiting in that gallery for me to show up, but you might have to wait a little bit longer. Donnie wants to solve the Junior problem. And we both think it’s probably safer for you to stay put where you are while we figure it out. We’re currently…in disagreement over what solving that problem looks like. And Junior is probably listening to this, even if you’re not, so I shouldn’t say more. But you’ve got the radio and the car, and I’m sure you’ve been able to find supplies up there, so just…sit tight for a bit. There’s no point in all three of us being in mortal danger if we can help it. Whiskey out. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] So, today I asked Donnie what he remembered about me. I thought you all might enjoy an update. At first he, of course, turned the question around on me. I don’t think he heard my entire transmission the other day talking about it, about feeling safe around him, but he knows I’ve talked a little about everyone—and yeah, I think I’m okay to talk about my perception of Don, and how accurate it is, and still respect his rule that I don’t reveal too much about him or his life. Huh? [click, static] Yeah, he says it’s fine, as long as I’m being honest about what the says about me. Which is fair. And— [click, static] (laughing) I’ll take that as a compliment. Don says I’m a regular Jean Shepherd. Maybe that’s not a cultural reference that’ll land with everyone, I think he may have just been a New York guy—he had this radio show on WOR, for us “night people”. That’s what he calls—called—all of us who were fighting against the…what was it? [click, static] —that’s right, yeah. The “creeping meatballism”. Of course you remember that. Mediocrity, basically. And the celebration of it. Shep could talk and talk and talk and he’d talk about everything from his childhood in Indiana to railing against cultural conformity and, yeah, I guess I get the comparison. What can I say, I get why he did this for so many years. There’s something to speaking all your thoughts into a radio. But back to the point I’m trying to make—Don is basically who I remember him being. Yeah—I remember you being pretty easy-going and warm, when you know someone at least, but when you’re serious about something, you’re serious. There’s no arguing with you or talking you out of it. You also deflect questions about yourself or your feelings with humor, which— [click, static] Okay, yeah, that’s fair, I do that too. But you remember me differently than I was. I’m still pretty straight-forward, and I don’t take shit from you, which you always liked, but it’s…easier to be around me. Don’t shake your head, that’s right! You said I used to be harder. That living here, with Harry, has made me soft. What? [click, static] —not right now. Because I don’t want to— Okay, clearly there’s a reason Shep didn’t have a co-host. I think I’ll call it there. So goodnight, dear night people. Goodnight. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You know, it’s so funny how people don’t change, even in the kind of extraordinary circumstance we’re in. The apocalypse, an empty world, seven years of trying to find each other and Donnie still cannot wake up before ten AM. I don’t know when I became an early riser. I thought it was one of those things that just happened as you got older, but it clearly doesn’t happen to everybody. Donnie’s older than me and he still sleeps like a teenager. I…I’m not sure where to begin in talking about him. We spent hours yesterday, sitting at the kitchen table and shooting the shit. We had a hell of a lot to catch up on. I know you might be curious, whoever you are, what Don was up to all this time. But that’s another thing he wants to keep to himself. I’m not sure why—from what he’s told me, it’s not like there’s anything particularly of note from the last seven years, aside from the particulars of surviving—but I’m going to respect his choice. I guess that’s another way that he hasn’t changed—you spend decades keeping certain information siloed from one part of your life and other information siloed from another part and that just becomes…normal. That was a bit of a theme among the crew, I guess. Pete was incredibly secretive about his home life—where he lived, who he lived with. He could’ve had a wife and kids for all we knew. Don didn’t talk much about his family, even though he saw them all the time, and they didn’t know about us; even Harry’s parents were still around, in New York no less, but I didn’t even know that until we were here. As far as they were concerned, she was a up-and-coming painter, which wasn’t untrue just…incomplete. But besides being nostalgic about Chicago sometimes, Richie seemed to be like me — his whole life was one complete piece. Maybe that’s why we always got together at his place. And I guess we each had people—girlfriends, mostly—who we didn’t introduce to our…professional life, but I’m not sure either of us really took pains to hide it. Or, ever got very serious or committed in those parts of our lives. I’m not good at compartmentalizing I don’t think. I guess that goes hand in hand with the way I tend to fixate on a particular thing or person, but I just don’t know how all of them could stand to lead such different lives depending on who they’re with. I don’t share Don’s inclination toward privacy, even knowing that talking on here might eventually lead to my ruin. Not that I’ve told you everything. Not everything I have told you is true. But I don’t feel like I’m hiding when I talk on here. That said…god, it is different talking to Don. (laughs) I mean, christ, it’s—it’s so good. To talk to someone who talks back, to talk to someone who knows me. I don’t have to explain certain things, I don’t have to make excuses for who I am or what I do. Not that I—well, I think I have done that a little, to you. Not knowing who I’m talking to, well, it makes me want to be a better version of myself, one who had a…I don’t know, dignified job. One who contributed to the world in a positive way instead of breaking it. Don, god bless him, does not seem that pissed about the fact that he’s here because of me. Don’t get me wrong, he hates being here, he’s furious he is, but when I explained everything—my theory that killing Billings created some sort of branching timeline that we’re all stuck in, everyone who was affected by that action—he…he got it. He got why I did what I did. And he doesn’t blame me for it. After all, how the hell would I have known what would happen? There is…there is some comfort to be taken in that. When he asked—I mean, he wondered why he was here of all people. He hasn’t seen Pete or Richie anywhere, and he’s looked, so he couldn’t figure why he was singled out. They were all awaiting trial so why is he— [click, static] I told him about Leann. That there are some random ripple effects, that there might be even more people out there who we’ve never even met that had the trajectory of their lives changed by what I did. That we may never really understand how and why the dominoes fell the way they did. [click, static] Anyway, I’m gonna see what I can scrounge up for breakfast. Maybe by the time he wakes up, I’ll be able to surprise Don with something. Seven years and he hasn’t once had the pleasure of waking up to someone else having made breakfast. [click, static] We haven’t talked about that yet, not really. The fact that he was alone and I had Harry. Whenever I tried to ask… [click, static] So, yeah, I’ll be off the radio for the rest of the day. We have even more catching up to do. Whiskey out. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] So…I found him! I fucking found him. I don’t even— [click, static] The whistling. I thought I was losing my mind at first. It was so weak, and kept going out before I could catch all of it but I knew— I mean, that’s our whistle. Our lookout whistle. Who else could it be but Don? And after all this time and so many attempts to find Birdie or…or anyone, driving around until the signal got stronger actually fucking worked. I— what? [click, static] (calling out off mic) —because I have to! Just—hold on a sec, okay? Sorry, he— Don doesn’t get why I’m telling the radio this news when there’s a guy out there trying to kill me but I want Harry to know and I— I want you to know. I don’t—I’m not sure who you are in this scenario. Maybe Birdie, my first friend in this world, even if I’m not sure they are a friend. Maybe… Look, the fact that my transmissions got all the way to Harry when I was in fucking Los Angeles…maybe…maybe other people are out there, hearing me. If there’s even the slightest chance— [click, static] —(off mic) you could just tell them yourself. (to the mic) Alright. (off mic) Yeah, that’s fine, just let me finish— [click, static] Donnie refuses to come onto the radio. Apparently whistling is as much as he’s willing to reveal about what he sounds like. So those “morse code freaks” don’t have more intel on him. He’s also requested that I stop talking about him and his family on here. Which I will do. But I’m still…well, I think you deserve to know, dear listener, what it’s like to finally be with someone after all this time. God, I still can’t believe it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. It’s like every holiday ever all at once. Like I’ve been walking through the desert for years and finally, finally stumbled on an oasis. [click, static] Don’s laughing at being called an oasis. (off mic) Yeah, I would never have guessed it either! (to mic) Sorry, things are a little chaotic, clearly. I—well, I’m going to go have a goddamn conversation with a goddamn human being, in person and everything. So…signing off. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Except I don’t, remember? Because I had to abandon the car that I’d been driving and all the supplies I’d built up over the last few months after the last time Junior tried to kill me. [click, static] “You have gun too”…I swear to fucking god. What is your game Fox? Who are you? Are you just bored? Has my intrepid journey through the country not been enough entertainment for you? Are you hoping to manipulate me into some kind of OK Corral final stand? It’s not going to work. I don’t have a gun anymore and even if I did, I wouldn’t—I will defend myself, and I’ll defend Harry, but I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid a situation in which I would have to defend us. Fuck this. Fuck you. I’m—I’m done. Birdie, if you’ve got any opinions or insight on any of this, now would be a great time to pipe up. [click, static] [a strange whistling sound]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You said it could be fixed. Weeks ago, Fox you said—I think you only sent the message once, maybe because you were worried Birdie would interfere, but I—I heard it. And I…I couldn’t think about it, couldn’t let myself hope yet, not when I was already so hopeful I would find Don. Was this what you meant by it being fixable? Is my death at the hands of that boy the way to fix this? Did you send me to Junior so that he’d shoot me and everything would go back to the way it was? God, that can’t really be the answer, can it? I know I’ve said—I mean, I’ve wondered. It does make a certain kind of sense—my actions brought us all here, all these people are being collectively punished for something I did or, at the very least, were punted here because of something I didn’t do or…something I would’ve done. I would’ve done something back in the real world that would’ve eventually affected Leann’s life in some way. And because I’m not there… I’m guessing that’s why Don is here too. Because Harry is. And maybe without her, because he wasn’t actually in the building at the time, there wasn’t enough evidence to— [click, static] Why am I even trying to work this all out? What does it matter? We’re here, with each other, and I don’t see how that changes. Because I’m not going to just walk into my own execution, not now, not when I’m on my way to— [click, static] I just don’t believe that the solution to this is going to be in the barrel of an angry boy’s gun. [click, static] [beeps] -.-- --- ..- / .... .- ...- . / --. ..- -. / - --- --- you have gun tooSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] (a slight intake of breath) [click, static] Do you think I’m a fucking idiot, Fox? Did you think that you’d earned my trust simply by the virtue of being one of the few people in the world I talk to? Did you think that having sent me Leann’s coordinates before meant I would blindly follow wherever you led? I know I said there was no harm in trying, that it’s good to have hope, but that doesn’t mean that I’m new to this. That doesn’t mean I was going to be fucking stupid about it. [click, static] I think you’ve forgotten who I am. I wasn’t some sort of criminal mastermind, or bad-ass GI Joe, but I spent my life sneaking and thieving and never getting caught. In fact I wouldn’t have been caught if— I’ve been taking care of myself since I was fifteen years old. I’ve learned when to trust people and when not to and I’m fucking good at calculating risk. And maybe I’ve let myself get soft this last year, maybe I’ve wanted to trust a little more than usual but that trust has always been conditional. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you were banking on me just driving right up to the coordinates and announcing myself, you’re not very good at whatever you’re trying to do. And I know what you’ll say—maybe Junior just also heard the coordinates and just beat me there. Except I didn’t say how close I was to the coordinates you gave. I was fucking close. And he was already there. I even checked the hood of his car, that stupid VW—it was cold. He’d been there for a while. You sent me to him. You sent me to him and either you knew exactly where he was or you told him where to go first. Because it looked like he was waiting. And he had—he had a gun, Fox, and I’m sure he would’ve shot me on the spot. He was waiting for something. For someone. So I waited too. I watched him for two hours. And you know why I think you told him where to go and then gave me those coordinates? Because he started to talk. I’m not someone who is going to judge someone else for talking to themselves, I would be a fucking hypocrite if I did. But he was…he was yelling. He was yelling for me. He was furious when I didn’t show up. And it…it made him look even more frail. Like the scared little kid he practically is. The gun was shaking in his hand. I doubt he could’ve shot straight if he’d tried. Junior might be inexperienced, he might be ill-equipped, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. The way he was shouting, the anger that’s inside him…you don’t have to know what you’re doing to be a threat. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Maybe it’s fucking foolish of me to even attempt it, but the coordinates aren’t far and the last time I found a dead body—if these are really coordinates of someone alive and I have a chance to get to them before anything happens…I’m not taking that risk. It’s a small diversion but Don didn’t show up at the house. No one did. And maybe…maybe Fox is doing me an actual favor and there will be someone at these coordinates, someone who is alive and well and maybe…maybe it's even Don. Maybe this is how I find him. And if not…well, there’s no harm in trying. There’s no harm in having hope. I’m pretty sure hope is what’s kept me alive this long. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I think I’m close. To finding Don that is. I got to his uncle’s house and there’s definitely evidence that someone’s been living here. I guess it’s possible that his uncle, or his cousins, were also affected by the ripple, but…how? Don kept what he did from his family. Then again, I still don’t know how Leann ended up here—I have a feeling I’ll never really know. I guess, in the end, it isn’t all that important. She met her fate, and there’s nothing I can do about it now. I just have to live with it. But Don, I can still find him. There’s open cans in this house, the place is in a certain amount of disarray that makes me think…someone’s been here. It’s dusty, but I swear there’s some tracks through the dust, like someone’s walked through. So I’m gonna stay here for the night, and see if he comes back. Or, if whoever lives here comes back. [click, static] I’m sorry for taking too long to get there, Harry. But just think—maybe by the time I drive up to the gallery, I’ll have Don in my passenger seat. It won’t be just us anymore. We’ll actually have someone else to talk to. Someone to mediate, more likely, not that Don is the paragon of diplomacy. But it’ll be good for us, I think. Yeah, it’ll be good for things to not be just us anymore. [click, static] And we—we don’t need to tell him everything, okay? I’ll tell him what happened, why were here—he needs to know, especially with Junior out there. But I won’t tell him what you did unless you decide to. And I’m not sure it’d be the best idea. So…your secret is safe with me. [click, static] [beeps] ....- ..--- / ..--- ..... / ....- ..--- / --... .---- / .---- ....- / ----. 42 25 42 71 14 9See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I remembered that Don had family in Massachusetts. His uncle and cousins ran a deli in a town called Winchester—the way that man would talk about the sandwiches they’d make…god, what I wouldn’t do for one of them right now. Anyway, I figured it couldn’t hurt to check the place out. He wasn’t at the deli—I didn’t expect him to be, that would’ve been quite the fucking coincidence, but I did find exactly what I was hoping for. An address on an old bill. Presumably, his uncle’s home address. It’s a few towns over, so I’m headed there now. [click, static] This area is nice. I haven’t spent all that time in Massachusetts, at least outside of Boston and Provincetown. But it’s warm and sunny and there’s a little humidity creeping into the air and (deep breath), I don’t know, it’s nice. Despite everything, I’m feeling…hopeful. It reminds me a little of where I grew up. There are more houses and the houses are closer together—I’m sure there are parts of Massachusetts that are rural, but I am squarely in the suburbs. I don’t know, maybe it’s just that spring has finally arrived and the changing of the seasons always makes me think of home. [click, static] Huh. I haven’t thought about my childhood home as home in a long time. Home has been nebulous, ever-changing in my mind. But I guess if I’ve ever had a touchstone, it’s the house I grew up in and…New York City. Touchstones of a different kind. But places that my mind always leaps to if I’m confronted with something that reminds me in the slightest of them. I don’t think you can ever really run away from home. That’s more or less what I did, but it lingers, always. You can never undo the way that you’ve been shaped. You can pour new concrete over the broken sidewalk, but the footprints left on the previous layers will always be there, waiting to be revealed when the fresh new coat eventually erodes. [click, static] (a small laugh) I can hear Harry’s voice in my head correcting my metaphor. Making it about paint—where you grow up is the charcoal sketch and no matter how much you paint over a canvas, the layers and textures are always there. But I don’t know painting. Not that I know concrete but… That’s one of those things I always figured would be the deciding factor in whether or not Harry—I mean, she’s sophisticated, you know? I don’t know if she can hear this up in Maine—I’m sure she can, but maybe she doesn’t have the radio turned on. She’d probably be happy to hear it anyway. That I think of her as sophisticated. But she is. Her secret love for Hank Williams and all. She appreciates fine things, delicate things, beautiful things. And I’m not any of that. I’ve always been rough and blunt—the finest thing I do is picking a lock or breaking a safe and even then, sometimes brute force is the best way forward. Harry is a painting, and I’m a block of concrete. [click, static] God, I hope Don isn’t listening to this. He’d never let me live it down. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Alright, I’ve done my final checks of all of Don’s regular hideouts and he’s still nowhere to be found. But I’m not giving up hope entirely. I guess I should say they’re my final checks for now. I figure after I go and find Harry we can come back to NY and look together. I realize he might not be in the city anymore, but I don’t know where else to look. And I don’t know, maybe it will be nice for Harry and I to revisit the old spots. Staying in Richie’s loft really has me thinking about all those old times. I think I’ve spent more time in this apartment than any apartment I’ve actually lived in. I guess that’s not true. Maybe spent more time awake than any apartment I ever lived in. Because I only slept over here a few times. But the times were always good, weren’t they. That’s how it feels now anyway. There’s a part of me that knows that can’t possibly be true. The version of Harry in the past, in my thoughts, changes all the time. I remember her at times harsher than she probably actually was and at other times sweeter and more forgiving. And maybe it’s because she was both those things—all of those things, all at once, all the time. Or maybe it’s because my feelings on her continue to change. I don’t remember when I first—I mean, I remember what I thought about her the first time I met her. And I remember what I thought about her when we were in that prison van, driving through the dark. Before I knew what I know now. Before I’d done what I did. But it’s the in between that’s…not hazy, but like a watercolor where all the paints have run together. In the near decade we knew each other before everything happened…I mean, I always felt strongly. When I disliked her, I hated her and when I liked her, I… I don’t remember when it started. I don’t remember when that swirl, that storm of feelings—well, it’s not that it ever went away, but there started to be this thing underneath it, informing everything. At a certain point, when I disliked her, I didn’t hate her anymore, I was just frustrated and tortured. And when I liked her, well, I was also frustrated and tortured. But I don’t know when that started, I don’t know when she became someone who was so far beneath my skin that it didn’t matter what I felt about her moment to moment because it never changed the fundamental truth that I wanted to be around her. Anyway, I don’t know if I’m making sense, it’s late and I’m planning to get up early tomorrow to start driving, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it, being in this space. I couldn’t stop thinking about if this living room was the place that that feeling first started. I can't stop thinking about my own recollections of Pete and Don and Richie. Were they who I thought they were? Was Pete always this central, stable pillar in my life? This person I could lean on and rely on and who I still didn’t know all that much about. In my mind, he’s been such a morally upstanding figure, somebody that…somebody that I think about when I start to spiral about the things that I’ve done and I just think—Pete. Pete would still stand by me. He’s loyal and he’s good. Then I think, he was a criminal. Just like me. He lied and stole and tricked people. So that image in my head of him being…I don’t know, Captain America is…well, it must not be entirely true. And it’s the same with Don and Richie. I remember them being, well, knuckleheads, but knuckleheads who cared. Who I had started to feel safe around even if in the beginning I wasn't so sure about them. But again, is that just thinking about how I’d feel if I saw them now—that the mere presence of other people would help me feel some sense of normalcy, some sense of calm. Memories are a funhouse mirror, aren’t they? We never really know if what we remember is true. I’m not even sure we remember events with any sort of clarity. I used to think that the one thing we did know was how we felt about things, but now I’m not even sure that’s the case. And the strangest thing of all is that everybody experiences this. Everybody has versions of people in their lives that exist in their memories. And we can never really know how another sees us, how another person remembers us, or judges us for our actions. Anyway, I am gonna find Don and when I do, I’m gonna ask him what he remembers about me. And when I see Harry, I’ll… I don’t know how this time apart might have changed the version of me in her head. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, I think I’m—I’m ready to read this note now. Beyond just the date and the first few lines. “April 6th, 1975 Abigail— I’m okay. If you do find this, I have a feeling you’re going to have questions about the blood. You always have questions about everything. It’s one of your best qualities and also one of your most infuriating. Though I suppose I should be grateful you’ve been dogged in your pursuit of the truth. Maybe this can be repaired.” I don’t know if she means the jacket or… “It’s chicken blood. I am not as capable as you when it comes to butchery.” That’s…that’s as far as I got after finding the note. The relief hit me like a freight train but… I don’t want to be capable of butchery. I know that’s not what you meant but I… Anyway. Moving forward. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach our meeting in time, but after that man came to the house, I went to ground. I heard a car in the distance a few times over the last few days, but I couldn’t be sure it was you. I got the car you left me. And the radio. I’ve been transmitting out regularly but I’m going to guess that you haven’t heard me. That’s what I’m choosing to believe anyway, given I’ve sent you more than a few messages over the months, with no reply. And, yet, somehow, I’ve heard many of your transmissions—not all, and they are very often full of static and breaks in the signal, but you have reached our garage even from Los Angeles.” She crossed out something here. I think it says…(crinkle of paper) "I thought about joining you” but I can’t read the rest. Goddammit, Harry… “Do you remember that one diner that we went to every month for all of ’69? I know that you’ve been to a lot of roadside diners in the last ten months, so maybe they’ve run together in the way that they’re almost purpose built to do. The one down the street, the one we could walk to—we haven’t been back in ages, because I got spooked the one time the neon sign flickered back to life, but we’d carry thermoses of tea and pretend that we were going out for a morning cup, because the monotony of our existence was threatening to destroy us both. Whether you remember it or not, that diner has a working radio. I believe it too spooked me when there was a power surge, even if it was just static. In any case, I’m no longer at that diner, but I was briefly and heard several of your transmissions. There was no way to speak back to you, as it wasn’t that kind of radio, but it was picking up your signal just the same. I’m not in the state anymore. I threw the jacket from the car as I drove out of town, a final ditch attempt to contact you. I had a feeling you would take it with you if you found it, despite the state of it, and just had to hope that you would find these pages sewn inside the lining. I’ll keep transmitting, so we can find a time and place to meet, but there are conversations I don’t want to have over the airwaves, or in a letter. So I’m going to give you instructions now, that I’ll keep repeating on the radio, in the hopes that you’ve found this even if you can’t hear me. Do you remember the show I did up north at that gallery near the water? You’d been in Provincetown with Francis for a few days and he drove the both of you up for the opening. It wasn’t a particularly short journey, but manageable. You both stayed the weekend, at that little B&B that shares its name with one of the planets. I don’t think you thought very much of my show. It was one of my more abstract periods. I know you never cared much for that style, but I do have to wonder if you’d have been more generous to it if you’d known what inspired it. Then again—” And she crossed that out too… “It was still nice having you and Francis there. I always wondered why you’d agreed to come. You seemed so unhappy to be there. It makes me wonder if my demeanor made you think that I was unhappy to have you there. That was never my intent. I’m headed there now. I think you left me with enough fuel to make the journey, and I want to get somewhere familiar that isn’t terribly close to where we've been. Meet me there. I don’t want to write the name down, for fear that someone else will find this jacket and this note, but I’m going to assume you remember. I remembered. The place where we had the picnic. I remembered. And I always knew that you were winding me up about Rothko, but I liked arguing with you. It’s why I never told you that I like Hank Williams. At least, I learned to. Harriet”. [click, static]See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.