Marquee Quotes

Ten thousand dollars." I hear Lily's gasp of disbelief behind me. Oh fuck. "Fifteen" Twenty," counters Christian quietly. Twenty-five," the stranger says. "One hundred thousand dollars," he says his voice ringing clear and loud through the marquee. "What the fuck?" Lily hisses audibly behind me, and a general gasp of dismay and amusement ripple through the crowd.

On opening night, standing under the Rogers's marquee, [Lin] realized that if Eliza's struggle was the element of Hamilton's story that had inspired him the most, then the show itself was a part of her legacy.

When someone's rattling on about blocked toilets, collapsing marquees, and penis-shaped birthday cakes, it's hard to convince yourself that you're in a life-or-death situation.

Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. "She said 'Oh dear, is this the muggle born?' and then, 'Bad posture, skinny ankles.'" Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone," said Ron. "Talking about Muriel?" inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. "Yeah, she's just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat.

I didn't know that would be the last time I'd see him, his neck scar lit blue by the diner's neon marquee. To see that little comma again, to put my mouth there, let my shadow widen the scar until, at last, there was no scar to be seen at all, just a vast and equal dark sealed by my lips. A comma superimposed by a period the mouth so naturally makes. Isn't that the saddest thing in the world, Ma? A comma forced to be a period?

Everyone who loves pro basketball assumes it's a little fixed. We all think the annual draft lottery is probably rigged, we all accept that the league aggressively wants big market teams to advance deep into the playoffs, and we all concede that certain marquee players are going to get preferential treatment for no valid reason. The outcomes of games aren't predeteremined or scripted but there are definitely dark forces who play with our reality. There are faceless puppet masters who pull strings and manipulate the purity of justice. It's not necessarily a full-on conspiracy, but it's certainly not fair. And that's why the NBA remains the only game that matters: Pro basketball is exactly like life.

a storm is raging. It shrieks around them, it batters the marquee.

So successfully have we disguised from ourselves the intensity of our own feelings, the sensibility of our own hearts, that plays in the tragic tradition have begun to seem untrue. For a couple of hours we may surrender ourselves to a world of fiercely illuminated values in conflict, but when the stage is covered and the auditorium lighted, almost immediately there is a recoil of disbelief. "Well, well!" we say as we shuffle back up the aisle, while the play dwindles behind us with the sudden perspective of an early Chirico painting. By the time we have arrived at Sardi's, if not as soon as we pass beneath the marquee, we have convinced ourselves once more that life has as little resemblance to the curiously stirring and meaningful occurrences on the stage as a jingle has to an elegy of Rilke.

Amit likens fashion to a mask, and style to beauty of countenance. Style, he feels, belongs to the literary elite, who live by their own wishes. And fashion is for the ordinary lot, who make it their business to please other people. . . . You may view a professional dancing girl beneath the awning of a public marquee; but for the first glimpse of the bride’s face during the shubhodrishti ritual, a veil of Benarasi fabric is required. The marquee belongs to fashion, the Benarasi veil--which reveals the special one’s countenance shaded by a special hue--to style.

i wanted to take your hand and run with you together toward ourselves down the street to your street i wanted to laugh aloud and skip the notes past the marquee advertising “women in love” past the record shop with “The Spirit In The Dark” past the smoke shop past the park and no parking today signs past the people watching me in my blue velvet and i don’t remember what you wore but only that i didn’t want anything to be wearing you i wanted to give myself to the cyclone that is your arms and let you in the eye of my hurricane and know the calm before and some fall evening after the cocktails and the very expensive and very bad steak served with day-old baked potatoes after the second cup of coffee taken while listening to the rejected violin player maybe some fall evening when the taxis have passed you by and that light sort of rain that occasionally falls in new york begins you’ll take a thought and laugh aloud the notes carrying all the way over to me and we’ll run again together toward each other yes?

I walked around the sad honkytonks of Curtis Street; young kids in jeans and red shirts; peanut shells, movie marquees, shooting parlours. Beyond the glittering street was darkness, and beyond the darkness the West. I had to go.

Darling Daddy, This is Rose. Very good news. Caddy is going to marry Micheal. In case you have forgotten because you have not been home for so long he is the one with the ponytail and the earring that you do not like. And Caddy says she will have a white lace dress and three bridesmaids, Saffron and Sarah and me, and a big party for everyone, all her old boyfriends too. Fireworks. A band. A big tent called a marquee. But where will we put it? Carriages with white horses for us all to go to the church. Afterward Caddy and Micheal will go for a holiday to Australia to visit the Great Barrier Reef. Caddy has it all worked out and Mummy says Yes She Can Of Course You Can Darling Of Course You Must Do That. Saffron said That Will Cost a Few Weeks Housekeeping and Mummy said Yes But We Do Not Need to Worry About That. DADDY WILL PAY. Love, Rose.

Outside, under the marquee of the hotel, he stood a moment as he did each night beneath the marquee of the Hotel Hyperion, while he decided what direction to take, what to do. And suddenly, realizing it was not the Hotel Hyperion, that the circumstances were quite different, he felt loneliness spring up like a dark forest all around him. The odd thing was, he felt no impulse to hurry after her, to find her somehow. What would he have to offer her except the history of weakness, loneliness, and inadequacy, the decline and fall of himself? He himself was the core of the loneliness around him, and its core was inadequacy. He was inadequate even in love.

We who pick through the papers to catch a glimpse of that celebrated life – what do we really know of these marquee names, these reputations now ground into the dust?

Every week seems to bring another luxuriantly creamy envelope, the thickness of a letter-bomb, containing a complex invitation – a triumph of paper engineering – and a comprehensive dossier of phone numbers, email addresses, websites, how to get there, what to wear, where to buy the gifts. Country house hotels are being block-booked, great schools of salmon are being poached, vast marquees are appearing overnight like Bedouin tent cities. Silky grey morning suits and top hats are being hired and worn with an absolutely straight face, and the times are heady and golden for florists and caterers, string quartets and Ceilidh callers, ice sculptors and the makers of disposable cameras. Decent Motown cover-bands are limp with exhaustion. Churches are back in fashion, and these days the happy couple are travelling the short distance from the place of worship to the reception on open-topped London buses, in hot-air balloons, on the backs of matching white stallions, in micro-lite planes. A wedding requires immense reserves of love and commitment and time off work, not least from the guests. Confetti costs eight pounds a box. A bag of rice from the corner shop just won’t cut it anymore.

The whole world of my life spins under a radiant marquee of fear. Day in and day out it kills me, over and over and over again. Kills me dead, just to restart it all tomorrow. And all I can do about it is tell people I'm fine.

glimpse of him. Once things got hot, I tended pretty much to my own knittin. I glanced around just once and saw him upstreet beyond them Swedes under the Bijou’s marquee, ” Mr. Keene said. “He wasn’t wearing a clown suit or nothing like that. He was dressed in a pair of farmer’s biballs and a cotton shirt underneath. But his face was covered with that white greasepaint they use, and he had a big red clown smile painted on. Also had these tufts of fake hair, you know. Orange. Sorta comical.

THE SOUND OF THE SCREAM RINGS IN THE AIR AFTER IT HAS FINISHED, like a struck glass. The guests are frozen in its wake. They are looking, all of them, out of the marquee and into the roaring darkness from where it came. The lights flicker, threatening another blackout

I was so struck by Flow’s negative implications for parents that I decided I wanted to speak to Csikszentmihalyi, just to make sure I wasn’t misreading him. And eventually I did, at a conference in Philadelphia where he was one of the marquee speakers. As we sat down to chat, the first thing I asked was why he talked so little about family life in Flow. He devotes only ten pages to it. “Let me tell you a couple of things that may be relevant to you,” he said. And then he told a personal story. When Csikszentmihalyi first developed the Experience Sampling Method, one of the first people he tried it out on was himself. “And at the end of the week,” he said, “I looked at my responses, and one thing that suddenly was very strange to me was that every time I was with my two sons, my moods were always very, very negative.” His sons weren’t toddlers at that point either. They were older. “And I said, ‘This doesn’t make any sense to me, because I’m very proud of them, and we have a good relationship.’ ” But then he started to look at what, specifically, he was doing with his sons that made his feelings so negative. “And what was I doing?” he asked. “I was saying, ‘It’s time to get up, or you will be late for school.’ Or, ‘You haven’t put away your cereal dish from breakfast.’ ” He was nagging, in other words, and nagging is not a flow activity. “I realized,” he said, “that being a parent consists, in large part, of correcting the growth pattern of a person who is not necessarily ready to live in a civilized society.” I asked if, in that same data set, he had any numbers about flow in family life. None were in his book. He said he did. “They were low. Family life is organized in a way that flow is very difficult to achieve, because we assume that family life is supposed to relax us and to make us happy. But instead of being happy, people get bored.” Or enervated, as he’d said before, when talking about disciplining his sons. And because children are constantly changing, the “rules” of handling them change too, which can further confound a family’s ability to flow. “And then we get into these spirals of conflict and so forth,” he continued. “That’s why I’m saying it’s easier to get into flow at work. Work is more structured. It’s structured more like a game. It has clear goals, you get feedback, you know what has to be done, there are limits.” He thought about this. “Partly, the lack of structure in family life, which seems to give people freedom, is actually a kind of an impediment.

While I was brushing my hair the half hour went. But there was until the three quarters anyway, except suppose   seeing on the rushing darkness only his own face no broken feather unless two of them but not two like that going to Boston the same night then my face his face for an instant across the crashing when out of darkness two lighted windows in rigid fleeing crash gone his face and mine just I see saw did I see not goodbye the marquee empty of eating the road empty in darkness in silence the bridge arching into silence darkness sleep the water peaceful and swift not goodbye I

When at last he could lift his head, he asked, “What have you done?” “What have I done?” She lifted a mocking brow. “Why, I’ve kidnapped the marquees of Northcliff.” “You dare to admit it?” Inch by painful inch, he dragged himself onto the cot. “Admitting to it is the least of my sins. I did it.

While at Colonel Niel's marquee I saw a detail of soldiers bring out a man by the name of Rowland, whom they were going to shoot to death with musketry, by order of a court-martial, for desertion. He was being hauled to the place of execution in a wagon, sitting on an old gun box, which was to be his coffin. When they got to the grave, which had been dug the day before, the water had risen in it, and a soldier was baling it out. Rowland spoke up and said, 'Please hand me a drink of that water, as I want to drink out of my own grave so the boys will talk about it when I am dead, and remember Rowland.

I was struck by how life moved so fast, almost cruelly, on Broadway. Fiorello! had fled the Broadhurst to make way for Sail Away, as if it had never existed. I studied each such metamorphosis with contradictory emotions of excitement and loss. With their new marquees and posters and glass-encased displays of fresh photos, the theaters promised a teeming bounty of surprises. But there remained not a shred of their previous tenants, who were gone forever and mourned by no one, perhaps, except me. When shows left the National, I knew they were going on to Broadway or at least to another town on the road. Where did the plays that left New York go?

They’re all pretty wasted by now and, besides, they’ve abandoned the tables for the dance floor. It’s absolutely crammed in there. There are all these thirty-somethings slut-dropping and grinding on each other as though they’re in some shit noughties club dancing to 50 Cent, not a marquee on a deserted island with some guys playing fiddles.

I spent a few more minutes puzzling over the timeline before turning my attention to the notebook’s first page, which contained a pencil drawing of an old-school coin-operated arcade game—one I didn’t recognize. Its control panel featured a single joystick and one unlabeled white button, and its cabinet was entirely black, with no side art or other markings anywhere on it, save for the game’s strange title, which was printed in all capital green letters across its jet black marquee: POLYBIUS. Below his drawing of the game, my father had made the following notations: No copyright or manufacturer info anywhere on game cabinet. Reportedly only seen for 1–2 weeks in July 1981 at MGP. Gameplay was similar to Tempest. Vector graphics. Ten levels? Higher levels caused players to have seizures, hallucinations, and nightmares. In some cases, subject committed murder and/or suicide. “Men in Black” would download scores from the game each night. Possible early military prototype created to train gamers for war? Created by same covert op behind Bradley Trainer?

it gets a little tiresome when you’re so high you go to the movies and look up at the marquee and think the starting times are the ticket prices. I mean, I remember standing there going, ‘Ten-fifteen? What kind of price is ten dollars and fifteen cents?’ It’s a hassle.” “Yeah, one time I was putting gas in my car and thought the number of gallons was the price. I even got into an argument with the cashier. It was hilarious.

I didn’t know that would be the last time I’d see him, his neck scar lit blue by the diner’s neon marquee. To see that little comma again, to put my mouth there, let my shadow widen the scar until, at last, there was no scar to be seen at all, just a vast and equal dark sealed by my lips. A comma superimposed by a period the mouth so naturally makes. Isn’t that the saddest thing in the world, Ma? A comma forced to be a period?

It will just upset you." No my freaking way! He didn't just tell me I'm weak to him, did he? "Yes, Ian. Thanks for reminding me I am just a dang girl in your eyes." A string of not ladylike curse words went across the marquee of my brain. "Be reasonable," he snipped out at me. Oh.No.He.Didn't. "Reasonable caught a train to Canada. Meet her peeved counterpart who wants to snap boy parts off and sterilize them to spare the future generations of learning that equal doesn't mean jack squat." - Grace

She remembered walking in a certain street in the West Eighties once, the brownstone fronts, overlaid and overlaid with humanity, human lives, some beginning and some ending there, and she remembered the sense of oppression it had given her, and how she had hurried through it to get to the avenue. Only two or three months ago. Now the same kind of street filled her with a tense excitement, made her want to plunge headlong into it, down the sidewalk with all the signs and theater marquees and rushing, bumping people.

As far as my part in it is concerned, it began one night in the fall of 1956 in Lexington, Kentucky, when I walked into the Zebra Bar--a musty, murky coal-hole of a place across Short Street from the Drake Hotel (IF YOU DUCK THE DRAKE YOUR A GOOSE!! read the peeling roadside billboard out on the edge of town)--walked in under a marquee that did, sure enough, declare the presence inside of one 'Little Enis,' and came upon this amazing little stud stomping around atop the bar, flailing away at one of those enormous old electric guitars that looked like an Oldsmobile in drag--left-handed!

Crane went on to join the Libertarian Party, which had been summoned into being in a Denver living room in December 1971. Its founders sought a world in which liberty was preserved by the total absence of government coercion in any form. That entailed the end of public education, Social Security, Medicare, the U.S. Postal Service, minimum wage laws, prohibitions against child labor, foreign aid, the Environmental Protection Agency, prosecution for drug use or voluntary prostitution—and, in time, the end of taxes and government regulations of any kind.46 And those were just the marquee targets.

The house is full of the mouldering relics of a more complex, more opulent life – the huge silk umbrellas like marquees that rot in the outsized yellow dragon Chinese vases in the vestibule, the complicated deckchairs with canopies and footrests whose green canvas is worn so pale and thin that they can barely take the weight of a field mouse. In cupboards and trunks and outhouses there lurk decaying galoshes, sou’westers and rubberized macs, ancient shotguns and fishing-rods and nets. On disintegrating dressing-tables the bristles of enamel-backed brushes have caught the hair of people who are all now dead.

Wow,” he added, blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came hurrying toward them. “You look great!” “Always the tone of surprise,” said Hermione, though she smiled. She was wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. “Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn’t agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, ‘Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?’ and then, ‘Bad posture and skinny ankles.’” “Don’t take it personally, she’s rude to everyone,” said Ron. “Talking about Muriel?” inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. “Yeah, she’s just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.” “Wasn’t he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-hour hours later?” asked Hermione. “Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end,” conceded George. “But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party,” said Fred. “He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his--” “Yes, he sounds a real charmer,” said Hermione, while Harry roared with laughter. “Never married, for some reason,” said Ron. “You amaze me,” said Hermione.

I can’t take this kind of suspense. Decide now.” He untied the ropes around her wrists. “Walk out the door. In a year you’ll be free of any entanglements with me. Or stay and be my wife. My real wife. Make your choice.” She looked down at the loosened ropes still wrapped around her, then up at him. He wore an expression of fierce indifference, but she knew better. This proud man, this noble marquees, had made up his mind he wished to marry her without knowing who she was or what she’d done. She would guess the decision was his first impetuous gesture since the day his mother had disappeared. Amy couldn’t fool herself. For him to go so contrary to his own nature, he must feel an overwhelming emotion for her.

I took the Washington bus; wasted some time there wandering around; went out of my way to see the Blue Ridge, heard the bird of Shenandoah and visited Stonewall Jackson’s grave; at dusk stood expectorating in the Kanawha River and walked the hillbilly night of Charleston, West Virginia; at midnight Ashland, Kentucky, and a lonely girl under the marquee of a closed-up show. The dark and mysterious Ohio, and Cincinnati at dawn. Then Indiana fields again, and St. Louis as ever in its great valley clouds of afternoon. The muddy cobbles and the Montana logs, the broken steamboats, the ancient signs, the grass and the ropes by the river. The endless poem. By night Missouri, Kansas fields, Kansas night-cows in the secret wides, crackerbox towns with a sea for the end of every street; dawn in Abilene. East Kansas grasses become West Kansas rangelands that climb up to the hill of the Western night.

To Harry James Potter,’” he read, and Harry’s insides contracted with a sudden excitement, “‘I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.’” As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly, and Harry could not help feeling a definite sense of anticlimax. “Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?” asked Scrimgeour. “No idea,” said Harry. “For the reasons you just read out, I supposed . . . to remind me what you can get if you . . . persevere and whatever it was.” “You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?” “I suppose so,” said Harry. “What else could it be?” “I’m asking the questions,” said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now; the marquee beyond the windows towered ghostly white over the hedge. “I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch,” Scrimgeour said to Harry. “Why is that?” Hermione laughed derisively. “Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” she said. “There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!” “I don’t think there’s anything hidden in the icing,” said Scrimgeour, “but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I’m sure?” Harry shrugged. Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge. “Because Snitches have flesh memories,” she said. “What?” said Harry and Ron together; both considered Hermione’s Quidditch knowledge negligible. “Correct,” said Scrimgeour. “A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch”—he held up the tiny golden ball—“will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you.” Harry’s heart was beating rather fast. He was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could he avoid taking the Snitch with his bare hand in front of the Minister? “You don’t say anything,” said Scrimgeour. “Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?” “No,” said Harry, still wondering how he could appear to touch the Snitch without really doing so. If only he knew Legilimency, really knew it, and could read Hermione’s mind; he could practically hear her brain whirring beside him. “Take it,” said Scrimgeour quietly. Harry met the Minister’s yellow eyes and knew he had no option but to obey. He held out his hand, and Scrimgeour leaned forward again and placed the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into Harry’s palm. Nothing happened. As Harry’s fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings fluttered and were still. Scrimgeour, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way. “That was dramatic,” said Harry coolly. Both Ron and Hermione laughed. “That’s all, then, is it?” asked Hermione, making to prise herself off the sofa. “Not quite,” said Scrimgeour, who looked bad-tempered now. “Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.” “What is it?” asked Harry, excitement rekindling. Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time. “The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” he said. Hermione and Ron both stiffened. Harry looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it.

I shoot up out of my chair. “It’s Bree. Hide the board!” Everyone hops out of their chairs and starts scrambling around and bumping into each other like a classic cartoon. We hear the door shut behind her, and the whiteboard is still standing in the middle of the kitchen like a lit-up marquee. I hiss at Jamal, “Get rid of it!” His eyes are wide orbs, head whipping around in all directions. “Where? In the utensil drawer? Up my shirt?! There’s nowhere! That thing is huge!” “LADY IN THE HOUSE!” Bree shouts from the entryway. The sound of her tennis shoes getting kicked off echoes around the room, and my heart races up my throat. Her name is pasted all over that whiteboard along with phrases like “first kiss—keep it light” and “entwined hand-holding” and “dirty talk about her hair”. Yeah…I’m not sure about that last one, but we’ll see. Basically, it’s all laid out there—the most incriminating board in the world. If Bree sees this thing, it’s all over for me. “Erase it!” Price whispers frantically. “No, we didn’t write it down anywhere else! We’ll lose all the ideas.” I can hear Bree’s footsteps getting closer. “Nathan? Are you home?” “Uh—yeah! In the kitchen.” Jamal tosses me a look like I’m an idiot for announcing our location, but what am I supposed to do? Stand very still and pretend we’re not all huddled in here having a Baby-Sitter’s Club re-enactment? She would find us, and that would look even worse after keeping quiet. “Just flip it over!” I tell anyone who’s not running in a circle chasing his tail. As Lawrence flips the whiteboard, Price tells us all to act natural. So of course, the second Bree rounds the corner, I hop up on the table, Jamal rests his elbow on the wall and leans his head on his hand, and Lawrence just plops down on the floor and pretends to stretch. Derek can’t decide what to do so he’s caught mid-circle. We all have fake smiles plastered on. Our acting is shit. Bree freezes, blinking at the sight of each of us not acting at all natural. “Whatcha guys doing?” Her hair is a cute messy bun of curls on the top of her head and she’s wearing her favorite joggers with one of my old LA Sharks hoodies, which she stole from my closet a long time ago. It swallows her whole, but since she just came from the studio, I know there is a tight leotard under it. I can barely find her in all that material, and yet she’s still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Just her presence in this room feels like finally getting hooked up to oxygen after days of not being able to breathe deeply. We all respond to Bree’s question at the same time but with different answers. It’s highly suspicious and likely what makes her eyes dart to the whiteboard. Sweat gathers on my spine. “What’s with the whiteboard?” she asks, taking a step toward it. I hop off the table and get in her path. “Huh? Oh, it’s…nothing.” She laughs and tries to look around me. I pretend to stretch so she can’t see. “It doesn’t look like nothing. What? Are you guys drawing boobies on that board or something? You look so guilty.” “Ah—you caught us! Lots of illustrated boobs drawn on that board. You don’t want to see it.” She pauses, a fading smile hovering on her lips, and her eyes look up to meet mine. “For real—what’s going on? Why can’t I see it?” She doesn’t believe my boob explanation. I guess we should take that as a compliment? My eyes catch over Bree’s shoulder as Price puts himself out of her line of sight and begins miming the action of getting his phone out and taking a picture of the whiteboard. This little show is directed at Derek, who is standing somewhere behind me. Bree sees me watching Price and whips her head around to catch him. He freezes—hands extended looking like he’s holding an imaginary camera. He then transforms that into a forearm stretch. “So tight after our workout today.” Her eyes narrow.

Prisons are racism incarnate. As Michelle Alexander points out, they constitute the new Jim Crow. But also much more, as the lynchpins of the prison-industrial complex, they represent the increasing profitability of punishment. They represent the increasingly global strategy of dealing with populations of people of color and immigrant populations from the countries of the Global South as surplus populations, as disposable populations. Put them all in a vast garbage bin, add some sophisticated electronic technology to control them, and let them languish there. And in the meantime, create the ideological illusion that the surrounding society is safer and more free because the dangerous Black people and Latinos, and the Native Americans, and the dangerous Asians and the dangerous White people, and of course the dangerous Muslims, are locked up! And in the meantime, corporations profit and poor communities suffer! Public education suffers! Public education suffers because it is not profitable according to corporate measures. Public health care suffers. If punishment can be profitable, then certainly health care should be profitable, too. This is absolutely outrageous! It is outrageous. It is also outrageous that the state of Israel uses the carceral technologies developed in relation to US prisons not only to control the more than eight thousand Palestinian political prisoners in Israel but also to control the broader Palestinian population. These carceral technologies, for example, the separation wall, which reminds us of the US-Mexico border wall, and other carceral technologies are the material constructs of Israeli apartheid. G4S, the organization, the corporation G4S, which profits from the incarceration and the torturing of Palestinian prisoners, has a subsidiary called G4S Secure Solutions, which was formerly known as Wackenhut. And just recently a subsidiary of that just have one more page of notes corporation, GEO Group, which is a private prison company, attempted to claim naming rights at Florida Atlantic University by donating something like $6 million, right? And, the students rose up. They said that our football stadium will not bear the name of a private prison corporation! And the students won. The students won; the name came down from the marquee.

With great care, Amy opened the cellar door. With ladylike demeanor, she descended the stairs. And as her reward, she had the satisfaction of catching His Mighty Lordship sitting on the cot, his knee crooked sideways and his ankle pulled toward him, cursing at the manacle. “I got it out of your own castle,” she said. Northcliff jumped like a lad caught at a mischief. “My . . . castle?” At once he realized what she meant. “Here on the island, you mean. The old ancestral pile.” “Yes.” She strolled farther into the room. “I went down into the dungeons, crawled around in among the spider webs and the skeleton of your family’s enemies—” “Oh, come on.” He straightened his leg. “There aren’t any skeletons.” “No,” she admitted. “We had them removed years ago.” For one instant, she was shocked. So his family had been ruthless murderers! Then she realized he was smirking. The big, pompous jackass was making a jest of her labors. “If I could have found manacles that were in good shape I’d have locked both your legs to the wall.” “Why stop there? Why not my hands, too?” He moved his leg to make the chain clink loudly. “Think of your satisfaction at the image of my starving, naked body chained to the cold stone—” “Starving?” She cast a knowledgeable eye at the empty breakfast tray, then allowed her lips to curve into a sarcastic smile. “You’d love a look at my naked body, though, wouldn’t you?” He fixed his gaze on her, and for one second she thought she saw a lick of golden flame in his light brown eyes. “Isn’t that what this is all about?” “I beg your pardon.” She took a few steps closer to him—although she remained well out of range of his long arms. What are you talking about?” “I spurned you, didn’t I?” What? What What was he going on about? “You’re a girl from my past, an insignificant debutante I ignored at some cotillion or another. I didn’t dance with you.” He stretched out on the cot, the epitome of idle relaxation. “Or I did, but I didn’t talk to you. Or I forgot to offer you a lemonade, or—” “I don’t believe you.” She tottered to the rocking chair and sank down. “Are you saying you think this whole kidnapping was done because you, the almighty marquees of Northcliff, treated me like a wallflower?” “It seems unlikely I treated you as a wallflower. I have better taste than that.” He cast a critical glance up and down her workaday gown, then focused on her face. “You’re not in the common way, you must know that. With the proper gown and your hair swirled up in that style you women favor—” He twirled his fingers about his head—“you would be handsome. Perhaps even lovely.” She gripped the arms of the chair. Even his compliments sounded like insults! “We’ve never before met, my lord.” As if she had not spoken, he continued, “but I don’t remember you, so I must have ignored you and hurt your feelings—” “Damn!” Exploding out of the chair, she paced behind it, gripping the back hard enough to break the wood. His arrogance was amazing. Invulnerable! “Haven’t you heard a single word I’ve said to you? Are you so conceited you can’t conceive of a woman who isn’t interested in you as a suitor?” “It’s not conceit when it’s the truth.” He sounded quite convinced.

Even the year's marquee contest has not settled down as many expected it to. The most recent Bluegrass Poll in Kentucky has Democratic challenger Alison Lundergan Grimes holding a two-point lead over Senate Republican leader Mitch McConnell - a six-point gain for Grimes since the previous poll was conducted in August.

The marquee scrolling across our minds trying to reinterpret life reads: "God-Against-Us." This becomes the dominant lens through which our flesh interprets life. We no longer give our loving Father the benefit of the doubt. Instead, we view every event as conclusive proof that God is against us.

Integration via Conformed Dimensions One of the marquee successes of the dimensional modeling approach has been to define a simple but powerful recipe for integrating data from different business processes.

This is damn peculiar,” she muttered as Burton kept driving on, now twenty miles out of downtown and continuing north as Interstate 35W and 35E merged to form Interstate 35 to Duluth. Heather contemplated giving up, but Burton hit his right turn blinker and took the Forest Lake exit. At the top of the exit ramp, the FBI man turned right and drove a mile east into downtown Forest Lake, pulling into the parking lot of the Ranger Bar. A bright white marquee on the front indicated that the Ranger—a play on the nickname of the local high school—was open until 2:00 a.m. From the looks of the cars in the parking lot, it was apparent that the party was going plenty strong inside. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July, and a lot of people in the Forest Lake area were getting a head start.

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42nd Street with its quarter mile of marquees offering porn of all types, colors, sizes, and flavors.

Directly in front of them, dressed in white jerseys and forming a little protective phalanx, were the Pepettes, a select group of senior girls who made up the school spirit squad. The Pepettes supported all teams, but it was the football team they supported most. The number on the white jersey each girl wore corresponded to that of the player she had been assigned for the football season. With that assignment came various time-honored responsibilities. As part of the tradition, each Pepette brought some type of sweet for her player every week before the game. She didn’t necessarily have to make something from scratch, but there was indirect pressure to because of not-so-private grousing from players who tired quickly of bags of candy and not so discreetly let it be known that they much preferred something fresh-baked. If she had to buy something store-bought, it might as well be beer, and at least one player was able to negotiate such an arrangement with his Pepette during the season. Instead of getting a bag of cookies, he got a six-pack of beer. In addition, each Pepette also had to make a large sign for her player that went in his front yard and stayed there the entire season as a notice to the community that he played football for Permian. Previously the making of these yard signs, which looked like miniature Broadway marquees, had become quite competitive. Some of the Pepettes spent as much as $100 of their own money to make an individual sign, decorating it with twinkling lights and other attention-getting devices. It became a rather serious game of can-you-top-this, and finally a dictum was handed down that all the signs must be made the same way, without any neon.

Blaming Goldwater’s retreat on his effort to win over the majority of voters (and recoiling, too, from the senator’s military adventurism), Crane went on to join the Libertarian Party, which had been summoned into being in a Denver living room in December 1971. Its founders sought a world in which liberty was preserved by the total absence of government coercion in any form. That entailed the end of public education, Social Security, Medicare, the U.S. Postal Service, minimum wage laws, prohibitions against child labor, foreign aid, the Environmental Protection Agency, prosecution for drug use or voluntary prostitution—and, in time, the end of taxes and government regulations of any kind.46 And those were just the marquee targets. Crane was as insistent as Rothbard and Koch about the need for a libertarian revolution against the statist world system of the twentieth century. “The Establishment” had to be overthrown—its conservative wing along with its liberal wing. Both suffered “intellectual bankruptcy,” the conservatives for their “militarism” and the liberals for their “false goals of equality.” The future belonged to the only “truly radical vision”: “repudiating state power” altogether.47 Once Crane agreed to lead the training institute, all that was lacking was a name, which Rothbard eventually supplied: it would be called the Cato Institute. The name was a wink to insiders: while seeming to gesture toward the Cato’s Letters of the American Revolution, thus performing an appealing patriotism, it also alluded to Cato the Elder, the Roman leader famed for his declaration that “Carthage must be destroyed!” For this new Cato’s mission was also one of demolition: it sought nothing less than the annihilation of statism in America.48

Marquee

The immense southern night had fallen. It glittered everywhere, in houses along the beach, supermarkets open late, the white marquees of theaters.

I also tended to avoid her because I could not imagine the moment when she’d give up the playacting, take me back, and press me to herself for the first time. I was scared that I might push her away because she had become repugnant, because she had left me, and because I really hated her. Of course I suspected that this woman, whom I sometimes imagined was my mother, was among those who were crushed when the marquee of the Duna Cinema crashed down. Probably not one of those whom the rescuers scraped out alive from under the rubble after the dust settled and everyone was sobbing, fleeing, helping, or only helplessly screaming and watching the incredible. That would mean I’d lost my mother for the second time. Later some good people carried the corpses to the corner of Antal Nagy Street in Buda, and then, at the cost of subdued altercations on top of the rubble, the line for bread re-formed itself.

She was talking about those odds and ends of “futuristic” Thirties and Forties architecture you pass daily in American cities without noticing; the movie marquees ribbed to radiate some mysterious energy, the dime stores faced with fluted aluminum, the chrome-tube chairs gathering dust in the lobbies of transient hotels.

several marquee investors have invested billions of dollars on Indian start-ups which have burnt all the cash without creating any value. Now these investments are expectedly going bad and the investors want to save their money at any cost, including seeking support from the government. Their patriotic story is that they are saving India—and Indian companies, which are actually owned by American, Chinese, Japanese and Russian investors—from American companies. Quite weird.

On the same day that Marcelle Navratil arrived in New York, a brand-new movie entitled Saved from the Titanic was announced on the marquees of the city’s nickelodeons. The ten-minute silent film had been made in three weeks at Éclair’s studios in New Jersey and starred a real-life survivor of the shipwreck, Miss Dorothy Gibson, wearing the same white silk dress and black pumps in which she had escaped from the sinking liner. Dorothy had at first been unwilling to relive her ordeal so soon after the disaster and according to one newspaper there were times during the filming when she had “practically lost her reason by virtue of the terrible strain she had been under.” The one-reeler, which was produced by Jules Brulatour, would be Dorothy’s last film since she then embarked on a career in opera. This would prove to be short-lived, as would her marriage to Brulatour in 1917. Following a generous divorce settlement in 1919, the prettiest girl retreated from public attention and was never seen on stage or screen again.

Whatever the occasion, we’ll make sure its one to remember with our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees here at Premier Event Marquees. Our commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart. Our marquees' sweeping curves and arches not only look amazing, but are uniquely flexible and when connected together give your event the 'WOW' factor that you will never forget.

Whatever the occasion, we’ll make sure its one to remember with our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees here at Premier Event Marquees. Our commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart. Our marquees' sweeping curves and arches not only look amazing, but are uniquely flexible and when connected together give your event the 'WOW' factor that you will never forget.

Whatever the occasion, we’ll make sure its one to remember with our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees here at Premier Event Marquees. Our commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart. Our marquees' sweeping curves and arches not only look amazing, but are uniquely flexible and when connected together give your event the 'WOW' factor that you will never forget.

Whatever the occasion, we’ll make sure its one to remember with our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees here at Premier Event Marquees. Our commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart. Our marquees' sweeping curves and arches not only look amazing, but are uniquely flexible and when connected together give your event the 'WOW' factor that you will never forget.

We are a family run marquee company with a passion for quality of product and service. Please take a good look around our website and we are always available for any questions. We look forward to making your event astonishingly beautiful!

We are a family run marquee company with a passion for quality of product and service. Please take a good look around our website and we are always available for any questions. We look forward to making your event astonishingly beautiful!

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Offering the best marquee hire for your wedding, festival, party or corporate events throughout Devon.

Follow-up Call (Script) Seller: “Hello Mr. Prospect, my name is Tom Freese, and I’m the regional manager for KnowledgeWare in Kansas City. I wanted to contact you about the CASE application development seminar we are hosting at IBM’s Regional Headquarters on August 26. Do you remember receiving the invitation we sent you? (Pause for a response) “Frankly, we are expecting a record turnout—over one hundred people, including development managers from Sprint, Hallmark Cards, Pepsi Co., Yellow Freight, Kansas Power & Light, the Federal Reserve Bank, Northwest Mutual Life, American Family Life, St. Luke’s Hospital, Anheuser-Busch, MasterCard, American Express, Worldspan, and United Airlines, just to name a few. “I wanted to follow up because we haven’t yet received an RSVP from your company, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t get left out.” Granted, this was a highly positioned approach, but it was also 100 percent accurate. I wanted prospects to know that IBM was endorsing this event. I also wanted to let them know that I expected “everyone else” to participate. I accomplished this by rattling off an impressive list of marquee company names that we were “expected” to attend. Most importantly, I wanted to make sure that they didn’t get left out.

Hay gente que nunca fue más allá de los sesenta, o que no fue más allá de la guerra, o no más allá de aquella noche en que el grupo en el que tocaban actuaron como teloneros de los Rolling Stones en el Marquee, y luego se han pasado el resto de la vida caminando para atrás; yo nunca llegué a ir más allá de Charlie. Fue con ella cuando me ocurrió lo más importante, las cosas que aún me definen.

Dear Mr. Lord of War: The whole world of my life spins under a radiant marquee of fear. Day in and day out it kills me, over and over and over again. Kills me dead, just to restart it all tomorrow. And all I can do about it is tell people that I’m fine. “Thanks for reading.

NEW YORK (22. decembar) Lou Reedov album “New York” dobio sam na poklon za rođendan 1990. godine, dok se zagrijavao haos iz kojega do danas nismo izašli. Ništa nisam slutio, danima sam svakodnevno slušao tu ploču i sve na njoj volio. Kad sam prestao, nisam je više niti jednom stavio na gramofon. Uvijek je nešto bilo preče od nje. Večeras sam je izvadio iz najlona. Na vinilu se skupila sitna prašina, decenijama stara. Četka ju je lako pokupila i ploča je zasvirala kao nova. I dalje znam svaki refren, riff, solo na gitari, i dalje mi se sve na toj ploči sviđa. Kao da se ništa nije promijenilo od tada. A onda vidim posvetu na omotu. Mnogi dragi ljudi odavno su otišli iz Bosne i Hercegovine. Prije nekoliko godina bio sam u New Yorku, nakratko, možda tri ili četiri dana. Odlučio sam da ne obilazim turističke lokacije. Lutao sam, bez ikakvog plana, nasumično skretao u uličice, kratko odmarao u barovima i Starbucks kafeima, pa nastavljao pješačenje. Mislio sam da tako mogu bolje osjetiti taj veliki grad. Moje lutanje nije bilo sasvim bez cilja, tražio sam prodavnicu ploča. Planirao sam da kupim neku tipičnu njujoršku ploču, albume Ramonesa ili New York Dollsa, “Marquee Moon” od Television, ili bilo koji Reedov album. Želio sam to bude prvo izdanje, nije trebalo biti pretjerano očuvano, ne bi mi smetale ni sitne ogrebotine niti ljepljiva traka, tražio sam predmet sa tragom vremena na sebi. Bio bi to, mislio sam, idealan suvenir. Našao sam tobacco shop u kojem je desetak tipova nalik na Wu Tang Clan ozbiljno pućkalo iz lula, comic shop sa figurama Batmana od par hiljada dolara, popio kafu sa rastafarijancem od tri metra koji se zove Dino i kojem je bilo jako smiješno moje ime na Starbucks čaši... U ulici skupih cipela, stisnutu između dva bara sa live muzikom, naišao sam na neobičnu prodavnicu. U izlogu je imala samo kartonske maske klaunova, suncobran, ogromne rugby lopte i ofucane plišane pse, a unutra gomilu starih novina u koje je zabodena američka zastava. Prodavac sa staromodnim cvikerom na nosu razgledao je staklenu bočicu kao da je dragulj. Sada nisam siguran, možda je ta prodavnica bila u Washingtonu ili nije bila nigdje, ali tako je se sjećam. Bilo kako bilo, prodavnicu ploča koju sam tražio, nisam uspio naći. Odavno je prošla ponoć i odjednom sam shvatio da sam zaboravio broj avenije, ulice, pa i naziv hotela. Možda zbog jet laga, uzbuđenja, umora, par votki i previše kafe? Ne znam, ali nisam brinuo, vjerovao sam da ću se sjetiti tokom večeri. Stao sam ispred jedne pepeljare na trotoaru, zapalio cigaretu da bih razmislio, okrenuo se i vidio da se nalazim baš ispred hotela u kojem sam odsjeo. Sergej Dovlatov je New York uporedio sa brodom napunjenim milionima putnika, gradom toliko raznolikim da svaki došljak pomisli da u njemu može pronaći kutak za sebe. Odatle, pisao je, čovjek može pobjeći samo na mjesec. Meni u New Yorku niti u jednom momentu nije bilo neugodno. Ništa me nije plašilo u tom gradu, niti sam se u njemu osjećao kao stranac. Kući sam donio samo otvarač za flaše u obliku “Les Paula” i moju fotografiju ulaza u podzemnu željeznicu, koji izgleda baš kao onaj sa omota albuma “Loaded” grupe Velvet Underground. Donio sam i ovu mutnu, nepouzdanu uspomenu. Življe sjećanje na New York daje mi moja stara “Jugoton” ploča.

In the marquee, the reception appears to be approaching scenes last seen at the fall of the Roman Empire. A few hours ago, it had been a beautiful sight, with flowers scenting the air and sunlight sparkling on the crystal and china. Now, the warm wood of the floor is dusty and dirty, and the long sheer curtains flap limply in the summer breeze.

In 2005, IBM sold its PC business to Lenovo. A five forces analysis makes clear immediately why the business had become so unattractive that even one of its marquee players decided to throw in the towel. Its two superpower suppliers, Microsoft and Intel, captured almost all of the value the industry created. And as the industry matured, the PC itself had become a commodity, giving customers more power. Since one beige box was as good as another, customers could easily switch brands in order to get a good price. Rivalry among PC makers was intensifying, with more price pressure coming from emerging Asian producers. To top it off, a new generation of potential substitutes was taking off—a range of mobile devices that had some of the same functionality as PCs.

Sarah Michelle Gellar was in two marquee slashers in the same year,” Letha says right back. “But she’s no Linnea.

Fleetwood Mac producer and label boss Mike Vernon came to the Marquee and apparently said "They're alright, but get rid of the bloke with the flute.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

He was reading the glowing marquee to our right: When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, and You’ve Got Mail.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Magical weddings, stunning summer balls whatever the occasion we’ll make sure its one to remember. Our uniquely different range of beautiful marquees, commitment to great service and above all else a promise to deliver excellence in everything we do, sets us apart.

Cooler heads prevailed, and we attempted to call off the session. However, this was the salesperson’s first big opportunity, it was a marquee account, and we had a new VP of sales. Over the objections of the technical team, we sprinted down the path of the “dash to demo” and were instructed to perform the demo. This was totally contrary to our well-established sales process and caused severe conflict within the sales team. The SE on the account, being a true professional, decided to make the best of it and spent hours preparing with only limited information.

The Swanky Marquee Company is a family run business with a passion for quality and service. Offering hire for weddings, corporate events, black tie dinners, garden parties and much more. Our passion at Swanky Marquee is for weddings where we offer the finest Petal Pole Marquees, the perfect solution for that special day.

We are a family run marquee company with a passion for quality of product and service. Please take a good look around our website and we are always available for any questions. We look forward to making your event astonishingly beautiful! Our customer service is second to none. Our event specialist will bespoke design your marquee package and work with you and tailor our services to your requirements.

Marquee hire for weddings, corporate events, parties and festivals throughout the Lake District, Cumbria and North Lancashire we provide tailor made solutions for your event. Whatever your requirements are, with over 20 years experience we can help. Contact us to discuss your event in more detail for a quote and arrange a site visit. Holding an event in a barn, village hall, sports hall etc We can help by lining your venue to your specification.

The glory of Manhattan which Willie had seen from the airplane was nowhere visible at Broadway and Fiftieth Street when he came up out of the subway. It was the same old dirty crowded corner: here a cigar store, there an orange-drink stand, yonder a flickering movie marquee, everywhere people with ugly tired faces hurrying in a bitter wind that whirled flapping newspapers and little spirals of dry snow along the gutters. It was all as familiar to Willie as his hand. The reception room of the Sono-phono Studios, some seven feet square, consisted of plasterboard walls, a plasterboard door in back, a green metal desk, and a very ugly receptionist with a plasterboard complexion, chewing a large wad of pink gum. “Yeah? What can I do for you?

Gradually, as I descended the slow escalator to my subconscious, these thoughts gave way to thoughts of the mysterious noise we’d heard the night before, Vasily’s breeding theory, and terrifying images of werewolves and chupacabras and other marquee monsters that skulked in the remote corners of civilization. Then I dreamed.

Once again a church marquee has got me thinking … this one reads: “I have sometimes regretted my words, but never my silences

Since I’ve been pretty much treading water all day, the marquee of the Rialto Theatre looks like the prow of a ship coming to save me.

Famous revolutionary,' you say, and the laughter pumps out of your chest like blood, great almost painful spurts of it splashing up the building faces toward the marquee moon.

They went to Shimmies again, but this time Johnny pulled into the long line at the drive thru, and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. She was too tired for drama, and Shimmies was full of teen angst. Maggie took one look at the menu board and knew what she wanted. She always got the same thing. Johnny was still reading the menu, a frown of disbelief between his brows. She guessed that the prices were a tad bit higher than he was used to. Oh well, she’d warned him, hadn’t she? “Do you need me to buy?” She asked softly. Johnny shot her a look that would have caused her to shrivel up and die had she not grown a rather thick skin over the years. Still, she cringed a little bit. He clearly took her offer as an insult. “I’ve got plenty of money... but it had better be a darn good burger. The last burger I ate cost fifteen cents.” “Fifteen?” Maggie squeaked. Johnny tossed his heads toward the window at the gas station they could see across the road. The fuel prices were displayed on a large marquee. “A gallon of gas used to cost me a quarter. I can’t believe people are still driving cars at these prices.” He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. “You already know what you want?” He changed the subject abruptly. “I always get the same thing.” “Not too adventurous, huh? “Life is disappointing enough without having to take chances on your food. I always go with the sure thing

The results of these efforts became visible in 1980. At the top of the ticket, Reagan, a movement conservative, overwhelmingly defeated Carter. Conservatives, whose obituaries had been written by the liberal elite just a few years before, were stunningly resurgent. The upset reverberated at every level, including the Senate, where four liberal marquee names, George McGovern, Frank Church, John Culver, and Birch Bayh, were all defeated.

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The room was filled with paintings, created by masters in centuries past, lining the three sides of the room, but, in the centre was the marquee attraction, the one work they hoped would draw the crowds.

You came to the USFL either as a marquee guy brought in to bring credibility to the league, or as a washed-up NFL reject. That was me. The reject. —Matt Braswell, center, Michigan Panthers

And one of those preliminary things included getting a tent up over the deceased as quickly as possible. If you’ve ever put up a marquee in your back garden, you’ll know it’s almost impossible to do by yourself, so I was hoping that CID had finished playing cards by now, or some back-up for the PCSO and the copper might show up before this place succumbed to a drunken uprising