Dominican blowout near me

For nearly a year I’ve been trying to read every success story, every material about manifesting and I just feel this exhaustion. I want my SPs but I don’t want this to be such a huge work which is affecting my sleep, daily work and everything else.
Also, I’m confused about how to proceed since there’s two SPs I want, one who I used to date with and who I manifested a breakup with and another guy who used to be so fun and chill and easy to be with and completely ghosted me. I know checking the 3D is bad but I’m so unmotivated that I literally don’t know what to do. I don’t check our chats but still think about those two and it’s not easy to manifest living in the end with two guys…
How should I proceed?

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Hi there! I’m a 35 and about to start my third cycle of embryo banking. I’ve been put on hold due to a high fsh this month (19.8) A bit of background; two years ago I know my fsh was 8.7. I had it checked because I was considering egg freezing at that time (was still single), but my doctor told me my numbers were all stellar and I could wait. One year later I went back, and my fsh was 12.8. My doctor told me to move forward with an egg freeze, so I did. By the time I did it a few months later, my fsh was 13.8. I got 13 eggs, 11 mature. My doctor wasn’t thrilled with the outcome, given that she knew me a year earlier and expected a higher yield. But I’m thankful for what we did get. She suggested that since I now have a partner, we do a round of embryo banking. I did that a few months later, with an fsh of 13.6. Got 11 eggs, and ultimately two euploid embryos from that. I have coverage for one more round, so last month I went in for the final round of embryo banking, and my fsh was 14.9. We decided to take the month off, make lifestyle changes, do acupuncture, etc. I went in this month and got the news that my fsh is now 19.8. I’m pretty upset and devastated. My doctor wants to try an estrogen patch starting in two weeks, then move forward with the cycle next month. But from what I’m reading, the outcomes with an fsh this high seem mostly poor. It also seems like getting pregnant “naturally” at this level will be nearly impossible- leaving ivf as my only option. (I’m in a long distance relationship and will be for 8 more months due to my partners work, which makes it hard to try naturally until then…but by that time I fear my fsh will be even higher)
My AMH is 1.8 (was 4 two years ago) and my antral follicle count on day 2 ultrasounds is always 15-20. I have no other medical issues.
The last few months I’ve been under more stress than ever before; my mom got a very bad diagnosis and I’m trying to support family thru it. Not sure if stress can contribute. Also, my sister has full blown PCOS. I was told I had it many years ago, but don’t think that ended up being true. I had very irregular periods from age 13-26. They eventually got normal on their own. I remember also being told I had low testosterone in my 20s; a doctor wanted me on supplementation, but never did it for reasons I can’t remember.
My mom and her sisters all went thru menopause close to age 60, which makes this all the more random and upsetting for me. Never thought I’d be told I was approaching menopause at age 35.
Any advice from any of you who have been in this situation? Are there any other medical conditions I should be asking my doctor about?
Thank you for your help and advice.

Tried to be funny pls don’t beat me, very short, broken engrish warning
—
Memory transcription subject: Tal, Krakotl, Officer.
Date [Standardised human time]: Dec 3 2136 4:00 p.m, On board of Federation ship.
—
I put the keycard near the door and opened it then slowly walked inside. I looked at the human behind the metallic table, then I took a chair and sat on it and thought of questions to ask him and probably test something on him.
“Tell us….tell us about your government structure.” I said and signalled to guarding Krakotl to bring some water and poison his cup of water with a powerful drug, enough to poison 10 to 25 krakotls.
“Well in my country…first it’s the United Nations, then comes our government which consists of legislative, executive, judicial powers.” He said and looked at me. Guard brought a cup of water and put it on the table near him.
“How do you keep your government? How do you get funding?” I asked him and stood up from chair and came closer to him.
“We have various services to keep control of various things and collect taxes. The ATF is The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.” I instantly got confused with why they call it ATF when it’s a sentence long abbreviation.
“For taxes we have the IRS, they collect taxes and illegal income. Also do you pay taxes?” He asked me.
“Well, no we do not pay taxes in oth-” I saw him looking at me with a dead look, he slowly stood up and took a cup of water.
“Do you know what danger you put us in?” he said as his hands were shaking.
“What danger? Your IRS is nobody to us.” I said quickly and stepped back from him.
“Those fucking nobody is the Internal Revenue Service. We call them Taxers of God, well they’re not exactly His taxers….they were the one sent to fucking tax Him.” He lifted a cup and drank a bit from it. One of guards opened the door and I looked at him
“Sir, the UN fleet appeared in our system. We tried to shoot them but they confiscated our ship guns!” He said as I turned back and looked at human.
“IRS are the people of focus, commitment, and full of taxes... something you know very little about. I once saw them confiscate entire federation fleet... because of unregistered income, a fucking unregistered income. Then suddenly one day they wanted to take a break. It's over a holiday, of course. So they made a deal with them. They gave them an impossible task. A job no one could have pulled off. The huge tax income was the foundation of what we are now. And then you don't even pay a single tax to them.” He said and drank what was left in the cup shaking then he ate the cup.
I got bumped in the shoulder and turned around only to find several humans with some papers and the IRS badge was on their suits.
“Sir, you’re under arrest for failing to pay taxes, unregistered income from human trafficking, willful failure to file a tax return, willful failure to pay taxes owed, fraudulently filing a tax return or making false statements on a tax return, evading taxes or assisting in the evasion of taxes, interfering with the administration of the tax code.” The man said and put handcuffs on my hands.
“What the fuck?!” I yelled and pulled out the plasma pistol and shot him into the head several times. All these shots ricocheted from his face as another human came and took my pistol.
“Also you’re being extra charged for illegal possession of plasma and plasma weaponry.” He said and rubbed his nose.
“Do you have a licence for this weapon?” Other human said and I looked at him. I looked at his cap and saw ATF letters on it.
“Why the fuck DO I NEED A LICENCE!?” I yelled at him then he slapped me in the face.
“Put illegal possession of firearms and use of gun without the licence into his criminal record. Also sorry for shooting your dog.” He said and looked at me.
“But….I don’t have a dog.” I got more confused and looked at him back.
“Not anymore.” He said and walked out, the captive human walked out too. Several humans in armour walked in and took me by the shoulders, slightly lifted me and led me out of the room.
—

Hey guys, I get 11 wins nearly every week, haven't managed to get 14 yet. I have around 1.1M cash to spend right now, Trent/Goretzka/Upamecano/Butland are tradable. Can you help me upgrade this squad? What are the positions that need immediate transfers? Right now I'm doing Cruyff SBC. I play a 4321 or 4231 in game.
https://www.futbin.com/23/squad/4003679 https://imgur.com/a/5JMjm31 img form

Book 4 changed my whole outlook on Junko. I found myself loving her instead of hating her. I pursued a romance with Junko & was so happy that she was starting to change near the end of Book 4. And then the ending came and it broke my heart. Even more so in Book 5 where there is little mention of her in that book. I understand that the author might be done with her. But I can assure you that me and a lot of others are not. Can you please bring her back in Book 6. An adventure to open up the gate back to hell and rescue her maybe? After book 4 all I can think about is Junko. Devon Connell! Please bring her back!!

First time solo traveller and very excited to go with the flow. I’ll be arriving in Honolulu later today and will be staying at a hostel near Waikiki. I have no idea what I’m doing and would love to find a friend or two to explore with. I am very easy going and like to plan my days around what feels right. If you are travelling to Honolulu at this time and would like a buddy to roam around with, your first big wave brewski is on me. All welcome :) aloha

My parrot is a male african gray, who is 2 years old. He is not that affectionate but loves music and playing with his toys. He lives with the rest of my family and is usually only open with my mom. We get along too, but I only visit home every now and then. I know african grays and parrots in general take time getting used to people so it’s difficult for me. He bites very hard and often play bites (but it still hurts) which makes me scared to come near him.
Any tips? I really want to bond with him and give him a happy life. In the future, I’ll be the one taking care of him so I want to build a good relationship with him as early as now. Though a few things, such as the long distance, hampers that.

After 10 years of addiction im going finally to rehab in 20 days.
When I said I want to study to a host of a NA group, she told me that I should arm myself with patience since I likley have killed too many neurons in my brain.
I feel like going to university is impossible for me. In the near future atleast.
Please share your sucess stories, or something. I feel like after rehab at best I will stay sober. And have a crappy job which wont pay. And i will feel depressed that I was once such a smart kid and this drug addiction made me a brainless guy.
At worst my biggest fear is that I will relapse and end up on the street and die.
Im in bulgaria.
I just want someone to tell me stuff will be ok. Because i have apent my whole life isolated and my whole family looks at me is im a murderer and when I want reasurance they basicly tell me to screw myself and that everything is my fualt
How pathetic of a life do I have if the only reasurance I ever get is from reddit or NA groups....
Also how do I switch to living a completley sober life when for the last 10 years every time i feel sad or anything at all I take a drug to feel better? It feels impossible.

This is long. If anyone makes it though im so greatful youre here with me.
Some back story: The last blowout I(35f) had with my (55)mom resulted in my going low contact with my mom and 2 adult (33m and 29m) brothers. This was 2020 so we were all a couple of years younger. I've remained low contact since and ended up finding a video on YouTube at the end of 2022 about nmoms and their daughters that put me through a rabbit hole of realization that my mom is probably a narc. I found this thread and have been struggling so hard to decide if she's really a narc or if im just the black sheep and I should go NC. I started therapy during the pandemic as well and she seems really threatened by this.
I have always been told family business is family business and I have kept this all in my whole life. My mom mostly worked and I was her "partner in life" who helped "raise" my younger brothers (4 of them). This always set me apart from my siblings. To this day they sort of seem to view me as "other" or some hybrid parent.
Anyway during the pandemic I started therapy over postpartum anxiety that helped uncover alot of childhood stuff I have to work through. But this only made me want to reconnect with my siblings and I reached out to the 2 oldest. My two younger siblings are minors and both lived with mom in a different state. I invited both adult brothers and their families to my house for Thanksgiving. My mom was a thousand miles away and we hadn't had a family gathering in several years.
Being the pandemic, I asked for brothers, their significant others and theirs children only. My 33m brother and his wife live 4 hours away with their 3 children. 8 hours back and forth would have been too much for them and their kids. It was a discussion with my husband and I because everyone was still so scared and social distancing.
However I have 1 guest room and asked them to stay. My guest room is on the other side of the house. I cleaned and sanitized and kept my toddler on our side of the house and my brother and his kids and wife stayed on the other end. They drove in the day before Thanksgiving and planned to leave after dinner on Thanksgiving.
My other brother 29m and his girlfriend live an hour away and I asked them to come on Thanksgiving, at 3pm before dinner. He had been on and off with drugs and even though we had taken him in in yhe past, at this point he was in and out of a shelter and staying on couches.
29m brother showed up at my house the night before thanksgiving at 10pm . He just showed up. He never reached out to my husband or me. He texted 33m and asked him to come outside... he was outside and wanted to smoke a joint with my 33m brother. My 33m brother told me. I was really frustrated because I felt it was rude and i was offended. I asked 33m if he would be going out to meet 29m and he said "no I don't know why he didn't wait for tomorrow". I agreed and stated that it was also concerning he wanted to share a joint during the pandemic. I asked 29m to please come back at 3pm the next day. That we would love to have him but we didn't have any more space for more overnight guests. He (29m) said it was unfair that one brother could stay and he couldn't. I explained that the 8hr back and forth drive would have been too hard for the kids and that's why they were staying. The situation escalated and I ended up disinviting 29m. My reasoning being that my house rules during the pandemic were reasonable I held the boundary.
Following this my brother and mom got on a group call and decided how they felt about the topic. They had all decided I was wrong and they disagreed with my decision to disinvite 29m. The 3 of them basically kind of dogged me about it and I ended up really upset. I told them that I could understand their perspective but that i was only trying to keep everyone safe during the pandemic, and that the next gathering could be hosted by them and to their specifications if they liked. They told me I couldn't admit fault and my n mom seemed to reveled in the failure. She seemed so happy both of my brothers ran to her. My mom specifically led the charge and I felt so frustrated that she chose a side instead of staying neutral. We went extremely low contact after this.
I reached out to mom to make amends and I'll try to put the convo images in the caption.
Everything is so turned upside down in my head. I just wonder if anyone has thoughts.Convo

I’m a king, and somebody with a big heart. I can’t help but say that I think we share a heart. I probably won’t stop drinking for you. It’s either that addiction or cigarettes. I don’t think I could ever give you up. I am lazy, and sloth, and glutinous. Maybe I’m a glutton for your love.
If you walked to me house banged on the door you would see a shifty block. But no matter what my house looked like youres would be on me. Atleast that’s what I hope.
I could show you a park that I grew up near. Or I could call us a cab and go to a restaurant to drink and eat, whatever you want of course.but god I would love to get drunk with you. Imagine the laughter we could have if we weren’t so disconnected.

After years of on off dabbling I'm finally seeing some progress. I finally got more serious and focused. Now I can play 3 or 4 pieces fairly well. A Mozart, a chopin, a couple jazz things. An accomplished player would still call it shit but for me it's okay and I look fwd to seeing my improvements. Beethoven said to miss or play a wrong note is meaningless but to not play with passion is unforgivable. And the way I see it that's what lessons are about -learning to play with feeling and not just hammering out the notes from the page-like I was basically doing for so long. Maybe in the near future I'll be able to sit at a piano somewhere and share what skill I do have.

Today I was traveling by a rickshaw. We were stuck in a jam and there was this rickshaw in front of me that was trying to get ahead from a narrow space and scratched a car near its head light. The scratch was near to negligible and the rickshaw could not run as we were stuck in traffic. This uncle of atleast 79 years comes out of the car running and just start slapping the rickshaw driver shouting at him then his son comes and startes slapping him too. The rickshaw walla was just apologizing but man those two did not stop humiliating him in front of the whole traffic. It was so embarrassing to see, the men looked from well to do family wearing shiny watches, fancy shoes and their car looked quiet an expensive one but guess money does not buy manners. I don't know if I am wrong but the situation could have been handled more sensibly. Thinking one can humiliate the other because they are on an ego trip due to having more money is wrong. I am ashamed I did not intervene but I was scared too so I just wanted to so say sorry to that rickshaw bhaiya and hope his spirit does not go down due to today's incident. I guess it's normal day in Delhi.

It is unfair
The way time passes monotonous
While the memories remain trapped, in a never sober mind
Your weight still holds heavy upon this heart
Pulling me down to a level where your eyes look nearly human
A place where your lips don’t look so marble and your hips don’t declare mutiny
This ships been sinking deeper
Into an ever-long fate of an unruly one sided love
The clocks don’t turn
So I drown without the pleasure of knowing when it will end
Your smile was the beach I’d hoped to run aground upon
Now, it sits poised the size of a fly
Floating upon the surface with such grace, it must be held in place by your own hands
The salt chafes my lungs raw
The blood mingles with the rust, that coats the iron fist I’d once ruled with
Judge, jury, executioner
And once, a lifetime ago
Your lover
I’m sick with insecurity
As you watch the man you knew, melt away into instinct
Your words are the saltwater I swallow
Gagging on the truth you’ve written with your own tears
I beg a beaten God for your hand
One last time, before your indifference swallows me whole
He offers little in the way of peace
As your hands wrap around my ankles
With a viciousness only a woman like you can have
It nearly feels like enough
Your strong hands fool me
Thinking you’re holding on
Rather than pulling my thread taut enough to snap
But it never ends
In this accursed sea, vast enough to make a man insignificant
In this accursed sea, this accursed heart still beats
Fortune favors the bold
Yet your love favors none
As the story goes
Not all that glitters is gold
But your soul sure held its weight
And so the fish met the fly at the surface
Neither knew peace
But both knew passion
https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/129i4t4/no_ones_here/jenlr7w/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3
https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/129h9o7/could_i/jenlz6p/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3

Hello, this is my first post here, I have a problem related to GT6.
I bought a disc copy of GT6 recently and I just can't get the game to install and load things properly. Basically, everything takes ages to load, as the game is trying to install everything on the go as you play. Rarely, it even crashes my PS3. Right now it takes me nearly an hour to load a single race in National A championships.
I searched for every possible solution on the internet, even lurked this sub for possible solutions, but to no avail.
-I rebuilt my PS3's database several times, nothing changed. Deleting installed data doesn't do anything either.
-My disc is nearly perfectly clean, I even wiped it with a cloth to make sure it is readable. I have some childhood games that are scratched to hell but play perfectly fine (this also means that my blu-ray drive is intact with no issues).
-I have a 500 gb ssd installed in my PS3. While it does somewhat help with the waiting time, the game still refuses to load faster. I installed all updates up to 1.22, those work flawlessly since they're installed directly on the ssd (vision gt cars load instantly and I managed to complete the Senna trials with no problems whatsoever).
On a single occasion the game decided to properly read the disc and every single event loaded nearly instantly, but I haven't managed to get the game to keep this state since. I am desperate to make this game work, as when I did load it is a very good experience.

He is 24m. Im 21f. We have had 14 dates so far within 6 weeks. We met via bumble. We havent had sex yet because im too shy and not ready. He use to try but i would refuse cuz shy. He stopped trying. Not even to kiss me. So it worries me. I finally feel ready tho and im scared he might be losing interest already. We sleep in the same bed tho after every date.
Anyways we went out together last night. Cinema then dinner then i slept at his. Woke up this morning and we left his at 12pm. He took the same bus as me to go home cuz he went to his friend who lives near mine. Its now 3pm. Is it too clingy if i text him to come over once he is done with his friend?

This is the first part of my novella, Lady Lu (the title is still in the works). A brief synopsis: this novella follows a week in the life of Lu, a poor cardboard collector who lives in Sham Shui Po, Hong Kong. As she encounters bizarre obsessions her mind indulges in and an amplified existence her body endures, she is forced to witness a world and a self that has changed beyond recognition.
Thank you so much if you chose to read it and provide feedback. It's a bit long, sorry, but I hope it's worth the read.
I.
Her hands can’t feel much now, for years of harsh tsaiguabu soaked in watered down dish soap, grainy trash bags, and surprisingly sharp cardboard edges have carved out valleys of veins and wrinkled palms and faded lifelines; they have dulled her senses. She can’t yet make up her mind as to whether she preferred that or not, because sometimes, numbness is the best antidote to incurable pain, but other times, the monotonous humdrum of that anesthesia takes away the simple joy of sensation, that which can be found in a slew of cold water washing away the sweat from a back-breaking load of cardboard. It is hard for Reality to keep her attention; she can no longer tell cotton from polyester by touch, or hot from cold. At least this helps her to better sink into the comfort of her bare stained mattress in the sweltering heat waves. They go up to forty degrees sometimes in the summer (some kooky old neighbors went out to put frying pans on the asphalt to see if the eggs could really cook and yes, they did cook) and old man Xu Pin right next door isn’t the most pleasant-smelling fella.
Still, the snap-crackle of fan blades spinning in a stumbling staccato rhythm welcomes her back to Reality. Although the fiery defiance of dawn’s sun rays has just begun to pierce through grimy windows, there are already voices echoing the halls. Some, like her, are cardboard collectors, whose work hours start from sunrise; some are restless sleepers, who make their early stirrings everyone else’s problem, loud bastards, the lot; and some are already offering their consciousness up for sacrifice. They cough their lungs out, day and night, a raspy version of a heartbeat in the background.
Lu pulls open the plywood sliding doors to let some sun into her windowless room. These plywood rooms are the newer areas of the subdivided apartments; on the other side naked mesh wire separates the exposed residents. Right opposite from her, she can see Xu Pin with a glass pipe, obscured by the half-opened door at certain angles.
“Lu! How the hell are you on this fine morning? Getting ready for work?” he says, gaunt face spasming in time with his stresses and intonation.
“Old brother, I’m telling you, stay off the drugs, ay. Your liver isn’t what it used to be.”
He waves it off, cracking a toothy laugh.“It’s not like I got much to lose.” Xu Pin laughs a lot, and it always comes from deep in his belly.
“Have you forgotten about Wednesday braised pork?” Lu replies and he concedes, laughing again, but once she’s turned her back, faint wisps of milky smoke waft over.
This conversation used to be an everyday occurrence, but soon enough Lu gave up because he’s heard the lectures enough times to know for himself, and if the glass pipe finds itself lit again in the middle of the night, then she supposes that’s his response. She understands though; you gotta do what you gotta do to instill just enough life back in these fizzled-out corpse-like bodies; it’s a defibrillator; it’s a half-plugged life support. Hers is work; her knuckles and stocky build are hard-knock strong, made for work. To not put herself to work would be a waste! She knows those fancy suit-clad men turn their noses up at her carts of cardboard when they aren’t ignoring her, but if the world was really left to their hands, the landfills would do as its name suggests: fill up the land. They want everything to be shiny new new, fresh out the oven, practically still smelling of the factories and the small overworked hands that assembled them.
She pulls out her folded cart from behind the fan, ducking under her multicolored hangers dangling on the pipes that lined the walls. Her walls are sparse, save some hooks for plastic bags, narrow shelves nailed there, and a calendar, to which the page with yesterday’s date still clings on, as if afraid to face the new day. She doesn’t have many material possessions, partially because her room is already struggling to fit a mattress and a shelf – any more and she’d be buried alive when they eventually topple over – and partially because she doesn’t see much value in material items. She only needs her fan to shoo away the heat waves and her TV to get through days when work ends early because the gods smiled upon her rival instead, Chan jie, that sneaky little somethin fast-walking to steal all her cardboard. Not many options other than her good old TV to keep her mind running: she would prop a lumpy pillow up, lie down, and stay there unmoving for hours on end, filling up her brain and body with news, gossip, travesties, anything really, to push out all the bits that belong to her. She wouldn’t have anyone to talk to at this hour either; in the afternoon, not many people would still be in their rooms — either they are working or finding a place, any place, to take a break from home. If she has enough energy, she’d get out her best outfit, comb through her hair and tie it up into a neat bun, and turn an Ikea-framed photograph that normally faced the walls around to talk to it. The photograph is frayed at the edges, the color fading to a sort of bruise-purple. It isn’t a very good picture if one pays closer attention: it’s out of focus and the boy in the picture is making the nastiest of faces, which she had told him a million upon million times not to do – “don’t put the same fingers you just put in your nose in your mouth!” Facing the wall is also a one-eyed teddy bear looking like it’s been to hell or worse, gifted to her from someone long ago. The cotton filling is ripped out in some places, so she sewed it back together, but it still threatens to bulge out of every seam. In short, the bear’s seen better days.
In any case, it’s not as though she has much money to spare for amenities after treating herself to a hearty bowl of braised pork belly a week, which is what’s kept her going for so long; really don’t underestimate the power of a warm meal. Although she has been the best cardboard collector on Yen Chow Street for three years straight now (in her opinion; there isn’t an official ranking), there’s not much money in it – she knows that. She had flipped through mountainous stacks of newspaper clippings, scramble of phone numbers scratched on post-it notes or the backs of receipts (that she saved up with an irrational dream of winning the lottery in mind), but she was met with voice mails or dismissive promises that scheduled a job interview that would never go anywhere. She couldn’t read and write either, so there went half the jobs she qualified for, and Wenhan had tried to teach her, in between loads of laundry or while she waited for the chicken thighs to marinate, but Lord, she could not tell this stroke from that line for the life of her. Her little brother, the smart one of the family, enjoyed the prestige at the top, while Lu’s teachers only sang praises of her inhuman cleaning speed and diligence for learning: respectable but misplaced.
“If you’re so good at cleaning,” her mother had declared, “then why don’t you come help me with our chores?”
Her father stood up from the stained armchair, which had been a loyal friend on lonely beer-filled nights to him. “No use for a half-brained girl to waste time there. I don’t want Lu-tang sissying around with a bunch of those snobby educated folks either but your mother begged.”
“Your father is right. You’re better off here, Lulu.”
There was no point in fighting them; it would take a million horses to bend their iron will. Lu used to think that their brains were once filled with liquid cement that solidified and hardened and cracked. In the meantime, she would do as they say, maintain peace, feign obedience, until her opening came and she would run without stopping all the way to the city, even if she were barefoot, even if the roads were soaked. The promises that her aunties had chirped about, glossy men and painted women, and the mysterious dangers her ah-ma had sensationalized, the bat-wielding criminals lurking around every corner, enticed her. And when the chance did come, she really didn’t hesitate. Freedom came at a hefty price, tooth and nail. Failure was not an option, and as long as she stays in the city, she hasn’t failed. She won’t give them the satisfaction.
She slides on red plastic slippers, the same ones the rich kids use to squash crickets out of boredom or cruelty and creeps down, rung by rung, down the ladder. This apartment is packed with tenants, sixteen of them to be exact, and though Lu moved in first six years ago, she’s still considered one of the newer residents. Only the top bunks were available at that time. And now whenever Yui Fong tai-tai complained of her heavy-footed earbud-despising upstairs neighbor thumping around at odd hours in the night, Lu would count her blessings and store this memory for when she curses the rickety metal ladder. In general, noise is a constant here: these coffin rooms are not forgiving of familial conflicts, or even the faint kow-pows of old kung-fu movies to remind them of an earlier, more mythical and therefore better time. They are stacked and crammed like kennels, fit for a dog, the rich would probably jeer during their fancy dinner parties. No, they wouldn’t waste time for such a topic, pitiful to them for sure – in Sham Shui Po, the scavengers scrabbling for scraps are swept away into these monstrous buildings: out of sight, out of mind.
Just last week, in fact, the government posted a clearance notice for the homeless occupying the bridge a few blocks away – really, eviction would be the right word for it, because it was their home, and wasn’t the government the one who said home is where the heart is with a cheery smile (well, she consoled herself, at least they will get more smile lines than anyone). It was because they were making quite a disturbance, because of all the sins, disgust had the strongest stench to it. She knew a lady who stayed there for a while once upon a time; she was always fired up about something, she remembered. That lady got up at six a.m. sharp every day to go for a jog, then came back with a renewed passion for life. She would ring Lu up, saying there was a horde of tourists near the bridge and she would talk trash about them, which Grandma Lu was always secretly giddy about. If a particularly ostentatious tourist were decked in white fox fur in Hong Kong of all places, they’d pray to Earth God for it to get hotter or rainy, at their own expense. “She’d look like a wet sewer cat,” said the lady. “More like a clump of ji dan gao stamped on by muddy boots,” said Lu. “God, these rich people! In this heat?” “In this air?” They’d have a good laugh, and a good laugh was the best medicine she’d tried so far. But staring was an abominable crime (this only applies to one direction), and the rich tourists felt slighted by this attention, so whispers of rumors that eviction was near flew around. Lu didn’t understand their annoyance; wasn’t the point of wearing such luxuries to show off? for people to gawk at? Sure there’d be negative attention amongst, but this was a small price for opulence, and evidence for one’s existence.
She went to the bridge a week later to see if any of them stuck around – that lady would, wouldn’t she? – but it was empty as a properly finished bowl of rice, dog-licked-clean. Keeping an eye out during her cardboard runs was easy enough, but she could not find a good enough reason for herself to justify any more searching, unless she admitted to herself that this lady made some impression on her akin to friendship, but for her, such things were weak links. One tear, one wound was enough; the disease would spread, and hopelessness would infect you. What she called hopelessness though, others called enlightenment. Clarity! they whispered, rubbing their hands together in cold winters, or fanning their sweaty necks in summer; as they jumped down Tsing Ma Bridge, they embraced the air, and though none of them were able to recount the tale, she assumed that flying was the most wonderful experience they had had, a last hurrah of sorts.
Palming the concrete wall surface wedged against her body, she squeezed her way down the hallway. The kitchen came into view; so did Yui Fong, hunched over a cutting board, who always said ‘early bird gets the worm’ and did as she preached.
“Oh, smells delicious!” Lu sidestepped onto grubby tiles.
“Don’t you lie to me now, Lu po-po; I only make steamed or boiled dishes.” Yui Fong had tried to get everyone on this floor to do the same, to no avail alas, because stir-fry glossed in oil and dripping in sauces was a siren’s call. But just wait, they’ll regret it; once they have a pat of their belly and take a look at the walls dotted with browning stains like burn holes in paper, the siren rears her head. Oil was impossible to scrub off, Lu had tried and will testify to this, let alone sixteen times that.
“How I admire you for it. Before I forget, do you want some turnips for tonight? The ah-bei there told me there’s a fresh shipment coming in today. I’ll be stopping by the market anyway so it’ll be no trouble.”
Yui Fong stopped her stirring. “Ah you’re too kind, Lu. That would be great. They say the secret to living to ninety-nine years old is turnip soup. I will save some for you.”
“Thank you, thank you. But ninety-nine years is too damn long for me, ha-ha.”
She catches herself eyeing the coffee jar; it’s been so long since she’s felt that miraculous shiver of energy, since her last doctor visit burdened her with the knowledge that her heart was ill-suited for caffeine. She resists; she’ll save that for an especially hard day.
Once again Lu finds her palm hugging the wall as she makes her way downstairs. Opening the main door – as always Fortune Guest House and fancy Vegetarian’s Paradise stand imposing. The sun splashes onto the city, just like the rain had done just moments ago (such is summer weather), the shine making the city look like it were wrapped in cellophane. Perhaps it is; she has never touched any of those new skyscrapers; it could very well be still in its protective gear to shield itself from the dirty outside world. Mannequin-like people in it safe and sound too.
One of the wheels on her cart is faulty, so it skids along the puddles spasming like a kid about to piss his pants in class. She hurries along the length of Yu Chau Street, stopping occasionally to pick up a spare cardboard here or there, but her main goal is the big Seven-Eleven two blocks down that hands stacks of them out and oh here the phrase ‘early bird gets the worm’ truly applies.
Big fruit lies in store, big fruit, she tells herself as she resists the urge to stop at some smaller stores first. She remembers this story her mother once told her – all her bedtime stories were just a cover for some secret moral lesson – the Lord says to Man, “here, pick the most beautiful rock you see. There are lots of precious rocks ahead of you, diamonds galore, but there is no turning back. Pick only one, and pick wisely.” The man passes by pebbles, then big slabs of rock, rubies, emeralds – now we’re getting somewhere! The world is his oyster, and oh the pearls it’ll offer to him! they make his mouth water! Man thinks, as long as he keeps going (the saying patience is a virtue drolled on in his head), the treasures can only get better. So he fights temptation, strangles it beyond its dying breath, and forgoes diamonds for something better; there’s always better. Tipping the balance, eradicating satisfaction end in crumbled hopes and clumps of dirt, which lay in wait for him at the end.
If she had the chance, Lu would never pass up tangibility for some abstract possibility in the clouds, in the fog. It’s given her good times, perhaps not excellent but good enough for her. So she gave hurried thanks, snatched the cardboard and didn’t bother to tie up the stack with pink plastic string, stumbling with her cart down down down.
And there she stands, in all her ghastly atrociousness, one hand on a leaning Pisa-tower of cardboard, one hand on her hip, smirking at Lu. The devil in plastic quilted jacket! Lu tsks and slinks off to queue for any remaining scraps.
“If it isn’t Lu po-po!”
“If it isn’t Chan jie,” she wishes.
“Got some more hours of sleep today, did you?”
“That must mean I look particularly good today then. You should try it, more sleep I mean. It’s not good to wear yourself out,” Lu entertains her. The alternative, staring at the dizzying traffic in the streets, isn’t a strong contender.
Finally it’s her turn and as she predicts, there isn’t much cardboard left. Well, bit by bit is how the pile grows. And now she’s determined, out of spite, to gather at least more than Chan jie; it won’t do to just submit to her gloating, no it won’t. The shadows tower over her; it must still be early morning. They cast down on metal garage doors, which sever them into wavering static, a little to the left or the right. Lu turns the corner onto Tai Nan street. Leather stench hits her without warning, recognizing her veteran status. Leather may be pretty but it sure doesn’t agree with the heat; at this rate it’ll taste worse than a piece of that over-boiled beef shoulder she had the displeasure of chewing at Fat Man Chou’s. She sees the signs hovering above, this company and that – Tong-De, Mian-Fong, they all sound the same to her – extending past where they’re welcome; they look like news headlines framing her. Imagine that! Her, smack in the middle of Headline Daily’s front page, still with the flowing black hair she oiled up and massaged every night in the dark, twirling around in that yellow sundress, some hot new celebrity on her arm. And the reporters, they’ll crowd in droves, “Lady Lu, look here!”, “No, here! Tell us, who are you wearing?” And she’ll say proudly, spine straight-up, “My mamma made it,” teeth all gleaming in the flash, white and pearly still…
It doesn’t have to be that; she’s never been a fame chaser. She could also join the other side and don a pair of glasses, notepad in hand, expose the corruption in glass towers and the seedy underbelly gorged with triad legends. A glimpse of a tattooed arm or the lack of an arm (for if you betrayed them, their infamous meat cleaver would kiss the outer skin, then force its way into the sinews, a brandishing of tough love) would spark rumors. It is in their nature that rumors exaggerate, but this time Lu isn’t so sure; the Triad’s name precedes them; there must be a reason. Aside from their chopping prowess, they apparently also had the magical ability to induce amnesia, like wizards! Lu’s seen on the news one day that all five eyewitnesses who were supposed to testify against a Triad leader suddenly succumbed to memory loss; at least with memory you’re more likely to get that back, as opposed to an arm. Well, those are all old dreams; she reminds herself to not get lost in the once-upon-a-times. One thing comes and one thing goes: even though she does live near the dark side now, her youth has dissolved like the black pigment in her hair. She’s much too concerned about getting by day to day to get into any of that.
To make up for her overactive imagination, Lu’s developed a skill to absentmindedly pick up cardboard like a drug-sniffing dog. Her tendons take over, and she lets them; she can do it blindfolded even. It’s a skill as worthy of admiration as, say, sprinting a one-hundred-meter dash. Come on, let’s see that Usain Bolt haul these stacks! (She’s impressed herself with her outstanding memory; apparently hearing the name once on the news, in passing too, is enough!)
Lu sifts through her latest cardboard conquests tugging at the hastily-tied strings. Her trusty pen-knife is always within reach in her pocket, which she checks daily to make sure there are no holes. First she slices the cardboard down with the precision of a butcher; corrugated wrinkles smiling at her. Then, using her fists, she pounds down to flatten them, stay there now don’t you move, she warned. The cardboard defers to her at once. Once they were spectacular too; this box once carried Korean strawberries in its arms, sailing across more seas than she’s seen; and this one? parts of a Philips lamp; then, cram school workbooks. Whatever was in them has gone on to live, not necessarily better lives, but living nonetheless.
Not before long though, her cart starts to wobble more than the stacks can take. They’re threatening to tip over at any minute now, so taking them to a nearby recycling depot is the best course of action, Lu decides. She’s saving up for a new cart, one of them fancy ones with a bell so she wouldn’t have to clear her throat to scrape out any hoarseness, and yell with a voice unexpected of such a short woman, “Excuse me please! Let me through for a second, thank you!” It’s tough to compete with caged canaries squawking, cars honking, and market-people squabbling. Plus, the cart has four functional wheels. She’ll have to get used to that.
Hearing the desperate bargaining at the bigger recycling depots, truckloads of’em, she can’t help but chuckle. She’s been in the game for so long, she knows all the neighborhood secrets. She knows that if you cut across the big parking lot, as swift as a mother cutting watermelon for her screaming children in the peak of summer, because at any time there can be a car jumpscaring the living spirit out of you, you can find, squeezed between an electronics store and a shoe store, a little-known depot. A kind old couple runs this place, complete with decrepit green-tinted walls and a permanently sticky floor; god knows how they’ve kept this place afloat. They are always generous with their weighing: if Lu’s cardboard weighed at seven point eight kilograms, Mr. Lam would wave it off and round up to eight. It makes a world of difference, five cents worth. The big depots would cheat ya and say “Oh it’s tattered, it’s no good…” isn’t it all the same recycled! Another thing they don’t have: Mrs. Lam’s various holiday dishes that she shoves in Lu’s hands because she already knows the ol’ song and dance of “Aiya, no, Lam tai-tai, you’re too kind…are you sure? Really are you sure?” Here Lu must cut in and say, before you think she’s selfish for not sharing this info with her fellow collectors, it’s every woman for herself in this line of work, it ain’t fair but ho-ho what part about any of this is?
This other trick she’s also acquired by way of close observation, not trade talk; at first she only attributed their early hustling to diligence, but soon she realized that Hong Kong humidity had its perks. In the morning, air – in the form of wet particles – gushes into her nostrils, sinks its melting claws in the unwilling cardboard, burdening it with added weight. While this exchange is going on, with hawk-like eyes, Lu swoops in and captures the heavy cardboard, heavy with promise of a few cents more.
“Altogether…twenty-nine kilograms. There you go!”
Ey, not bad. But still she inquires, careful to celebrate, “How much?” Prices fluctuate at the drop of a hat; now whose hat? big Boss up north, of course.
“Seven cents per kilo, just like last week,” Mr. Lam beamed. This plus some fruit money is just enough to live on; and every day at Mr. Lam’s recycling depot, the fate of the week has been decided: a good week or a bad week, all depending on whether there will be enough room in the budget for an extra helping of sausage. She pats herself on the back; she’s done a mighty good job today.
Off she goes, off to Apliu Street, the thieves’ market, plucking the broken electronic components out, before snatching away all the cardboard before anyone else even laid their eyes on it. She gallops with the feet of a horse and hauls with the belly of a supernatural spirit. That’s the norm though; it’s a hidden prerequisite to become a collector. Competition is fierce for a Tuesday, but it’s all about winning the long race, the war over mere battles. So when she feels sweat beads roll down to her eyes, which blink angrily at the salty intrusion, she decides perhaps it’s time for a sit-down.
There it is – her bench, glistening gray-green with glassy paint-like splotches on it, and all hers for the whole lunch break. In her pink velcro-stick bag hanging on the side of her cart she has tucked away a neatly-wrapped Seven-Eleven pork-floss onigiri. She savors every taste of that, no matter that it is cold and nothing like the homemade ones, certified Jiangsu authentic, and oh she imagines the smell leads her up to gilded temples, to yellowed wheat fields, wherever it would go, she shall follow… Amongst all the chewing, suddenly her tongue goes numb, eerily tasteless, more than before at least. The culprit: a plastic bit stuck in the rice. She never knew how to open these goddamned plastic wrapping, step one, step two, ah just rip it apart and be done with it! Maybe when she first came to the city – she admits, she treasured the way each strip would glide down its destined pathway, the instructions, like they knew the answers and if you just follow the steps, you’ll get there, they assured. Like hell they do. They’re just better at slapping the horses’ butts, then climbing up the social ladder with those same dirty hands; that’s not even to mention the ones already at the top, sitting there on human thrones.
Lu swears, next time – and this time it will be different – she’ll make herself a packed lunch instead of this convenience store junk. A strange feeling, to scold herself the same way she would to… no one in particular, any picky brat. It is at times like these when she feels so close to Sleep that she’d be grateful for the ever-present noise in the streets; now are those pots and pans she hears? Ah, Sleep would be so motherly and kind and She’d embrace her; hard to fight that and gravity off; her eyelids kept drooping. Being good at waking up on time every day means the biggest yawns, impossibly big; she could swallow her throat whole and suck out all the air around. But the shouts – she makes out signs as well so perhaps it’s from a protest – won’t let her doze off. That is good; it keeps her schedule in check.
Where to next? Her legs march to the beat of Sham Shui Po’s thumping heart; as her feet slap down onto solid ground, she imagines feeling the grainy texture of Poplar Street through her worn soles. Like a meticulously trained doctor whose finger presses down at the exact spot to find a pulse, without hesitant circling indicating trial and error, Lu needs not to wait for the city to tell her what it needs. The alleys coiling around main streets, the telephone wires that drape lazily off apartment balconies, hell, even the fly-swatters spinning in dazed anger – they divulge secrets to her. This is a shortcut, they say. Look out! The vegetable vendor is hosing down the street again, they say. Perhaps the city’s roots have taken hold of her, boring inside to twist together with her veins. The city is a good ally to have on your side; who else has been around longer than these stoic, silent observers? They lend a different sort of comfort than people, something more stable. Concrete is by far a stabler material than flesh.
As soon as Lu steps onto the zebra crossing, the red guy bumps out the green, and she is forced to take a step backwards. These motorcycles are ruthless; it’s hard to imagine a time when roads were for people and vehicles were relegated to the tracks. From the front, kicked-up dust from zooming cars veil her vision; from the sides, pedestrians wedge themselves beside her. Among them is a tour guide with uncountable orange ducklings following him by way of microphone-enhanced instructions and a muscle-shirt-clad gym rat whose armpits cast two droopy damp shadows. And his logic is to use something even stronger to cover up all that sweat. If there ever are more cockroaches in her room than she can thwack, it’ll be a good idea to invite him over; not even the roaches’ll dare approach this! She will never and can never forget the toxic fumes of that odorous body spray weaseling their way into the seams of her gangster Mickey Mouse shirt (actually, it’s spelled ‘Mikeye Mouse’ for copyright reasons). Bought it half off at the wet market; she supposes this manly body spray does fit the whole gold-chain aesthetic better than its original fish stink.
Although this busy bustle is transpiring all around, Lu feels calm at this intersection. Time stands still for her, but not for everybody else; they’re still hurrying to catch this bus, scurrying for work. Soon she will join them, once this red light turns green. For now though, the red light absolves her of the guilt that always comes with rest; it feels like the Lord has cupped a bubble around her to protect her from ever-marching Time. She watches them through glassy eyes, detached, in her own world, with her own set of rules. Queen Lu! her subjects would hail, donning the poofiest scruff-collars, scattered daisies on a meadow. As Queen, the first law she shall invoke? Free mandatory massage and needling for every citizen! Every week!
Blink, and it’s green. So starts the countdown. At the end of this countdown the bomb doesn’t go off, but the impatient motorcycles sure will. Hand gripping her cart, Lu tries to cross the road, and she could’ve, if only these bastards would stop their squeezing and give poor old Lu a fighting chance! Her cart has become a burden, getting stuck between indistinguishable skinny-jeanned legs. It’s twenty fourteen; shouldn’t they have invented flying cars by now? and by extension, flying carts? Oh the view she’ll have, sweeping over the blocky districts, dwindling dots still scrambling about, but that’ll be of no concern to her, not anymore… But enough fantasies! she clears her throat. She’s a woman on a mission; survival is her impetus. She yanked her cart, bouncing between legs, and it’s working, she’s moving ahead! Apparently not fast enough, red overtakes her. In her rush – everything whizzing by in streaks of light, a cacophony of roaring motors – the light sedates her with a poisonous intention, and this dizzying hum that vibrates in her brain transfixes her in one spot. As her mind constrains her muscles to follow the zebra stripes, also having to dodge the swerving bicycles, gravity becomes lighter, and floats up, her feet too – into the air – and she trips, having not quite yet mastered the art of walking on air. The curb grazes her lower leg, but she clambers up quick; she’s a resilient old woman (thanks to her long earlobes) – she always manages; and her foot steps onto the sidewalk before the first engine whir.
“Po-po, are you okay?” The voice rings clear and breaks her brief trance. A smooth pale hand sticks stiff out – whoever it is must not have worked a day in their life.
“That’s okay, no need.” Grasping a more stable pole instead, she thanks the young man anyway and prepares to get going. But he is so terribly insistent, and pushy; so are the pedestrians who cannot stand even a second’s time lent. He repeats, a glitching robot, “You must need some help pushing the cart;” hands waving anywhere but near it. Hasn’t he heard the nos that came before? So far all Lu sees is: more ‘help’; more mess. Swarms of busybees dodge them by a hair; if they didn’t, she wouldn’t blame them; they are blocking the sidewalk. They are the people she’d give side-eyes to, taking up the whole street and whatnot, hmph.
When the shadowed cloud descends and shields her from light’s prying piercing pupils, she hurriedly slips away into obscurity. What’s important right now is breaking out of this crowd, seeking space; perhaps under one of the rusty metal roofs? Lu feels like a general, commanding her cart-soldier to sniff out a possible pathway; this requires strategy, my friend; she’d direct the army to flank from both sides in a V shape, yes, a V shape like in Red Cliff. She rides on out on army horses.
Safe in isolation now, she leans against the ridged column. She’s glad it wasn’t a sprain: the initial sting would be momentary — she can stand that — but the dull throb that would accompany her every step: that she fears. You can’t shake that off; it’s a stubborn leech. Still, better that than forced kindness. The two types that exist in this man-eat-man world: forced and malicious. The former, borne out of guilt whose stains of repugnance can’t be done away, no matter how many spins, topsy-turvy perspective shifts you give it. One look at the eyes, avoidant and seeded with pity, and she knows. The latter drapes a cotton coat over her shoulders; as it rains, and it will, no amount of shaking can rid Lu of the increasing weight as the tension between each waterlogged particle in each thread of yarn drags her down. Your debt catches up with you; kindness racks up a high bill.
So she continues on her cardboard quest; she hates to leave things unfinished. Lu is the Tortoise, crawling slowly but surely, despite the chances of winning against the Hare initially seeming ghost-thin. And who is this Hare? Chan jie, for one, and those damned government inspectors too! The spirit of competition scratches her back, tingly with nerves alive; the sidewalk suddenly feels like a moving walkway, and she bursts forwards, always forwards.

I live and work near a pokestop and got lot of spare gifts daily so if you need some daily gifts feel free to add me :)

I’m doing my first play through of rain world and I at some tiny glowing jellyfish looking things because they gave my food. The robot near them collapsed and isn’t moving and I think I might’ve been responsible. If there is a way to bring it back to life let me know but don’t tell me how because I don’t want spoilers.

Just to you guys. It's all from my opinion and playing experience.
---S Tier---
Bison : Nuff said. Just get it. Tanks, deals huge free dmg, buffs the team etc. And he refuses to die.
Gore Magala Ken : Dude is freeuse. His 2 and 3 automatically activates with other fighters combo 2 and 3. It's just absurd. If you had him, you just also had a cheater.
Juri: Once maxed her fighting spirit, she rolls.
Fashion Blanka : He is all about burn and wildfire stacks. Pair with flame dps like dhalsim or viper. His super combo and combo 2 is deadly. A tank can deal huge dmg. Rare stuff. Get it.
Fashion Sakura: She needs to be her fighting spirit on 20 asap. 30 is nice. Self and team heals, huge damage reduction buff, nice single and aoe dmg. Once she's upgraded, she gonna rock. Her 3x SSS vehicle will make her unkillable.
Gen : Clunky to use but once you get to master him, you won't regret.
Trendy Cammy : Don't have it yet but seems she is best damage dealer.
Combat Guile: His dispel and Aoe attacks are deadly. It needs investing.
Mad Ryu: He is super strong at early game and falls off after late. Just killing himself. But until you don't need him, you will use him as main dps. So it's A tier after he falls off.
Elena: The only true healer. And it's best at it.
Rose : She's awesome once upgraded. Got her as mercenary like 3 weeks and never disappointed. Clunky and luck based but if your dice is right, you'll win the lottery.
---A Tier---
Viper : Ability to hit rear is huge selling point. Also her 3rd combo is nice too.
Dhalsim : Strechy dude spits flame. His 3rd combo is deadly. Nice for burn stacks. Deadly combo with Beast Zangief and Fashion Blanka. S tier if paired with other flame dps.
Beast Zangief : His interrupt on Combo 2 is main selling point. It's just too awesome. Makes stuff easier. But timing is really required. Mastering his interrupts can get you to higher floors. Also abit tanky.
Chun Li : Her aoe and speed is awesome.
Guy : Rear hitter. He's cool to hit people on the back.
Cammy : Agile and fast. Also hp based dmg which is nice. Followup combo after a combo. Good dps but dies fast.
Decapre : She is underestimated. Her execute on super combo is nice. Just time it. After gets a kill, she starts rolling the heads. Also does soul dmg which is nice.
Street Poison : She is nice buffer. Use her on the boss fights like crusade, effigy, shadaloo boss stages or Magala hunt. Literally any enemy with huge hp and time. Could be S tier if only she haven't been one mode use. Not enough time for stacks buffs on regular fights.
Abel : Nice tank with shield. His combo 1 is nice. Saves you from many bad things.
---B Tier---
Poison : Just aoe. Silence is nice but not that great.
Guile : Good aoe dmg. But that's it. Combat Guile is better.
Honda : Beef tank. But all beef can be grilled. Weak to dots especially flame lol. Getting immunity near death is one off only.
Yun and Yang : They're same for me. Not impressed at all. Both are just fillers.
Fei Long : Debuff for flame dmg. It's the only thing. Otherwise it's C tier.
Makoto : Qi stuff stacks is all about her. But intervals are too big. Can't stack max. She need a rework. If her Qi stacks can be maxed on mid fight, then she's S tier. But currently B. Even for some it's C. Stun on combo 2 is great tho.
Charming Dudley : Super combo on start is nice but everyone has Bison on front which is super bad. And not that great when facing Ai opponents. It's only works against you. If C. Dudley was on opposite. That hits on your Bison.
Blanka : Sucks while using combo is okay but he's squishy. Fashion one is alot better if you love Blanka.
---C Tier---
Zangief : just a beef. It's not great.
Hugo : Dude dies too fast and he's tank. Awful.
Dudley : Just wait for Balrog.
Mayor Cody : B tier if you gonna use flame team. Otherwise he's not that great as a tank.
T. Hawk : Huge like Hugo. Same weakness too. Squishy. And not useful. Also very ugly.
Deejay : Another fiiller. Could be useful for his combo that makes Frontline fly to rear so you can hit 2nd one easily. That's all.
List is entirely of my opinion. Cody is also useful for pulling rear targets.