Review of Cycle of Lives By David Richman

I personally know the author, David Richman, and I consider him a great friend, human being and excellent writer. While this acknowledgment may naturally serve as a disclaimer of sorts for the very positive review that follows, I hope it might also serve as validation. You see, I have a daughter with a progressive neurological disease that has no known cure. And while I was hesitant to read his book for the pain it might cause as I substituted my own sorrow for those in his pages who have been touched by Cancer, I realized that his book is less painful than it is hopeful; less sad than it is happy; less pessimistic than optimistic. 

What I have learned through David, and his book by extension, is about how to "push on through" (Credit Bob Marley - No Woman, No Cry). And while life can sometimes be cruel, his book is really about transforming that cruelty into hope, strength, acceptance, and perseverance. And because he is, at heart, a storyteller, each of his 15 stories are alternately humorous, entertaining, amazing, and interesting. His writing is clear, clean and crisp, and his chapters are short enough to be read in one sitting, while long enough to leave you pondering the remarkable strength of the human spirit.

One of his chapters is about a man named Dominic, an individual I had the pleasure of meeting towards the end of his life (before Cancer returned for the last time). I met Dominic when he was running his taxi service and spiriting individuals in a completely insane manner through the streets, parking lots, desert and sidewalks of Sin City. From his smile, gentle nature and pleasant approach, I would never have guessed how strong he was, or how much he survived. Knowing that each of the individuals in David's chapters exist, that each of them are real, has filled me with the strength to prepare for the road ahead as my daughter faces off with her own terminal illness. And for that, I am eternally grateful. 

While I loved his first novel, "Winning in the Middle of the Pack," he has hit his stride as an author in "Cycle of Lives." If you have been touched by cancer, or any other unexpected loss or disease, this should be mandatory reading. If you haven't, a novel such as this is a great way to explore your natural empathy while learning about the indomitable human spirit. 

Cycle of Lives: 15 People's Stories, 5, 000 Miles, and a Journey Through the Emotional Chaos of Cancer: Richman, David: 9781632992994: Amazon.com: Books

Greetings from the porch. 

I've finished my second book, See You In Disneyland, and am waiting until I have three or so to push them all out together. Or maybe I'll try and publish the second, and self-publish the first. Not really sure. 

All I can say is I have an idea on book three, possibly involving Gary Mutha***in Boyle, possibly something completely different, maybe a re-imagining of the Michael Douglas movie Falling Down, or maybe a book involving a DA that finds himself being charged for a crime he didn't commit. 

The point is, I've got ideas. And with ideas come books. 

-Teddy Swanson Ramirez

James Brown - The Payback

MUSIC FROM THE PORCH

January 5, 2018, 2100 hrs – Figueroa Street / Los Angeles

Her first customer pulled to the sidewalk around 2130. Smiling and waving at lone male motorists, a couple of cars made u-turns and drove past her a second time, but none had stopped. Stacy welcomed some action. 

She sauntered to the passenger side of a four-door Honda Accord and bent down sideways on the window ledge to allow the trick to check out her cleavage and ass at the same time. He was Latino, mid-thirties, unshaven, and otherwise unremarkable. "Hey Big Boy. Whatchu' doin' tonight?"

He tried to be nonchalant, but the trick’s death grip on the steering wheel gave away his nervousness. "Nothing. How about you?"

"I'm just chillin' baby. It's a nice night for some fun, if you know what I mean."

The Human Trafficking team called these types of exchanges "word games." The goal was to encourage the target to make the first mention of sex, so he couldn't claim entrapment later. In the meantime, Stacy would engage in small talk and flirtation. 

"Yeah it is. You working?"

"I am. Whatchu want?"

"Thinking about trying to get a date with you." 

"Oooh, that sounds nice, baby." Stacy licked her upper lip, allowing her tongue to linger for a minute, while the trick gulped.

"How much do you charge?"

"Depends on what you want big boy."

"Man, I just want to fuck." 

Stacy laughed. "I like a man who gets to the point. Sex is gonna cost you two-fifty, but it's worth every penny." 

"Two-fifty? The going rate's like a hundred out here." 

All the undercovers competed, the decoys for real money, and the safety officers for street change as they posed as beggars. What they didn’t book into evidence, they donated to the Friederich’s Ataxia Research Alliance, a personal charity for one of the officers. As much as it hurt to admit, Stacy made more posing as a sex worker than she did from her hourly salary. 

As she stared at the middle-aged man who drove a poorly maintained Accord, she doubted he would pay much more than one-fifty. "Baby, do you think I'm some hundred-dollar whore?"

She tried wearing a wire once, but it was impossible to pick up the john’s side of the conversation with the noise from passing cars, idling engines and car radios. Plus, now the detective could adjust her bra, and show off even more cleavage, as the trick's tongue nearly popped out of his mouth. "How much for head?"

"One-fifty. Look baby, I'll give you a sloppy blowjob and the best fuck of your life for one seventy-five. See that market? There's an ATM inside. Walk in, buy me a water, and get some money. Can you do that baby?"

He paused, considering. Stacy was a sexpot. "Yeah, that works. Will you wait for me?"

"Of course, I will, baby. I'll be standing right next to those concrete barriers. You ain't a cop, are you sweetie?"

It was urban legend that police were obligated to reveal themselves when asked, but the johns liked hearing it and the question added a level of authenticity to the operation. 

"Nah, I'm not a cop. Are you?"

"Do I look like the police, baby?"

"Nah, you look too good to be a cop."

"Ahh, you're sweet. Now go get that money. It's cold out here, and I can't wait forever for what's inside of those pants." 

Stacy peered down at the trick's crotch, causing him to blush. She strolled towards the concrete barrier as he drove to the market, then walked to the meeting point. Moments later the john pulled up besides her. The team was still about thirty seconds away, so she took her time. "Hey Papi, did you get my water?"

The man handed her a bottle of water. She took a long sip of it. "Thanks baby."

"Anything for you. Damn, you're fine." 

"I like the compliments. So, what's up?"

"I could only withdraw one-forty." 

"Pass it here.” So irritating. 

He counted out seven twenties and passed the money to her through his open window. So busy watching her, he never saw the police officers surround his car. 

"Baby, next time you want to catch a date, jump on Tinder. And don’t be so damn cheap." Stacy walked away as the take-down team pulled out their badges, identified themselves as LAPD, removed the suspect from his vehicle, cuffed and searched him, then hustled the soon-to-be-defendant off to the waiting van, all in less than two minutes. It was surgical.

3-day human-trafficking sting in California leads to 339 arrests | ABC7