Eevery 5 minutes - An open Book for contribution

Hi, I am starting a new concept, an open book where everyone can add to its contents making it into a truly public publication. I call it every 5 minutes I started it in 1999, waiting for the so called Y2K crisis that never happened..I would truly appreciate everyone's contribution.

January 1st, 2000
00:05 (Local Time L.T.– Reference Time R.T.)
Manhattan, NY, USA.
Night. A slow wind moved paper wrappers, a nylon bag and a newspaper front page towards the corner of 5th and 52nd street. Cars flew down Broadway and revelers made their way in sounds of alcoholic joy towards Times Square, where all the action was sill happening. The night sky was orange, lit by a thousand streetlights; windows glaring out their inebriate parties and New York was swinging.
Joy and Jay, twins, walked huddled up together in the freezing New Years night towards the Plaza Hotel’s special Millenium party. Tickets bought and paid for by their gracious employers, First National Bank of America. The year was good, profits were up, Joy, director for currency trade in the Manhattan branch and Jay, director of special customers in the same branch were both dressed to kill. Since they were identical twins they chose to open the new millenium as indistinguishable babes. So, each five foot seven, athletic with silicon enhanced breasts and long auburn hair decided to wear under their extra warm woolen ankle length coats. Red body tight, short skirt dresses with black stockings and 3 inch high heels. Hair pulled back and a dab of make-up. They could have been cover models for vogue.
Jay walked arm in arm with Joy into the warm atmosphere of the Plaza Hotels lobby. A Blast of music hit their ears and they winced at the thought of leering, drooling, pot-bellied old men with wild fantasies waiting to be born. Steeling themselves for a very vivid memory to come, they walked towards the dining room that was now set as the Millenium party stage.
Their coats taken by a bellhop, they silently walked into the laughter filled room. Familiar faces stared back at them, and an occasional nod, a smile and sometimes even a wink, all but familiarized the twins with their parties occupants.
Jay walked towards the drinks table and ordered a Dom Perignon 1985, whilst Jay chose a Vueve Cliquot Ponsardin Grand Dame of the same year. Both lifted their glasses, smiled at the luxury of the moment and too a sip. Both ladies, 38 years old, unmarried, career women, decided that this year the would both get married and before it was too late, have a kid or two. After all, life goes on, and if they didn’t come to a decision soon, they would be old and rich, but with no outlet for their emotions and their monies.
Jay started to hunt, and Joy decided to wait a while until the crowd had thinned down to those that were either single and had no where else better to be, or of course the remaining drunks that smeared their stories until they became totally ga-ga.
The night grew older as they danced and sang, laughed at old jokes or at new ones. Discussed a number of subjects whilst constantly refilling their glasses with champers and their plates constantly filled with Danish smoked salmon, Buloga caviar and sometimes a Chevre de Pitou-Soignon cheese. The dawn came with a burst of silence. Jay and Joy were still single, but damn it, they had a wonderful time. Mind you that cute trader had a really nice accent and the cardiologist did have a gorgeous smile, and “Oh my, I could die for his after shave”. The 21st century started with a real good bang. Who knows, maybe one day soon there would be a double wedding. Time to start planning, but I guess we should go to sleep first, yes, a long long sleep.

00:10 R.T. 11:10 L.T.
New Delhi, India.
Rajib was still awake, he had a hard day and closed shop after two hours. His income dwindled as the tourist trade dropped. India wasn’t the ideal place for a New Years party, especially not the new millenium. Sitting with a hot cup of chai in his hands, and looking at the sparsely decorated white walls of his small apartment. Rajib listened to his wife’s shallow breathing and heard his youngest son’s movements in his bedroom. The TV was on the Bollywood film channel and the hero was singing as he slammed his opponent’s faces into various solid objects.
Rajib sold various look alike authentic Indian baubles. Made in some sweat shop in a distant district. Their worth was nothing and yet they usually brought Rajib a nice income to pay for his families clothes, children’s education and food for the table. Rajib was not an educated man, bur he had what is termed “street smarts”. He was average height, solid build, could talk a snake out of it’s skin and yet had a pleasant disposition that rarely grew flustered. None could remember Rajib ever being angry.
Today, Rajib was angry. His credit running low, he might have to take a loan. Rajib never took a loan in his entire life. Thinking about approaching the low life sharks that would take a kidney out whilst you ate lunch was not the kind of ideal future he had dreamt of. He could not go to the banks, only because he had no bank account. Never had one, never would. His income was too fluid and too small to warrant one. Anyway, most of his clients paid in small cash, and that money went straight away into purchasing his families needs and part of it went to replenish his depleted stocks. Only recently had his stocks depleted to nearly nothing and the remaining few went unsold. The thought of going to the trinket wholesalers without cash made him shudder. The dismal grim pitted warehouse. Small children with sweat pouring down their bodies as they moved crates from one truck to another. Smells of decay and must. The wholesaler’s shifting glances to large wads of money and his stupid snicker at the thousands of tourists that always awed and ahed at some small plastic rubbish that had no connection to the real India that they grew up in.
These depressing thoughts made him wince, it was time to find a new source of income. At forty years of age, after only selling trinkets, it was time to try what he had always wanted to do. Like all men, dreams of being a hero had never escaped his fantasies. His uncanny looks that were identical to Mustafa Baja, the Bollywood action hero had always made passer’s by take a second glance. Three months earlier, a Bollywood talent scout had spotted him behind his stall. He was even offered a role as a stand in for Mustafa’s more dangerous scene’s, when even Mustafa flinched at the thought of doing them. That was it, Rajib decided that this new Christian millenium would begin with a new source of income, maybe even a future with fame. Looking for the number of the talent scout, given to him three months earlier, Rajib decided to dial the number first thing in the normal hours of morning.
Taking a sip from his chai, Rajib settled back into his couch, closed his eyes and finally allowed his brow to settle down. His mind slowly oozing back into abstract pictures, colors and scenes, mingling into a new story that would be remembered or half forgotten as some dream.

00:15 am R.T. 05:15 L.T.
Venice, Italy.
Maria stared out over the Lido towards the dawn lit sky. New Years revelry was still well into it’s swing. Thousands of Venetians and tourists mingled along the promenade. Parties merged into each other, and no one cared about the drinking, since this was the new Millenium.
Maria was a nun, she was a devout Catholic, having wed Christ twenty three years ago, and serving as an educator of young women for those twenty three years all but formed whom she was today.
Yet, two thousand years ago, her husband, her father, her God, had taken all our sins and with his crucifixion, cleansed the world of evil.
So, than why did so much evil still exist ? Could it be that human kind was the source of evil ? That the good and the bad were but paths humans could take, and most chose to mix the amounts evenly. Few took the good path and few the bad. These thoughts had always troubled her. Remembering the work of an obscure philosopher whose tract “the path of man” basically said that God had given each person born a path in life, and with this route, each person was also given free will. Thus, you could take the path or stray from it. If you strayed, it could be towards evil, or towards good. The path itself was neither, it was just a route in which each person must take that will allow them to utilize their God given gifts to the utmost ability.
So, Maria had chosen to be a nun. Was this her true path, her destiny. As she looked over the rippled waters, colors of orange, red, white, blue and black all within each small ripple, winked back at her, as if saying, smile, stop thinking, enjoy the moment for what it is. Love us they cried out, love the material world, come, feel our caress, feel the soft touch of man’s hand on your thigh, feel his hot breath of lust beside your neck, smell his manly perfume and enjoy his strength. Feel secure in his grip, let man care for you, let man master you, let man be your joy.
Yet, Maria could not. Her mind so clouded with thoughts, a veritable smog of emotion swept her towards the sea front. Her thoughts went further into darkness, this birthday of Christ, here in Venice and not in the Vatican City or in Jerusalem or Bethlehem. Here in the sinking modern Atlantis, where glass and light shone with greater lust than in any other city she new. Here, thousands of people behind masks, hid their true destinies, their true paths. Maria new she had to find some way of preparing her young ones for this new yet not so wonderful world.
Maria hugged her black shawl around herself, shuddered at the cold and started to walk back towards her home. Her path was set, it had been set twenty three years ago. Her husband, the Christ, now directed her very actions in life. She must prepare her children, she must warn them of the dangers of the material world. Their souls must be ready for the evil that they will come to face with. They must be able to see the masks of humanities soul, and to be able to see beyond those masks. They must chose the path that God had set them and she, Maria, would do all in her power to ensure that when they left her care, they would be ready for the material wonders of the human world.
The cold, was not so cold, and party players watched the small black figure stride with some purpose down the cyan lit street, disappearing down a small alley. The party went, on.

00:20 am R.T. 14:20 L.T.
Somewhere in the Outback, Australia
George was nearly naked. Standing five foot five, thin, old and bent. George was seventy three years old. Aborigine, and proud. Hunkered down feeling the warmth of the sand where a ‘roo had just stood. His eyes scanned the dark horizon, seeking for more signs. His grandchildren were in Perth, it was the some kind of heathen festival, and all Australia had gone mad about it. So George left the city and came back home, back to his solitude and his ancestors. The heat of the afternoon sun beat down on his ebony skin, and his eye’s noted a slight movement near the rocky depression near bye.
Chewing on some eucaliptus leaves, the fragrance and the taste clearing his mind and his mouth of the filth and grime of the city. Fresh, hot air wafted around his body. He moved a wrinkled hand over his nearly bald pate and wrinkled his brow.
With sudden movement, George’s body as one single missile, flew three feet side ways and his hands encased a struggling lizard. He quickly bashed the creatures head with his spear, and laid it into the sash by his side amongst the two other small animals caught earlier on.
George stood up, placed the sash around his head and started off towards the encampment. Old James and wily Thomas would be there by now, gloating over their catches, each boasting of their prowess and spiritual guide that helped their instincts become one with nature. Well George would have none of that, he felt, no he knew deep down, it was all a matter of training, patience and calmness, expertise and the ability to use all your senses for the one purpose.
The sun was it’s usual hot self, felt more by the white’s, George pictured some fat lazy beer guzzling mechanic, wiping sweat profusely from his forehead with a greasy arm, leaving black and brown marks on his head. Smirking at the thought, George reached the clearing and his eyes opened wide in shock. There before him stood Thomas, James and a whitey mechanic type.
“What the hell is he doing here?” and before George could get his breath back James stepped in and answered, “’dunno, he just turned up about an hour ago looking for help for his car.”
George didn’t believe in coincidences, and the picture he had thought of earlier looked back at him in person. So much for not being spiritual he thought. Something weird was going on here, but you can’t turn a man down when asking for help in the outback.
George, James and Thomas walked along side the whitey towards his broken down car, all were quiet, until George broke the silence, “So, what you doing here ?” he asked.
“I’m on my way to Goolagong an me truck’ done a gonner on me. I need to get tow so’s I can reach Goola’ as soon as pos’.” and than half hurridly added “…and me name is Harry!”
George rasied his eyebrows at James and than Thomas mumbled “Tow’s a prob’ here, but if you want we can hitch ye a ride to Goola’ and than ye can return with yer own tow, owzat ?”
Harry smiled, a golden glint from a molar and said “That’s the New year spirit I love about Australia, it’s always there when you need it, thanks mates, sounds fine by me.” And he slapped Thomas’s shoulder, which made Thomas falter a step and cough.
They all walked in line to the truck, the sun burnt down upon their black bodies and Harries sweating head, not a sound was heard but the munching of gravel under boots and feet.

00:25 RT 05:25 LT
Paris, France
Jean Paul looked out of the window at the still dark Paris landscape. His apartment was situated on the front line of Sacre Coeur. His view was one of the most sought after in Paris, and his rent reflected this. White hands, manicured fingernails, clean shaven even after a long night. Slender, brown hair, clear green eyes and a high forehead all added to the intelligent look that Jean Paul had been nurturing for all his thirty four years of life.
His gaze darted from the Eiffel tower to the distant horizon lost in the darkness. Swiftly moving car lights dotted the many roads that lay below in the valley of Paris. The revelry was still obvious, even at this time, the millenium still produced enthusiasm not seen before in New Year parties.
Jean Pierre could only think about his wife, Maria, the daughter of a wealth Italian hi-tech company owner. She was currently in the hospital under observation. Their seven month old unborn baby was having difficulties. Jean Pierre did not understand all the medical gobbledy-gook and did not pretend to either. So all he knew was that his wife, his Maria, had to stay in the hospital until the physicians felt that she could either give birth or return home until the end of her natural term.
A hot cup of coffee swirled steam towards his nose. Olfactory senses kicked into action and his mind registered that he had prepared a cup of Nestle coffee. He took a hesitant sip and allowed the hot sweet coffee wash down his throat. The psychological effect of nicotine entering his body made his mind alert and his gaze notices more and more details in the streets below.
The telephone rang, his hand shot out and put the cream colored handset to his ear.
“Oui ?” his voice clear and high.
“C’est l’hopital, vouz est Jean Pierre Clonet ?” came the nasal request.
“Oui, c’est moi…what do you want ?”
“Your wife has been taken into the operating theater, the doctor has decided to perform a c-section And to deliver your child today.”
“Thank you…” he stammered and slammed the phone down. Jean Pierre rushed towards the door, grabbing his car key’s and dashing out into the foyer. He scrambled at the door to lock it and ran out of the building to his Citroen Xantia. He hoped to reach the hospital before his wife gave birth. He hoped his child would be healthy. He hoped for so much that his mind was racing like crazy at all the thoughts.
He swerved onto the main road and drove his car well over the speed limit, hoping that the police would not be lurking about somewhere. The car headlights cut into the dark, the streets were wet with rain and sleet. Swerving between revelers, cars and junk, he managed to reach the hospital within ten minutes. Parking his car hap hazardly, he dashed out and vanished into the lit hospital foyer.
Running up the stairs three at a time, he reached the second floor delivery rooms and with very little breath asked the night duty nurse where Maria Clonet was ?
“She is in the OR this very moment, they have successfully delivered your daughter and your wife is well too. She is currently in the recovery room and you can go in to see her.”
Jean Pierre’s face lit up, the New Year produced a New Baby and his smile was absolute.

00:30 RT 10:30 LT
Tel Aviv, Israel
Sharon looked out from her office window. The day was bleak, cold winds flying across the sea, rain drop’s spattering like flies on a windshield of jeep driving through Louisiana State, on the large windows of her office. It was the year 2000. Christians of all denominations had flocked to Israel to the Holy Places. Hundreds of Messiah Syndrome candidates had appeared, all spouting the end of the world, Y2K, Revelations and Ezekiel all in one. Sharon, an investment banker, could not relax, even on this holiday. She was wondering how the new technology crisis would effect the current markets.
The telephone rang, and Sharon hit the speaker button, “Hello, Sharon Even speaking.” A crackling static sound accompanied the message, “Sharon, Sharon, Hi, it’s Florence speaking, Happy New Year dear.” Sharon arched an eyebrow, Florence was an old acquaintance from her university day’s, a trader in London, working now for one of the new EC conglomerate investment firms. Wondering what she wanted after so many months of silence. “Oh, hi Flo, how are you, it’s been nearly a year now, how are you, and happy New Year.” Florence replied in a hushed tone “It’s fine over here, though were waiting to see the big bang developing, nothing too much happened yet, what’s on your side? Anything happening?”
So that was it, she wanted to get some information from as many sources as possible, thus enabling herself to make a more conservative analysis of which markets to cover and which to be wary of.
“It’s quiet here, nothing happening too much, no big disasters, what’s with your end, any major crashes?”
Florence replied in a quiet and sensible tone “None here, so, what happened to us, why didn’t we meet more often are talk more?” Sharon thought to her-self, look who’s talking, wonder-bitch in person, try to get close and all you do is produce claws. “I really don’t know, maybe the distance, the work the people in between, still its not too late, why don’t we meet somewhere in the middle, say, Geneva or Milan?” Florence’s reply surprised Sharon, but made her realize that leapords don’t change their spots. So, whilst trying to sound really disappointed Sharon said “Oh, darling, I really can’t, I would love to, but the preparations for the big crash of Y2K are too much to handle right now, I really couldn’t leave no in the middle of all these things. Clients and commitments you know.”
A silence on the other end of the line, three, four, ten seconds passed and than a hiss and a shouting ‘You bitch ! You supercilious shit ! You snotty nosed cow ! Here I am offering you a hand and you slap me in the face with your pretentious I am more perfect than though oh mighty business woman crap. Well you can go stuff yourself little madam, since I will definitely not be there for you when the crappers come down the tube. I hope you choke on all the shit that rains on you.” And the phone was slammed shut.
Sharon stared at the image of surprise that had etched itself on the window in front of her. Shrugged and placed the receiver down carefully. A smile passed over her face and she buzzed her secretary. “Tsipi, I’d love a coffee, thanks.” And sat back in her chair, feet up, what a wonderful world this is, when people fully realize what they are, in one quick phone call.
…and then the lights went out…and then the phones went dead…and then…

00:35 RT xx.xx LT
Panama City, Panama
Juarez stood with his arms over the thick concrete barrier over looking the canal. A barge was coming through the locks as it crossed from the Pacific to the Atlantic. A bottle of finest Russian Vodka was standing next to him on the barrier and it was half full, or half empty, depending on how you perceived life. For Juarez it was half full.
His wife, Clara, was in love with him, his wife’s sister, Maria, was in love with him, his next door neighbor’s daughter, Juanita, was in love with him. He was in love with Carlota, the local slut, with huge breasts and a libido that even a nymphomanic Aphrodite could not compete with. Juarez was a hot blooded male that thought with his penis, leaving his brain to ponder on more important philosophies of life.
The year was over, a new one was going to begin. For him, a new years day was like every other day, you went to sleep and got up in the morning. Like a Sunday, you didn’t go to work, and that meant more sex. Juarez took another swig of Vodka. Swilling the vaporous oily liquid around his gums, the night air cooling his body whilst the alcohol numbed his senses to the cold.
Now his mind was dim, and a warm sensation grew between his legs. All he could think about was Carlota, how much her pendulous breasts would sway when she walked or jiggle when she laughed. How her gorgeous wide lips and juicy tongue would fill his mouth with the hot sweetness of lust. He new what he must do, and do it now.
Juarez marched off towards Carlota’s house, the Vodka long forgotten. His member hot and hard, his mind leering at nude photo’s of sexual assaults and wrapped bodies, even the Kama Sutra would blush. As he neared Carlota's house he could even feel her warm mouth around his aroused member, sucking, slurping and licking him to a climax. Whilst his hands felt her wet hot hole and his fingers and tongue would bring her into an earth shattering orgasm.
Her house was the last one on the end of a dismal lit dirt track road. Encroaching palms and jungle growth threatening to devour it into its dark clutches. Smoke, rising from the small chimney, a tin roof with a lot heat warming it in the winters night. Like shadows of long lost lovers seeking mates in a netherworld, steam, rose from the roof in unison with the chimney smoke. Juarez grimaced at the thought of his member, spent, lost in the folding's of his whores hole and her laughter taunting his manhood to perform again and again. He grimaced at his life, so full of sensuality, manhood, sweat and desire. He grimaced at the look of love in his wife's eyes, knowing that they knew of his infidelity. He grimaced because Juarez was a Christian, a Catholic, a devout believer. He grimaced at the thought of confession and at the words of his padre, Father Christos, who angrily chastised him "You are in the clutches of the worst demon of all, your self, your own bad thoughts. You are in the clutches of lust, desire, self-satisfaction. You are lost to your own ejaculations, your own physical actions, your chemical desires, biological orgasms." Father Christos, the cleric, physician and lawyer. A great man in a little job. Juarez nodded in disgust and let his inner voice take over, his desire to release all, to come in a volcanic eruption of sperm and sweat. Juarez entered Carlota's house and saw her lying in bed stroking her vagina with one hand and massaging her breast with the other, moaning in self satisfaction. Candles burned their shadows away, showing numerous sexual toys aligned all over the walls. Vibrators, whips, dolls, pills and balms. All waiting to give her more and more pleasure. Carlota lived for self-satisfaction, lived for pleasure, lived for sex and the ultimate infinite orgasm.