CCLaP Weekender: August 22, 2014

CCLaP Weekender

From the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography

August 22, 2014

New fiction by Joseph G. Peterson Photography by Elena Pezzetta Chicago literary events calendar

August 22, 2014 | 1

THIS WEEK’S CHICAG

For all events, visit [cclapce FRIDAY, AUGUST 22

6pm Kitchen Culture: Subversive Domesticity

Jame Addams Hull-House Museum / 800 S. Halsted / Free uic.edu/jaddams/hull/hull_house.html Food writer Emily Hilliard leads a panel discussion with contributors from the new cookbook Leaders From the Kitchen, described as a "window into the kitchens of Belizean and Nicaraguan women who lead (and feed) their communities." Following the discussion, Garifuna drummers and a women's dance troupe perform, and there will be food courtesy of Garifuna Flava, a local Belizean restaurant.

6:30pm Mike Harvkey and Josh Weil

City Lit Books / 2523 N. Kedzie / Free citylitbooks.com The authors discuss their newest books, In the Course of Human Events and The Great Glass Sea. 7pm TallGrass Writers Guild

The Book Cellar / 4736 N. Lincoln / Free bookcellarinc.com A performance from various members of this writing guild, all along the theme of "Dressing Up." 7:30pm Lisa Marie Brodsky, Rita Mae Reese and Nathan Hoks

Women & Children First / 5233 N. Clark / Free

womenandchildrenfirst.com The writers perform from their newest books.

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GO LITERARY EVENTS

enter.com/chicagocalendar]

SATURDAY, AUGUST 23 10am The Chicago 77: A Papermaking Workshop

Columbia College Papermaker's Garden / 728 S. Wabash / Free colum.edu Margaret Mahan and Drew Matott conduct a one-day papermaking workshop at Columbia College Chicago in conjunction with the Poetry Foundation's Chicago 77 project, a 77-line poem comprised of found text and objects from each of Chicago's 77 community areas which will be assembled into a handmade book.

1pm Poets & Patrons Critiquing Workshop

Harold Washington Public Library / 400 S. State / Free poetsandpatrons.net A free writing workshop hosted by the local organization Poets & Patrons. Being held in the library's third-floor room 6N. 10pm Open Mic

Delphic Arts Center / 5340 W. Lawrence / $10 facebook.com/delphicarts A monthly late-night open mic for poetry, music, comedy and more.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 24 2pm Northwestern University Summer Grad Reading Series

The Green Mill / 4802 N. Broadway / Free, 21+ scs.northwestern.edu/cw/ The final installment of the university's summer reading series by recent graduates. This show features Rebecca Bald, Patrick Allen Carberry, Phallon Perry and Alisa Ungar-Sargon.

7pm Uptown Poetry Slam

The Green Mill / 4802 N. Broadway / $7, 21+ slampapi.com International birthplace of the poetry slam. Hosted by Marc Smith.

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7pm Asylum

Le Fleur de Lis / 301 E. 43rd / $10

lefleurdelischicago.com A weekly poetry showcase with live accompaniment by the band Verzatile.

MONDAY, AUGUST 25 8:30pm Open Mic

Kafein Espresso Bar / 1621 Chicago Ave., Evanston kafeincoffee.com Open mic with hosts Chris and Kirill.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 26 6:30pm The CCLaP Showcase: Amber Hargroder

City Lit Books / 2523 N. Kedzie / Free citylitbooks.com Join the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography for the August edition of its new reading series, this month featuring local playwright Amber Hargroder as well as six open-mic slots. To sign up for a slot in advance, please write cclapcenter@gmail.com.

6:30pm Julia Keller

The Book Stall / 811 Elm. St., Winnetka / Free bookstall.indiebound.com The Pulitzer-winning journalist reads from her newest "Bell Elkins" mystery novel.

7:30pm 2nd Story

Untitled / 111 W. Kinzie / $18 2ndstory.com This month's show features Senyo Ador, Rebecca Kling, and Ozzie Totten.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27 12pm Daniel Levitin

The Book Stall / 811 Elm. St., Winnetka / Free bookstall.indiebound.com The author reads from his newest book.

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5pm Jeff Zwirek

Challengers Comics / 1845 N. Western / Free challengerscomics.com The author signs copies of the new reprint of his book, Burning Building Comix.

7:30pm Roxane Gay

Women & Children First / 5233 N. Clark / Free

womenandchildrenfirst.com The award-winning author reads from her newest book.

9pm In One Ear

Heartland Cafe / 7000 N. Glenwood / $3, 18+ facebook.com/pages/In-One-Ear Chicago's 3rd longest-running open-mic show, hosted by Pete Wolf and Billy Tuggle.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 28 6pm Jan Morrill

Harold Washington Public Library / 400 S. State / Free chipublib.org The author reads from and signs her newest book, The Red Kimono.

7pm Stoop Style Stories

Rosa's Lounge / 3420 W. Armitage / Free facebook.com/StoopStyleStories A new storytelling reading series.

To submit your own literary event, or to correct the information on anything you see here, please drop us a li To submit your own literary event, or to correct the information on anything you see here, please drop us a line at cclapcenter@gmail.com.

August 22, 2014 | 5

ORIGINAL FICTION

“Let me tell you something, Sid,” Connie said. “One of the weirdest guys I ever met—” “Yes.” “—was this guy Mario or something.”

I’m lying next to her in bed, whiling the afternoon away.

“Oh come on, be nice.”

“I’m serious, Sid. He was freaky weird and if I hadn’t been low the night I met him at Sweet’s Lounge—I mean if I hadn’t been bottoming out.” Connie took one last drag off her fading cigarette, then snubbed the butt in a tiny blue dish that lay next to her bed. “I mean, Sid,” she said, exhaling, “You have no idea. I was practically living on the streets at the time. Jeremiah, that asshole, had just kicked me out of his apartment after three months of fighting.”

ROMANCE AN 6 | CCLaP Weekender

Photo: “Why is the rum gone???,” by Greg Younger [flickr.com/gregor_y]. Used under the terms of his Creative Commons license.

ND RESPECT

BY JOSEPH G. PETERSON August 22, 2014 | 7

“Be nice,” I say again, playing idly with a ring on her finger.

“We were literally going at it, hand-to-hand combat, when he kicks me out. Then a three-week bender ensues. Then comes this guy, a complete stranger, Mario or something, and he finds me when I’m at my all time low— rock bottom. I mean I was drunk. I didn’t know which way was which and that’s when he stepped into Sweet’s. The whole thing was part of the bad karma that was due me for all the wrong I had committed.”

“Nonsense. There’s no such thing as bad karma. And I’m sure you didn’t commit no wrong.”

“Give me a break, Sid,” Connie said. “And believe me, I’ve gotten mine and then some!”

“Well, then, go on.”

“So there I am, minding my own business, when this guy walks in off the street. There are literally twenty vacant stools lining the bar. So what does this guy do? Of course, he takes the stool right next to mine. Where else is he going to sit? He takes one look at me and sees how low I am. I’m disheveled, a wreck, drunk and he probably crushes on me right then and there. Maybe he’s a predator or, who knows, maybe he’s just another lonely drunk. He says, ‘Hi I’m Mario,’ or something—I think that was his name, and he complements me on the way I look. I mean, Christ, I hate being complimented on my looks—especially when I’m drunk. It’s embarrassing. ‘You’ve got pretty hands,’ he says. I look to Rudy for help but Rudy pours him a beer and sets it down and forgets about us. So I take my hands and hide them in my lap. Then I make a decision. I tell myself that I’m not going to have another drink for five more minutes and if, in those five minutes, I can pull myself together, then I’m going to leave and go see what’s happening on Division Street.

“So Rudy is watching TV and this guy is drinking his beer and staring at me trying to find a way in with me when he says, ‘Excuse me, miss. Can I tell you my theory on love?’ But I stare off like I don’t hear what he’s saying. I’m sitting there thinking about everything under the sun, thinking about all the different ways I’m going to move on with my life now that I’m no longer with Jeremiah, when he asks again if I’ve ever been in love. I mean, just like that, point-blank, he turns and says, ‘Have you ever been in love?’ I mean, excuse me, can’t you see I want to be left alone? But I don’t say anything. I figure talking to him is only going to get him going, so I pretend like I don’t hear his question and go back to thinking about moving on with my life. But he carries on anyway, as if my silence were consent. ‘Have you ever been in love?’ he asks. And again, a third time, ‘Have you ever been in love?’ So at that point, I look at him. I mean, I’m—fuck, how low can you go? I’m as low in life as I’ve ever been, so I say, ‘What do you think?’ ‘Don’t know,’ he says. ‘Hard to say,’ he says. ‘Have you?’ That’s when I look at him like he’s crazy. I mean, he doesn’t even know my name. He doesn’t know shit about me. What gives him the goddamned right to poke his nose into my business?

“But I’ll tell you something else, Sid. I think—and this is the really selfdestructive part—I think, well, if he’s going to be one of those guys who keeps 8 | CCLaP Weekender

going off at the mouth, maybe I can get a drink out of him. I’ll have a couple of drinks and ditch him. I’ll go to the bathroom or something and escape out the window. I’ll head to Division Street. So I answer his question. I say, ‘No, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, at least not in this lifetime.’ And the truth is, at that point—the state I was in, I half meant it. With that, he asks if he can buy me a drink and I say, ‘All right, I’ll take a Bailey’s and Irish whiskey’ which I figure will help coat and soothe my stomach. And he tells Rudy, ‘Barkeep, I want to buy this pretty girl a drink.’

“Rudy could care less what’s going on. He’s just standing there, pretending like he’s absorbed in the TV when what he’s really doing is just waiting for this nutcase to leave so he can finish telling me his own story about his two-timing wife. I’m so vulnerable that night, who knows, Rudy might even be planning how to get me to do a quickie with him behind the bar after he closes the place. So Rudy pours my drink and sets it carefully down on a coaster so it doesn’t spill. And Mario says to me, he says, ‘The reason why I ask if you’ve ever been in love, is because, believe it or not, just by looking at you, I would guess that if you haven’t been in love, you sure as hell want to be in love, but if you have been in love, it looks like you were hit hard.’ I mean, Sid—” Connie broke off laughing and placed her hand on my chest. “Talk about a pick up!”

“Well, what did you tell the creep?” I asked.

“What do you think I said?”

“I don’t know, tell me.”

“Well, at first I didn’t say anything. But then to have some stranger who you’ve never seen before come up to you in a bar and be able to tell, just by looking at you, that you’ve been ruined by love or the lack of it—I mean, Sid, you can understand, it touched a nerve.

“Then he begins, with great excitement, telling me that he’s read all these philosophy books on life and love and what he calls the Great Thereafter. And he used those two words: ‘The Great Thereafter.’ He quotes philosophers and poets on love and he refers to a booklet he has—a pamphlet with all these rules inscribed in it—and he’s explaining and explaining this complicated theory of love until I can’t take it anymore, so I say to him, I say, ‘All right, all right. Everything you say may hold up in a court of law, but those people who wrote in all those books don’t know anything because they’re all dead and, as far as I can tell, not one of them died of heartbreak. Because if they had, they wouldn’t have been able to write about it in those books. So, what do you have to say about that?’

“‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think I do know something about heartbreak, if that’s what you mean.’

“‘You do, huh?’ I say. ‘That’s improbable by the looks of you.’ And, for a moment, I thought I saw him blush. But then he looks me in my eyes and asks what my name is, so I tell him. Then he says to me, ‘Connie, wherever you go in life to find love, don’t ever forget one thing—that romance and respect both begin with the letter R.’ He looks at my hands and then he gazes into my eyes with such intent August 22, 2014 | 9

that I try hard to return his gaze. ‘Yeah, well, so what?’ I say.

“‘I’m just saying,’ he says. ‘Don’t forget that R is the magic letter that ties it all together. You need to bring romance and respect together to make love.’

“’No, you don’t,’ I say. ‘That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.’

“Then we both start laughing and that’s how he tried to pick me up that night. And I’m telling you, if my resistance hadn’t been low, if Jeremiah hadn’t done all those things to me that he’d done, then I would have never been in that goddamned hole of a bar to give him a chance in the first place.

“Anyway, Mario asks if I need a ride home. I mean, we have one laugh, and already it’s like he wants to take me to bed. So I say to him, ‘All right, Mario. I’ll take a ride if you feel like you have to be my designated driver and I’ll disprove your theory as well if you want me to. Otherwise, you can just respect me and buy me a cab and send me on my way, because I’m too drunk to know which way is which.’ But as soon as I say this, Mario makes his move.

‘How about a little romance first,’ he says. That’s when he places his hand on mine, touching my lap, and he pushes the hair off my face. He looks me in the eyes as if appraising me and then he kisses me. I mean, Sid, he kissed me right here.”

Connie pointed to a spot just beneath her left eye.

“Romantic, huh? A big slobbering kiss beneath my eyeball. But then, and I’m telling the goddamned-to-honest-truth, he starts to seem cute to me.

Gross, right? But let’s not forget, it’s late at night, I’m drunk, and I’m feeling low, and I want to do something to wash away all the bad things Jeremiah’s done to me. That’s when I decide to return the favor and kiss him back. Who knows what kind of can of worms I’m about to open, but then I figure, hey, what the heck. So I hold Mario’s hand in my lap and I give him a long, slow kiss on the lips and my head starts to spin. ‘All right,’ I say. ‘I don’t have all night, nor does Rudy, so let’s get going and find that cab.’ I grab my stuff and get up to leave, but Mario grabs me by the arm and pulls me back in my seat.

‘Hey, stop and wait,’ he says. He wants a final round before we go. I give him one kiss and already he feels like he can lay his hands on me and push me around. That’s when I pull my arm free and look at him like he’s crazy. ‘Don’t ever do that again,’ I say. ‘Now let’s get the hell out of here, before I make a scene.’ But Mario is firm with me. He grabs my arm again and sets me down and he says he’d like to have a toast before we go. So I look at Rudy. Rudy looks at me and grabs the bottle of Jameson. I figure, what the hell—if it’s okay with Rudy, it’s okay with me.

“‘All right,’ I say. ‘One last toast.’

“‘What should we toast?’ Rudy asks setting up a round for three. “‘To the Great Thereafter,’ Mario says, raising a glass. ‘May we all get there, safe and sound.’

“’I ask for a cab and this is what you want to toast? The Great Thereafter?

What the hell?’

“Rudy tosses his shot back, he grabs his rag, and starts wiping down the bar. But I drink my shot nice and slow and I give Mario another kiss as a sort 10 | CCLaP Weekender

of insurance policy to protect myself, because at that point, to be honest with you, I don’t know where this is headed and I want to try and indemnify myself by being nice. ‘All right,’ I say. ‘Now, let’s get out of here before I pass out.’ So Mario collects his things, I collect mine, and Mario pulls out a bunch of bills and throws them on the bar for a tip, as if he’s paying off Rudy or something.

You know, like hush money.

“‘Hey, Connie,’ Rudy yells after me, collecting the money. ‘You going to be okay?’ But Rudy’s just asking, not because he cares about my welfare or anything, but because he wants to know if I wouldn’t rather stick around for a quickie with him. He knows what I’m capable of because he knows Jeremiah.

“So I say more to myself than anything, ‘Don’t worry, Rudy. I’ll be fine.

I mean look at me. I’m fine.’ But as I say this, I notice that my voice seems strained. I mean, Sid, I don’t even sound like myself because I wasn’t fine.

I was scared. I was alone in the bar with these two predators and, at that moment, I was feeling more lonely and vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my life. That’s when I decided to turn and leave.

“‘Say hello to Jeremiah when you see him,’ Rudy calls after me.

“‘Say hello to your wife,’ I yell back as bravely as I can.

“The next moment, Mario has his hands on me and he’s trying to help me walk out the bar. When I try to break free, he says, ‘Easy now, Connie. You’re drunk.’ I mean, Sid, he was trying to control me like he was helping me walk the plank or something. Like, any step now and I’d fall off the edge of the planet and he was there to save me.

“It occurs to me that I can still turn back and escape out the bathroom window like I planned and escape for Division Street. But he pushed me along. “‘Come on Connie, that-a-girl,’ Mario says, helping me down the long, dark corridor towards the door. ‘You can do it. Alls it takes is a little balance and a sense of direction.’ He points and pushes. I grab hold of the door, pull back, and I feel his hand on my ass. And I’m telling you, maybe it’s because I’m so drunk, but the door is heavy and slow to open. Mario comes in close and pulls the door to help and he squeezes my ass at the same time. He yanks the door open, and with his hand getting a firmer hold of my ass, he he pushes me into the street. ‘You’re fine,’ he says again. ‘Balance and direction.’

“As we step outside, I have a strange feeling like I’ve spent my whole life in bars getting picked up by men and I’m sick of it. I never want to be picked up by another man so long as I live. That’s when Mario pulls me into a space, this narrow gangway between the buildings, and pushes me up against the wall and puts one hand on my ass and his other on my breast and he kisses me so that I nearly suffocate and, for a long moment, I don’t even know where I am.

“‘All right,’ Mario says, ‘Where shall we go, your place or mine?’

“And I’m telling you, Sid, I’ve seen it all before, but that night, I felt like I was in a situation that was getting out of control. All I wanted to do was go home and lie down in my own bed and not have to think about men for a August 22, 2014 | 11

while. But Mario goes back to kissing me. He kisses me against my will. I’m so drunk, I can’t keep him off me. His tongue is on my neck. It’s in my ear.

One of his hands is trying to pull my skirt off. His other hand is reaching for my bra clasp. I feel my head bouncing off the brick wall. I want to scream for help but I can’t find my voice. ‘Kiss me,’ he keeps saying. ‘Come on. Kiss me.’ His lips are pressed up against mine, his fingers fumble for the zipper on my skirt. I hear him say, ‘I love you.’ He says, ‘I feel like we have something here.’ He says, ‘I feel like you’re somebody I connect with.’ He says, ‘I’m glad I rescued you.’ He says, ‘I can’t believe how truly beautiful you are.’ He says—but, Sid— “I start to laugh. I laugh because I can’t believe my miserable life more than anything. I laugh till the tears start pouring down my face and as I laugh my voice comes back to me. ‘Are you crazy?’ I scream through the laughter.

‘Do you think that just because I’m drunk, you can come pick me up and get away with this kind of thing?’

“I laugh right in his face and through the tears, ‘Leave me alone, asshole.

I want all of you to just leave me alone!’ And I literally said that: ‘All of you.’

Then I somehow pull free of him but he reaches for my arm and grabs me again and pulls me back into the gangway and I somehow wriggle free and he comes after me again and reaches and catches my sleeve and I break free again and I run out of that gangway as he shouts after me to stop and wait and I keep running onto the street as fast as I can. But I’m drunk and running isn’t all that easy. And the streets are crowded with people all of a sudden and I’m trying to fix my skirt. And my bra is falling off. What’s more, it’s like I’m staring at the street with a pair of binoculars that I can’t hold still and the whole world is shaking. Then I become aware of how cold it is. The wind is cutting through my clothes. I feel like, no matter what, I can’t let him catch me. So I keep running. Stop and wait, I hear him yell. I run down Michigan Avenue, up Oak Street, and cut across to Rush. I run until I feel like I have some distance between him and me, some distance between me and the rest of the rotten world—and, Sid, I tell you, I just keep running. And as I’m running, I swear I hear Mario’s voice screaming after me. ‘Hey, Connie,’ he screams, his voice echoing from the heart of the city. ‘Don’t forget what I told you. Romance and respect!’ His voice echoes after me so that it’s like all these men are screaming those words, piling them on top of me and burying me.

His voice races down the street. It rips around street corners and it follows me all the way to Division Street, where I try to hide in the darkest subterranean dive I can find. ‘Don’t forget, Connie, what I told you about romance and respect and that I love you!’”

Connie was quiet for a moment. She reached for a cigarette. She tapped it on her thumb, lit it, inhaled. “And even now, Sid, after all these weeks, I swear to God I can still hear his voice coming after me, screaming from inside my head. ‘Don’t forget what I told you about romance and respect and that I love you!’”

Connie put the cigarette in the tiny blue dish and removed the rest of her 12 | CCLaP Weekender

clothes so that her body was bare and naked. There were still bruises on her breast from where Mario squeezed her. They were yellow and faded. There was a scrape on her shoulder and scratches on her neck and arms. Just then, she placed her hand between my legs and started to kiss me.

“Isn’t that the craziest story you ever heard, Sid? Isn’t that the craziest thing?”

“It’s the craziest thing,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“I mean, all those voices screaming after me about romance and respect.

It’s so invasive it breaks my heart!”

All of a sudden, Connie started laughing. She laughed so that it came out the pit of her eyes. She laughed until it made me laugh. And we lay there for a long time in her bed, just laughing. C

Joseph G. Peterson grew up in Wheeling, Illinois. He worked in an aluminum mill and in the masonry trade as a hod carrier to pay for his education at the University of Chicago. He is the author of four novels: Beautiful Piece, Inside the Whale, Wanted: Elevator Man and Gideon’s Confession. He lives in Chicago with his wife and two daughters. His story collection Twilight of the Idiots, comprised of the pieces being published in this magazine over the next year, will be put out by CCLaP in 2015.

August 22, 2014 | 13

Featuring

Amber Hargroder plus six open-mic features

The CCLaP Showcase A new reading series and open mic

Tuesday, August 26th, 6:30 pm City Lit Books | 2523 N. Kedzie cclapcenter.com/events

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To sign up in advance for an open mic slot, write cclapcenter@gmail.com

Elena Pezzetta PHOTOGRAPHY FEATURE

August 22, 2014 | 15

Location: Bari, Italia What about me?

I’m 19 years old; mostly a strange, solitary and unrestful person.

I still remember the first time I took a photo: I was about 10 years and I went to the oceanographic with my family. I started taking photos to dolphins doing their ordinary show and I was so surprised something magic like that could happen! I couldn’t help but taking photos and I promised to myself I would have done it more and more often.

The reasons why I photograph now are severe ones: I photograph to create some perfect, ideal world; a shelter for myself and for other people. Sometimes, I photograph by instinct, to release anguish, pain and obsession. Sometimes, I photograph for not being, for escaping from the worries of existence. Other times, I photograph to be present to myself.

I guess I need to show the beauty of things. That doesn’t mean I “add” beauty by any means or I transform reality. I just take things and people as they are, caught in a particular moment, with a particular expression or invested by a particular light, just to show to other people there’s still some kind of magic in the world, something to believe in; that beauty is everywhere and it can cut you into two.

Photography is also (and almost) an interior travel. So many times, only after taking some shoots, I realize that the things I put outside, are first of all inside of me. Feeling, places, stories.

For what concerns my camera choice, I haven’t got any spectacular equipment and I don’t want to have any. I’ve always used bridges.

I used to shoot with a Canon Powershot SX20IS, then I bought a Fujifilm Finepix S4500. I love bridges; they’re useful, comfy, and little.

What truly helps me and the reason why my photography exists is that I am a great observer. I always find so much inspiration in nature (that’s also why I love travelling). I guess there are some contemporary artists who inspire me, but most part of ideas and concepts come to me as a vision, as I were in a state of dream, as lightning strikes. I lay on my bed and a scene takes shape in my mind; I walk down the street and ideas or images come to my mind and I just have to realize them as soon as possible.

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CCLaP Publishing

An official painter for the Lithuanian Communist Party, Martynas Kudirka enjoys a pleasant, unremarkable life with a beautiful wife and all the privileges that come with being a party member. Yet in the summer of 1989, his ordinary world suddenly turns upside down. Political revolt is breaking out across Eastern Europe, and Martynas comes home to find his wife dead on the kitchen floor with a knife in her back. Realizing the police will not investigate, he sets out to find his wife’s killer. Instead, he stumbles upon her secret life. Martynas finds himself drawn into the middle of an independence movement, on a quest to find confidential documents that could free a nation. Cold War betrayals echo down through the years as author Bronwyn Mauldin takes the reader along a modern-day path of discovery to find out Martynas’ true identity. Fans of historical fiction will travel back in time to 1989, the Baltic Way protest and Lithuania’s “singing revolution,” experiencing a nation’s determination for freedom and how far they would fight to regain it.

Download for free at cclapcenter.com/lovesongs

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The CCLaP Weekender is published in electronic form only, every Friday for free download at the CCLaP website [cclapcenter.com]. Copyright 2014, Chicago Center for Literature and Photography. All rights revert back to artists upon publication. Editorin-chief: Jason Pettus. Story Editor: Behn Riahi. Layout Editor: Wyatt Roediger-Robinette. Calendar Editors: Anna Thiakos and Taylor Carlile. To submit your work for possible feature, or to add a calendar item, contact us at cclapcenter@gmail.com.

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