We lived on a toll road in the Southern Abascoms near a water machine which rendered some of the more sensitive types speechless by inclination. My Dad specialized in trickery of all sorts and he made the most of meals taken inside one of the smaller inner rooms. I would bring him the vestments but he could only think about opportunities to train new members for dangerous missions. When he got bored, no one within miles could understand where he found the time to spread leakages whereas before only a smoother kind of crime victim could be seen sitting under a sun lamp locking eyes with anyone who dared to speak up. We might have considered having him write a few words on a pressure stamp to allay ungrounded fears, but then where could we retreat to when the current was suddenly cut off mid-stream?
During the weeks in the Summer, especially before 1975, we'd bring some of the animals with us as we traded on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. Everyone remarked on their behavior and how some of the survivors would get funny feelings if anyone showed signs of feeling downcast. Inasmuch as one of our creameries was experiencing grave repercussions, I took it on myself to set aside a few moments a day to collect whatever I could in the form of iron tailings downwind from the germinary where we'd placed mulched faith. To test the limits of our loyalty, I instructed a local tribune to deposit random names in roadside integuements, band them with chipper colors, and then, when the last speculator placed desirable firmware in our sidepill rectory, we would initiate a process of living slowly and eating very little. Everyone's hair seemed a bit 'funny' (not the ha-ha kind).
When Sheriff Jake Birnbaum gave us the boot on October 12, 1997, we hitched a ride East with the last docitel. You may have seen this one since the checkered apparati were well covered on local segments. After we lost our sequence and were forced to incite foreign factions to undertake immoderate tactics, not a few remaining stragglers were given to gross exaggerations. Anything from wind speed to finger lengths was open to incessant, deep questioning. All I knew was that answers would never be forthcoming unless we were given our due and restored to an aging power arrangement where no one would ever again be reluctant to express profound misgivings. I live by the code which I inserted on that very day. The scars on my hands will amply testify to that. And if anyone else decides to make a commitment to our cause, they should be given all the room they need to settle in a sparkling glade and ruminate in sanitary remonstrance. Please give us a second...
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