c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-25)
Townshend Lincoln was still groggy and disoriented, while drinking coffee in his living room at Evergreen Estates. But despite being barely conscious, he already had a thirst for beverage alcohol. Something that nagged him from the point of leaving his bed in the morning, until oblivion finally overwhelmed his senses, later in the day. As he sat pondering the weekend ahead, a newscast reverberated from his television. He used the flatscreen device more for background noise than receiving any useful information. Yet a story about the South-African billionaire who had become so notable for his role in attempting to reduce waste, fraud, and abuse in Washington, made him embrace his temporary sobriety.
He sat upright in his chair and peered through a residual haze of liquor, at the images being displayed.
“After serving in the administration of Donald Trump through DOGE, the Department of Government Efficiency, suddenly Elon Musk has had a change of heart in how business is being conducted at the executive level. He posted on X, his social media platform, that the bill being pushed through Congress by loyalists of the MAGA movement is a ‘disgusting abomination.’ Strong language for someone who has until now, been an ally and supporter of our 47th POTUS...”
For residents of their rural trailer community, a similar epiphany had arrived. After most inhabitants vociferously supported the effort to root out unnecessary costs, and trim the bloated federal budget, they chafed at having a similar plan instituted at home. As services were eliminated in their development, the woes of living in glorified shipping containers became even more challenging. Then, the most basic of all privileges was taken away, their right to rent and inhabit lots on the isolated property.
Efficiency had come to mean closing the neighborhood completely, and liquidating all of the assets, on-site.
Upon surrendering to his whiskey addiction, and taking a seat outside, on his wooden bench, the reclusive hermit noted that dumpster bins had been stationed at the front corner of each street. Yet piles of refuse were everywhere. In a silent protest, members of the population were discarding furniture, broken appliances, and other rubbish, wherever it landed. By the curb, in yards and in between homes, and even at the abandoned maintenance garage. No one seemed to care about the park itself. A mood of discontent had turned into total disaffection. With the notice of a mass eviction having been given, nothing mattered.
Judge Alten Sleeman, who remained in charge of the pending case, received a petition from Wells Fargo to provide some sort of legal relief, as this situation became more unruly. But upon reading the details of their plea in written form, he literally tore it in half. After decades on the bench as an adjudicator, he had never been so enraged by the careless conduct of an out-of-state operator. His black robe shimmered, as he gestured with obvious ire.
“WHEN THEY HAVE OFFICERS OF THE ASSET MANAGERS AND THE BANK APPEAR IN MY COURT, THEN I’LL BE INCLINED TO TAKE THEIR COMPLAINTS SERIOUSLY! UNTIL THEN, I DON’T SEE OR HEAR THEM, OR KNOW THEY TRULY EXIST! GOOD RIDDANCE TO THEM ALL! IT IS AN ACT OF MERCY THAT I DON’T ISSUE ARREST WARRANTS FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED!”
Attorney Fortrell Koch fled the chambers, fearing for his own safety. He quit shortly afterward.
By an official decree from the county commissioners, Sheriff Tom T. Rath was instructed to keep order at least, as residents vacated their mobile homes. But in a rare show of defiance, he refused. One lone deputy was sent to observe on the progress of this mass exodus, and report back as needed.
“I’D RATHER GIVE UP MY BADGE THAN PUT ANYONE IN HARM’S WAY ON THAT WORTHLESS PATCH OF DIRT! IT’S BEEN AN EYESORE AND A NUISANCE FOR YEARS AND YEARS! I WON’T SHED A SINGLE TEAR OVER IT BEING GONE! IT’S A HEADACHE I’LL BE GLAD TO LOSE!”
Linn Speck was heartbroken at having the underpinning of his residential association eliminated. He sat at the kitchen table, sorting paperwork left from his last signature drive, and scrolling through corresponding entries on his laptop computer. His jowls sagged, making him feel prickly and damp from days without shaving. He was still in an undershirt and boxer shorts, even when the hour had reached midday.
“What can we do? Where can we go? This was the last place we looked for a home, the last stop on our journey, you know? There’s nowhere else left!”
Haki, his rotund spouse, flipped her dyed hair and scowled.
“I don’t know honey! I just don’t know!”
Her husband groaned and brushed crumbs off the fold of his overfed belly.
“I know that somehow, Link was involved in this. He’s a menace and a troublemaker! Everything always comes back to that old, smelly drunk!”
The middle-aged woman was confused by this burst of twisted logic.
“Honey, he’s out of a place to live, just like us! How would it be his fault?”
Linn slammed both fists on the table. His violent motion sent bric-a-brac scattering from the top of their refrigerator.
“If he’d joined the association, maybe it might have made a difference. Some people around here actually listen to that horrible bastard! Why, I’ll never figure out! He’s juiced up every day! I can catch a whiff of liquor every time we drive by his trailer!”
Haki snorted with amusement.
“Maybe you’re right. But he’s bound to have a harder time relocating than us. Who would rent to a shaggy mess of a man like that? He looks like someone who lives in a cave!”
Both of them chortled over the peril of their sad, unsociable neighbor. For the moment, it provided a distraction from thoughts about their own unhappy situation.
At Lot 13, Lincoln had managed to drink half of his bourbon reserve, by noon. This wash of high-proof spirits had him teetering on the crude porch. His eyes were already blurry, and weak. Yet being numb kept him from worry. He did not fret about the prospect of a demolition crew being sent to clear their property, for a future sale.
Once again, the hayseed twang of his bloodline came into effect, vocally.
“I’ve wanted out of this dump fer a long, damn time! I’ve prayed and dreamed about it, and all that shit! But I never thought it’d come down to bean counters doing their bookwork! I guess this is a ticket back to the shed in my friend’s side yard, up by Lake Erie! Woo hoo! I’ve lived there before, and dammit, I’ll do it again! No water, no electricity! No bills, no neighbors, no police. You want efficiency? That’s it in a gawdamm nutshell!”
He lifted his bottle and swallowed hard.
“Like Janis Joplin sang, ‘Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose!”
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