c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-26)
In the colorful history of Evergreen Estates, every negotiating tactic had been tried at one time or another. Every measure of corrective discipline, employed. Every strategy for finding a resolution. Every educational opportunity, taken. Every teachable moment. Every chance for changing course. Every epiphany delivered, for the purpose of inspiration. And yet, nothing ever muted the siren call of futility. The shabby oasis remained rooted in hardship and self-reliance. It was not a place to raise awareness, or improve social standing. On the crumbling streets of this trailer combine, time itself had ceased to tick forward. There was no flow of mainstream consciousness, as in the outside world. Instead, one agonizing day was very much like those before. And any that would follow. That destiny had been chiseled in stone by the first inhabitants who came east from our county capital, seeking affordability and isolation. They did not know what would befall them on this former swampland property. A spot fortified with construction waste, rubbish, and landfill materials. But soon, a new tradition had begun. One of hopelessness and willful ignorance. A literal descent into dark pits of ruin, from which few human exiles would ever return.
So, it came as a something of a shock when the Proletariat Property Co-op issued their verdict on the stalemate at our park. This communique stung bankers and lenders throughout the area. And inspired disbelief with judges and elected officials. Yet it reflected the aim of those student volunteers and hippie veterans, to respect basic humanity over making a buck. Copies of their letter were jammed in every door-handle around the community. After finding my reading glasses, I sat with a tumbler of bourbon, and scanned the text, feeling great interest and curiosity.
“TO ALL RESIDENTS – Those of us in your new ownership group have given much thought to the situation at this mobile-home development. We understand that some leaseholders were upset with the $75.00 per month rent increase, originally set in motion by Wells Fargo Financial. It has never been our intention to cheat of defraud our patrons in any way. While we must exercise good judgment in expenditures on maintenance and operations, it is our desire to offer value to those who choose to live here. Therefore, we are announcing a two-phase plan to address these concerns. First, there will be a period of amnesty for all residents. Anyone who comes forward to resume paying lot fees may do so with no amount in arrears. No late charges will be applied. Everything will start over. Second, we will forego the extra charges that were implemented until one year from now. The savings for those of you who decide to remain will be enormous. Anyone with cash or credit issues is invited to apply for membership in our union of partners. We will do our best to help families weather the storms of inflation and economic chaos. If possible, we would like to avoid evicting anyone, for any reason. We ask you to cooperate with us, as we move forward to make this park better and more secure for the future...”
Down the street, I could see that militia commander Aimes Hefti was at the brown, pre-fab hovel of Linn & Haki Speck. He had a copy of the PPC literature in his gloved paw.
“HORSESHIT! THIS IS NOTHING BUT GAWDAMNED HORSESHIT! YOU’D HAVE TO BE A FREAKIN’ FOOL FER THIS, WHY TAKE THE BAIT? EFF THOSE BASTARDS! LET’EM CHOKE ON THEIR UNPAID BILLS! THEY CAN SHOVE IT RIGHT UP THEIR PANSY ASSES!”
Linn was red-faced and sweating, due to an unexpected thaw in temperatures. But oddly upbeat about the offer.
“Things are so expensive everywhere. My wife was searching for an apartment online, and the prices are crazy! We couldn’t really afford a move right now, you know? This deal sounds, well... pretty darn decent to me!”
Commandante Hefti spat out his chaw of tobacco, and began to curse.
“ARE Y’ALL NOTHIN’ BUT A DUMBASS LOSER? A CHUMP MIGHT GO FER THIS, BUT NOT ANYBODY WITH A DAMN SPINE! WE GOTTA STAND UP TO THESE IDIOTS! THEY NEED TO GET THE FRIG OUT OF OHIO! THIS AIN’T A PLACE FER PURPLE-HAIRED, PIERCED AND TATTOOED FREAKS! THOSE ANTIFA CLOWNS AND DRAG QUEENS BELONG SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN IN GOD’S COUNTRY! THIS STRIKE IS WHAT’LL MAKE IT HAPPEN! SHOW SOME BALLS, SOLDIER! GROW A PAIR!”
A commotion had arisen nearby, around the maintenance garage. There was a line of citizens at the office door of Dana Alvarez, our manager. Checks were piled in a stack on her desk.
“Ayyyyyy, it’ll take me all afternoon to process these rent payments. That’s a whole lotta dinero sitting there, boy! Dios mio! What a job!”
Aimes felt his supreme authority slipping away. He unholstered his sidearm, then ran down to the corner, firing warning shots in the air.
“NOBODY GIVE ‘EM A GAWDAMN CENT! SCREW THOSE JAGOFFS! WE GOTTA SEND A MESSAGE, NOT KISS ASS! HAVE Y’ALL FORGOTTEN WHO RUNS THIS PLACE? IT’S US, PEOPLE! WE GOT THE POWER! WE GOT THE NERVE! WE GOT THE GUTS AND GUNS! WE GOT OUR RIGHTS!”
I was still on my wooden bench, with a jug of Kentucky spirits. The burn in my throat offered hope. Soon, I would be very drunk, and insulated from the reality of living in a dirt-poor cluster of modified shipping containers. That alone kept me focused on surviving the day.
“Give it up, commando. Nobody is listening now. You’re a eunuch, buddy. A bellicose, loudmouth with nothing left in your boxer shorts...”
My opponent by the park office could not hear this crude observation, of course. As I watched from a safe distance, he foamed at the mouth, stomped his combat boots, and howled angrily.
“LET’S GET ON THE MARCH, TROOPERS! TELL THAT COMPANY BITCH Y’ALL AIN’T GONNA GIVE HER NOTHIN’ FER THE MONTH! NOT A DAMN THING! TAKE BACK YER CHECKS! RIP ‘EM UP! RIP ‘EM UP RIGHT NOW, RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER FACE!”
Though the liquor had already taxed my brain cells, I did some calculating on the porch. Cutting the increase would cost about $900.00 per home, for a whole year. Multiplied by at least 100 residents who refused to pay, that added up to a considerable sum. I wondered how the owners would cover that disparity in their ledgers. Still, it was a gesture that seemed to resonate with the rank-and-file.
Conditions in the atmosphere were fluctuating, once again. Strong winds were sounding, with loose skirting and debris blowing across the boulevard. I knew that a forecast for more freezing rain and snow had been issued. Yet somehow, I was warm inside.
With this latest crisis behind us, the continuum at Evergreen Estates would go on, without an interruption. It was our life sentence, to be served in full. Humbled and hobbled by fate, we were the inheritors of an inglorious legacy. One written in mud and booze. And the ashes of summer bonfires, long since extinguished.
I raised my drink skyward, and offered an alcoholic toast of sorts.
“Here we go, Lord. Another damn year at Evergreen Estates!”
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