c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-26)
Townshend Lincoln had never been particularly popular with other residents at Evergreen Estates. But while this status might have embarrassed or worried most inhabitants of the trailer community, it gave him a sense of validation. He did not seek to be beloved by anyone. Certainly not those who swelled the isolated park with their numbers. Along his crumbling avenue, there were rusted-out vehicles, piles of lumber, broken windows, sagging rooflines, and longbox homes being heated with tree stumps or construction debris. He had little in common with any of those struggling exiles, except for a condition of poverty and hopelessness. That alone made him fit the neighborhood paradigm. He was lost in a social vacuum of downward mobility. Deeper in debt and darkness, with each passing day.
Yet when the afternoon arrived, and his stash of beverage alcohol was tapped, suddenly, that woeful slide halted. He felt invigorated by drunkenness. Revived, resurrected, and reborn. Only with the arrival of some wandering fool, or well-meaning missionary, did any sense of the outside world appear. Otherwise, he remained blissfully disconnected, and content.
After opening a fresh jug of Kentucky bourbon, as it rained gently over the outside edge of his inset porch, he felt a flush of redness in his cheeks. Then, footsteps sounded from the bottom of his access ramp. They were light, and quick. As if someone were about to visit, but as a result of duty, not free choice.
Park manager Dana Alvarez had her black hair pulled back with a red bandana. She wore running attire, as if in the midst of a jog around the perimeter of their property.
“Heyy! Buenos Dias, Viejo! How are you, old man? I don’t get around to inspect lots too much, the maintenance guy does that for me. But I heard about some trouble here, yesterday. So, I want to ask what went down, okay? Now, don’t get twisted about it! Just tell me why you whacked somebody’s truck, maybe the rumor was a lie even. I don’t know! This place is always kinda crazy, I don’t believe too much with no proof.”
Lincoln had emptied his whiskey tumbler, before she came to call. He sat the glass on a railing by his wooden bench, and leaned forward over both knees.
“Look, if there was gossip going around about me, I don’t really give a shit. Nobody showed up from the sheriff’s department, so I figured it was a settled score. I handled it...”
The property supervisor shook her head, and groaned out loud.
“Link, you always got a cabeza dura, bruh! A hard head! Which is not big deal with me, you pay your rent on time, every month. Your check is always the first in my drop-box. And you don’t mess with people. That is why I have to ask, because I get no complaints till now. What happened, compadre? Dios Mio, you put a hole in some dude’s windshield? With your fist? Show me your hand, is it broken?”
The boozing hermit grinned slightly. Then nodded for affirmation.
“C’mon, simmer down. I did it with one of my canes. The square handle is like an icebreaker! Oren Kronk was too damn belligerent with a lady across the street. She likes to sing in her yard. I didn’t appreciate his attitude...”
Dana narrowed her eyes.
“He was mad about that? What the heck?”
Lincoln nodded again. He wanted to resume swigging his liquor, instead of answering pointless queries.
“She don’t get her words right sometimes. She messes ‘em up. The woman is Russian, her native tongue is a damn mystery to me. I don’t know how they can read with all those backwards letters, and such. Anyhow, that pissed off the cowboy. I’m a little bit surprised that he’s no fan of Dolly Parton. I thought everybody liked her music...”
The ownership steward crossed her arms and huffed.
“He gets snippy with me too. Pendejo! He can beso my culo grande! Two times!”
Lincoln lifted his bourbon jug, as a salute.
“He got a pass at first, I wanted to let it slide. My bones were already aching. But that mouth wouldn’t quit. He seemed to think I was too crippled for combat. I don’t have a lot of patience when shit gets stirred up...”
Dana tilted her head to one side.
“Nobody from the policia pounded on your door? No sheriff either? No sirens screaming? Nobody kicking your wall?”
The lonely resident shrugged and took a sip of brown liquor. He had grown tired of the inquisition.
“Nah, not at all. Nothing. I figured he might have a burr under his saddle, and call for reinforcements. But those people know me pretty well. I’ve stayed on good terms with the law since moving to this rat hole. You know, I’ve lived here a long time. I’ve seen a lot of stupid shit. Unless there was a good reason to move off my spot, I would’ve stayed put. The gendarmes know I can’t walk too good. I can’t do much of anything, these days...”
Their park master closed her eyes, while smiling broadly. She could not hide her satisfaction over hearing of the redneck instigator being humbled.
“Honest, old man, I’m kinda surprised you had bolas that big! You are still a bull, I guess! Viva Link! Viva Link!”
He snorted, and scratched his gray beard. In truth, he felt more like a broken mule. But accepted her compliment gratefully.
“Yeahhh, I’m slow as hell ma’am, but not dead just yet. I can still rock when it’s time fer a fight. That woman across the street ain’t a nuisance to me. She don’t bother anybody. I don’t give a frig if she works in her flower garden, and sings along with her tunes...”
Dana sighed and patted the shaggy alcoholic on his shoulder.
“No worries. If I get a call, I’ll tell them I don’t know nothing. But stay clear of Mr. Kronk, okay? You can’t pay your lot rent from jail!”
The contrarian drunk raised his eyebrows, with defiance. His tone of voice elevated to a roar.
“YOU TELL THAT COWPOKE TO KEEP AWAY FROM THE CHEESE LADY AND HER DAMNED FLOWER BED! AND BY GOD, STAY THE EFF AWAY FROM ME!”
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