The Tides of Progress

If Napoleon had lived a few decades later his exile home might even have been equipped with a Waterloo instead of a pit toilet.

Birth of a Nation

   Bobol stopped when he reached the trail around the pond. He’d run downhill the entire way, stuck to a bank above a ravine, detoured only for hazards.

   Evening dawned, dinner hour and he smelled cooking—midway between Branch House and Hall, he was uncertain of which kitchen. Bobol seldom skipped meals, tonight he had no appetite, the idea of company was repellant—except an urge to be with Roxie…

   Still the drug, he told himself—the woman is a psychotic monster.

   The need ravaged him, he had an erection, desperately wanted to please it… Roxie’s pixie eyes filled his mind.

   She was probably with Leon and Chattagong…

   Suddenly, he wanted to kill.

   ‘No!’ he told himself.

   He reeked, pheromonal sweat covered every pore.

   Without removing shoes or jacket, Bobol ran into the water and threw himself under. Fed by icy springs, the pond shocked his system, he let out a yell—it echoed.

   He wanted to drown but was too practiced a swimmer—he didn’t know how.

   Then three gunshots cracked across the gloaming.

School Games Girlfriend Posse

Sitting in a row, awaiting Homer: Kaila, Patricia, Arrolon, Naomi. Upon the bench outside the Tower Gate Bridge. Below them the creek ran into a small dammed pond full of squealing children. Four adult monitors in shorts and hats stood knee deep.

Naomi: “I’ve lost my two best teachers… I’m recruiting.”

Patricia: “Who are the prospects?” Arrolon smiled knowingly.

“You—all three.”

Arrolon: “Of course… ”

Kaila: “I had teaching in mind when I joined Mel’s class but I became the replacement medic… ”

Naomi: “Mel started out with first aid training... One of these days older kids will be sneaking away from supervision, we want them prepared for when they wander into trouble—it’s inevitable.”

Patriotism

    I recently went out with Sacramento River Partners and picked up trash alongside Chico River Road. It wasn't as nasty as you might imagine, I learned that at least one area couple practiced safe sex at least once.
   One element of the debris was worthy of notice and comment:
   America's favorite beverage manufacturer , Anhauser/Busch puts their flagship product, Budweiser, into Fourth-of-July themed red, white and blue cans. Thirsty patriotic Americans suck these things down like cheap lies, then they throw Old Glory out the window of their vehicle (Whadyoubet it's a truck), no doubt some of these guys will set cans up on a log and use them for target practice.
   Makes me proud of my fellow Americans.

Still Life with Geology and Voodoo

It was a small still, it would fit upon a stovetop in any household kitchen. Peter had used it, briefly, in the earliest days of Homestead, but it wasn’t convenient to his Townie life in those times when Jody/Bokassa’s industrial sized still was handy. Years later Leon discovered it underneath a mat of creeping vines and he hauled it to a more private location.

The kettle sat in a tripod base, everything was of an alloy that conducted heat three times more efficiently than copper. Running batches twice through produced clear liquor, ninety percent ethanol.

Chattagong took his diluted halfway with the sweetroot syrup used for tea.

Derek, red hair and eyes, huge flaring ears, wide rosy cheeks and a florid blob nose, sipped it raw, washed it down with cold spring water from a flask.

One of those mountain places, easy to reach if you know the way, impossible to find if you don’t. A crazy spot for drunks, a ledge on a canyon wall, sudden death cliffs on three sides. But a fallen tree made a parapet, a windscreen and a bench, a niche amid the boulders sheltered the still, the space between was large and flat enough a dozen people could dance beneath the stars.

The final quarter-mile approach was over bare rock terrain and never a footprint revealed the way.

Leon showed the path to Bobol.

Scariness Update

An update on the sign...
I looked at it and discovered that it is half-inch metal plate, the bullets don't even go through
And it it welded to steel posts--I don't have any way to remove it
The business, so called Christian Boy's Ranch, was forced to close many years ago. The owner was operating an unlicensed recycling company, dumped a lot of toxics (dry cleaning fluid) on the site.
Meanwhile he was collecting donations from people that saw infomercials on televangelist programs.
It never sheltered any disadvantaged youth (stated mission)
I think he went to jail

I can maybe show the hazard to a sheriff's deputy, but I don't expect much will be done

Scariness

    There's a roadside sign idiots use for target practice, on the further side is a row of homes, my trailer included. There used to be almond trees in the field but they were cut down, now I am wide open. The distance is long, maybe a mile, my neighbors and I are probably safe. But who knows?
    The sign is for a business that no longer exists. I think I'm going to take it down and remove the target.
Bet the Sheriff comes by and messes with me for vandalism or something.

Comings and Goings

First thing next day:

A tractor rode up to Lucy's gate, Homer operated. It circled the turnaround and parked. Erin and Grube's tents were struck, the campfire seating logs rolled away under the trees and the ashes watered cold. Four departing colonists waited: Grube held Sikar II, Erin held Grube's elbow and Christina stood on her far side.

Homer stepped from the cab and went to the rail: “Ready?”

Erin didn’t speak but had Grube walk her to the ladder. Christina followed and looked up at Homer: “We have a crate in Newton.”

“I’ll stop for it.”

“You don’t need to escort us.”

He smiled and nodded, wiped a speck of dust from his brow: “There’s a tractor shortage, I have to bring it back.”

Erin reached the catwalk: “So you honor us with your presence one final time.”

“I have nothing better to do today. And it’s time I checked in with Peter and his crew.”

“So long as we aren’t an inconvenience.” She took her future husband into the cab, to the forward seats, rotating them to face the rear.

Christina held the Administrator in a long sober stare.

Homer: “Is there something you want to say?”

“I won’t waste the air.” She went to her seat.