Day 13

Day 13

I hope the town I'm working in sinks into the sea. Every street is shaped like an ampersand or a lowercase cursive Q, with about ten dead-end roads branching off. Along the way to this shithole I stop to get gas at a service station. Every appliance, drink cooler, or otherwise available space is covered with stupid signs, ie “NO!! free refills! You will be charged same amount as your cup” and “Please throw 'all' trash into basket!” The cashier is very thin, harsh-looking woman in her mid-30s talking to a heavyset blonde woman regarding a recently fired employee: “I knew she was stealing when my inventory was $3800 short.” Very clever, detective. Other flotsam from this conversation included “Now Tammy's calling Stacey and begging for her job back.”

Later, while I'm canvassing the public housing projects, a barefoot woman in a housedress beckons me over. “Mr Davis?” she asks.
“No, I'm with the census bureau. We're verifying addresses in town.”
“Census bureau? What's that?”
“We're making sure the addresses are correct and sending out a mailing at the end of the year to count the population.”
“I didn't get my check.”
“No, we're not sending out checks, we're just making sure the addresses are right.”
“Oh. I'm number 331, and that's 332.”
“Thanks.”
She walks away and a few minutes later I see her cackling with delight at something the maintenance guy is saying.