Oh Democracy

Snow falls sticky white
Gathered into hills and halls
Celebrate silence

We looked at the snowflakes, big, fluffy collections of near frozen water surrounding dust. Falling in collections of whiteness, gathering on the ground, stopping cars and trucks. The smart ones at least. 

“There goes another one,” said Osama.

“That makes five,” I replied.

We both watched as the red hatchback took the turn too fast and slid a good 15 feet before crashing into the barrier. At least this one didn’t hit another car. Or a pedestrian. What anyone would be doing outside walking in this weather I wouldn’t know.

“I bet insurance people hate snow days,” said Osama.

I looked at him. It was an odd thing to say. Osama often said odd things. I guess not everyone was made to be security. Though he did save my life back in ‘21. I guess that counts for something.

He’s coming back here
Like the rot of fall decay
Oh democracy

“So I guess you’re sticking around after all?” asked Sandra.

“What are you talking about?” I replied.

“You said you’d walk out those double doors with your black ass hanging out before you’d watch him walk back in. He’s coming and I don’t see your ass doing any hanging.”

I remembered those words. And she was right, my ass wasn’t out. It was hanging in this chair, watching the snow fall.

“Yeah, yeah. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you’d be halfway home.”

“Not in this snow. The turnpike is an ice rink and slow as death at that. I volunteered to do an extra shift. Might as well get paid to stay in the city.”

I suspected she voted for him. Not that she liked him or his policies or lack thereof, but more in the hopes that he would be back just to annoy me. She, in her heart of hearts, didn’t think I belonged here. And even deeper than that, she was jealous that I was twice as good.

“You think you’ll talk to him?” asked Osama.

He smiled sweetly at Sandra. He wanted in her pants, as old as they were both the pants and what was in them.

“Why would I talk to him? He doesn’t talk to us. He doesn’t even know we’re here,” she replied.

“Here comes another one,” I said.

“Is that a government car?” asked Osama.

“Nah. That would be secret service if it was,” said Sandra.

“It’s going too fast either way,” I said.

“Number six,” said Osama.

“Did you say sex?” asked Sandra.

“Six, not sex. Clean your ears out dirty girl,” said Osama, a smile on his face.

“Oh shit.”

It was number six. A bad skid, it was going to slam into the barrier or oh my, into that car. It hit. It hit hard. Where was the driver again? Oh no, no. That looked like smoke. Those were definitely flames. Where was the other driver?

“Oh shit. That’s definitely a government car,” said Osama.

“Secret service,” confirmed Sandra.

“We should call someone.”

We looked at one another. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Not for these clowns. We watched as the flames burned higher.

“I hope that’s not an electric car,” said Osama.

“You mean like the new ones that were ordered by …”

Not these clowns. Not my monkey. Circus is in town. 

We watched the flames. We heard sirens in the distance. Noone asked about the drivers, though the question hung in our eyes. 

January 6
Snow climbs the walls to get in
Oh democracy

Related stories – Lost It & Singapore Nudels.