textfiles/magazines/UXU/uxu-478.txt

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	 [  A Trailer Park Fairy Tale  ]   [  By M. James Dinniman  ]


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A Trailer Park Fairy Tale

by M. James Dinniman


I was dreaming of Helen Hunt when I was awakened by a knock at the door. My
first thought was: Tornado! There's a twister a'coming and they've come to
let me know. But as soon as the whiskey induced cobwebs fled my mind, I
realized that was impossible, it wasn't even stormy outside. Besides, I
wasn't in Kansas anymore. I had packed up my lawn flamingos and moved my
trailer from Hampton to Phoenix after the factory had shut down almost a
year ago. I looked at my clock and it announced that it was 4:17 am, an
ungodly hour.
   I got up, wearing nothing but my boxers and went to the entrance to the
trailer. I chained the slide lock and cracked opened the flimsy door.
   "What do you want?" I asked the large shadow standing outside.
   "I was wondering if I could give you a blowjob."
   The man stepped into the light of the bug zapper, and for a moment, I
thought I was hallucinating. The man was tall, about 6'6, and fat, about
350 pounds. He was black. None of those things however, not even what he
said, caught me as off guard as what he was wearing. The man was covered
head to toe in saran wrap. It was wrapped up both legs, across his enormous
girth and arms, and up his neck to his head. The only parts of his body that
I could see were his hands, eyes, nose and mouth. "I live a couple of
trailers down and I needs it real bad, I've seen you standing out on Van
Buren before and I know what you do. I'll pay you good."
   I wasn't about to let this freak into my home. "First off, it's
four-thirty in the fricking morning, second off, when I work, it's only the
weekends, and third, I never work at home." I started to shut the door.
   "Wait!" he yelled. A dog somewhere down the row started barking, causing
an inevitable chain reaction. A couple seconds later, every dog in the damn
trailer park was howling. "I got $400 to pay you!"
   I hesitated. $400 would pay the lot fee for my trailer for 2 months, and
I hadn't been doing too good lately money wise. I didn't sell myself very
often, I had a real job too. I only did it when I really needed the cash.
However, Village Inn was seriously cutting back on the hours they gave me,
and that damn cigarette tax just about ate up all of my funds. I weighed my
options. "O.K. I have two questions for you." He stared at me vacantly. I
asked the man, "First, why the hell are wearing that?"
   "Wearing what?"
   "The saran wrap."
   "It keeps me safe," he answered as if it was stupid question.
   Wonderful. "Second question. You live in trailer, how can you afford to
pay me $400?"
   The man brought his hand to his chin as if had I asked him what the
meaning of life was. After a moment of silence, he looked to the left and
to the right and then he whispered conspiringly, "It's the spending money
the FBI gives me 'cause I told them about the aliens."
   "Maybe some other time," I smiled and slammed the door in the guy's face.
The prospect of $400 wasn't worth the possibility of being bludgeoned to
death or having my pecker bitten off by a psychopath. He knocked on the door
a couple more times. If I had a phone I would've called the police, but he
eventually went away. I sighed, I knew I would never get back to sleep. I
had to be to work at nine anyway. I was out of smokes so I grabbed a box of
cereal and a warm 'Chihuahua' brand beer instead. I flipped on the TV and
sat on my duct-tape bean bag chair. I stole cable from my neighbor, but
without a box I only got channels 2 through 13. The only thing on was the
news and some cartoon on channel 3. I chose the cartoon and dug into the box
of cereal.
   At least the day had started off interesting. Of course the rest of it
would probably drag on just like every other tedious weekday. I would work
from nine to one at Village Inn. They used to give me 40 hours a week, but
now they only gave me 20. After work I would half-heartedly search for
another, better paying job, but I would always end up at the same place.
'The Jasmine' was my kind of bar, cheap beer, a jukebox that played Elvis,
and the same crowd every night, trailer trash like me. I would sit next to
70 year old toothless Jake Evans and we would talk about Kansas where we
both grew up. I would drink JD till they cut me off, or my money ran out,
whichever happened first. I would stagger home and go to bed. The next day
I would do it all over again.
   The weekends however, were a completely different story. If I decided
that I needed some extra cash, I would start preparing myself the moment I
got home from work on Friday. I would take a shower and shave my body. I
would usually dress in my button-fly black jeans and wear my blue silk
shirt. I had some tiny plastic sampler tubes of some designer fragrance and
I would dab some of the cologne on my wrists, neck and crotch. At about 7 pm
I would walk the two miles to Van Buren street where all the prostitutes,
mostly females and transvestites, collected. I would stop at Osco on the way
and buy a six pack of lubricated spermicide condoms. There was a particular
corner for the male hookers. We were an eclectic, always changing group.
There were usually anywhere from 5 to 15 of us hanging out on the corner at
any given time. Every week there was someone new and every week a 'regular'
mysteriously stopped showing up. Though mostly in the late teens or early
20's, our ages ranged from 14 to 40.
   Although we were all prostitutes, each one of us was a completely
different person. Some of us were gay, some, like myself, were not. I would
never do anything with a guy unless I was getting paid for it. Some only did
particular things, like give oral sex or hand jobs. The young ones were
always picked up first, but eventually, a car would pull up and I would get
in.
   The Johns were all different too. I got everything from Catholic priests
to 75 year old drag queens who wanted me to call them 'Mommy'. Once I even
got picked up by a real-live woman, but that's a rare occasion and I would
be lucky if it ever happened again. I charged them based on the type of car
they drove and what they wanted. If it was a guy in a Hyundai that wanted a
blowjob, I would ask $25. If it was a Doctor in a Lexus that wanted sex, I
would ask $200. If I asked for too much, or even too little, they usually
kicked me out and drove away.
   After a couple hours of warm beer and TV, I decided to take a shower. By
8:30 I was ready to go to work. Village Inn was about a 1/2 mile away and
since my only transportation was on cinder blocks in the front yard, I had
to walk. Jerry Bennett, my next door neighbor, was getting on his motorcycle
as I walked out the door. Instead of his normal jeans and a t-shirt, he was
wearing a suit and his hair looked recently washed. It was the same suit he
had worn on the Ricki Lake Show when he went on to talk about his midget
sister moving to Utah and marrying into a harem.
   "Hey Jerry, what's with the suit?" I asked as I headed for the sidewalk.
   "Today's the big day!" he smiled proudly with a thick southern accent.
His gold front tooth gleamed proudly in the sunlight. The very top of the
dragon tattoo on his chest peeked out above his collar and tie. The engine
to his motorcycle roared to life and he yelled over the rumble, "We're going
to the state su-preme court today!"
   "The supreme court?" I hollered, "You mean about the power line thing?"
   "You betcha!" he beamed. "If they over-turn the ruling, me, poor little
Jesse, and Elmira are gonna be one millions of dollars richer!"
   Jerry was suing the electric company because he claimed the electric
magnetic pulses (or something like that) from the power lines above his
trailer were what caused his kid's birth defect (he had no lips). The
electric company's lawyers would probably be intrigued to know that Jesse
and Elmira were first cousins. So far every court had found for the power
company anyway, and this was Jerry's last conceivable appeal. "And we's
gonna win this time, I got an ace in the pocket!"
   "Whatcha mean?" I asked.
   "I got a friend from the swap meet that works for the power company," he
pronounced it 'cump-nie', "and we's found out who the judge is, and I got
him to turn off the judge's power for the whole past weekend. He erased
every record of the judge ever paying his bill. By the time we get to court
today, that judge'll be mighty pissed at the 'lectric company. He'll be sure
to give us the money, 'specially after he sees poor little Jesse."
   "Does your lawyer know about this?"
   "Hell no! He'd shit purple twinkies and die if he knew what I'd been up
to! Elmira don't know either, and don't you go telling her!"
   "Sounds like you have it all worked out!" I yelled as he drove away on
his Honda.
   "It's money in the pocket!" he yelled over his shoulder.
   I shook my head and continued on my way to work. It was a miserable day
to be walking. Most people believed that July was the worst month in
Phoenix. They were wrong, it's August. Just before the monsoons start, and
the humidity starts to rapidly build, the air becomes almost unbreatheable.
The heat actually sticks to you and doesn't let go. The longer you are
outside the more the tangible hell starts to weigh you down. It has a way of
beating all the optimism out of you. By the time I reached the street my
work was on, I was seriously contemplating quitting my job, and calling an
air-conditioned cab to drive me home. It's kind of funny how sometimes what
you wish for comes true in strange ways.
   I saw the smoke before I saw the flames. When I did see the flames, I
realized that they were bursting from the orange and green roof of Village
Inn. My work was burning down! There were four or five large fire trucks
spraying the flames with no visible progress. About 20 police cars were
haphazardly parked on the street and the cops were running around,
apparently doing nothing. I ran to the large crowd that had gathered near
the burning building and sought out a familiar face. Frannie, one of the
waitresses, was standing by herself, covered head to toe in soot, staring at
the fire, smoking a cigarette. "Frannie!" I yelled, coming up to her, "What
the hell happened?"
   "Village Inn is on fire," she whispered.
   "No shit!" I waved my hands at the building, "How did it catch on fire?"
   She turned to me. "You know Laurie Lee, the new assistant manager?"
   I nodded. I hadn't met her yet, but I had heard that she was pretty nice.
   "Well I guess she used to be a hooker, and her pimp didn't like the fact
that she was trying to clean herself up and burnt the place down. I'm lucky
to be alive."
   "Jesus," I muttered. Just then the roof collapsed with a huge BANG!,
sending firefighters scattering and sparks flying. The crowd was thoroughly
impressed and gave a complement of "ooohh's" and "aaahh's." "How do they
know this guy did it?" I asked her.
   "They caught him I guess," Frannie pointed to a ring of police I hadn't
noticed earlier. I turned, expecting to see a black guy wearing bell bottoms
and a big hat with a feather in it, but in fact it was a white guy wearing
an ASU shirt.
   "He's a pimp?" I said incredulously.
   "That's what they say."  Frannie said as she took another drag from her
smoke.
   "I wonder if we're still going to get paid on Friday." I asked, mostly to
myself.
   "I hope so," Frannie answered, "I got two youngins."
   Eventually all the Village Inn employees found each other and gathered on
the corner. Ronnie, the head manager, came too even though he was supposed
to be on his vacation.
   "OK everyone, listen up!" Ronnie looked like he had been crying. "For
now, there's nothing we can do. Lets all just go home and we'll be in
contact with you over the next couple of days."
   "What about our jobs?" Hector, a Hispanic dishwasher, yelled, "Are we
supposed to get new ones or what?"
   "Yeah!" someone else yelled, "And are we gonna get paid on Friday?"
   "Look," Ronnie said, rubbing his eyes and sitting down on the curb.
"Right now, I know about as much as you do. Just go home. I'll let you all
know what's going on later." Most everyone just shook their heads and got
into their cars. A few of us, Hector, Ronnie, Frannie, and I stood around
for awhile to watch the firefighters spray water on the remnants of the
building. Ronnie looked like a man who had just lost everything. A single
tear ran down his cheek and he kept clenching his hands into fists.
   "Hey boss are you O.K.?" Hector asked.
   "I'll be fine," Ronnie answered. "It's just that I owe these guys a lot
of money, and if I'm not working..."
   An old man, hunched over and leaning on a cane, hobbled up to Ronnie and
interrupted him, holding out a small piece of paper. "This is my pre-paid
senior card. It was only good at this Village Inn! I haven't used all my
dinners yet and I want a refund!"
   Frannie leaned over and whispered into my ear, "That's the old guy who
always gives me problems. He never tips and he complains about everything.
I swear to God, I'd give anything just to wring his neck."
   Ronnie lifted his head from his hands and looked at the old man "Well
sir, there's nothing I can do for you right now," he said.
   The man cracked his cane on the sidewalk. "I want my goddamned $25 back,
and I want it back now!" He moved closer to Ronnie, spit flying from his
dentures. "You are the manager and you're gonna give it to me, you're gonna
give it to me right now!"
   Ronnie stood up to face the man. He was easily a foot taller than the
irate customer. "And what if I say no?" he said, putting his hands on his
waist.
   The old man raised his cane to point it at Ronnie's face. "I'll report
you to the Silver Panthers! We'll make your life a living hell!"
   Ronnie's eyes darkened and I immediately thought, oh shit. "You want me
to give it you?" His voice had turned almost to a whisper.
   The old man lowered his cane. "Yes I do. I want you to give it to me
right now."  Ronnie's foot flashed, kicking the cane out from under the man.
It tumbled into the street. The man surprisingly kept his balance. Ronnie's
face was suddenly an unbridled mask of pure rage. The old man started to
say something but stopped, suddenly backing up when he looked into Ronnie's
eyes. I just stood there, unable to intervene. Ronnie had always been the
soft-spoken type, very polite and happy-go-lucky. It seemed surreal,
watching Ronnie advance on the old man.
   "Kick his ass boss!" Hector yelled, bringing me out of my trance.
   "Jesus I think he's really gonna hurt him." I said.
   "Naw he's just fucking with him," Hector laughed. "It's about time these
asshole customers get what's coming to them."
   Ronnie bent down and picked up the cane from the street. The old man was
muttering something indistinguishable. No one else seemed to have noticed
what was going on. The old man turned and started to try to run away but he
slipped and fell with a loud crack!. He started howling in pain. "My hip! I
think I broke my Goddamned hip you bastard!"
   "Aw poor little baby," Ronnie smiled as he raised the cane above his
head. He brought it down with a grin right into the man's midsection. He
raised the stick and brought it down again, and again. The man shrieked in
pain with each blow. Some police officers were standing only a mere 100
yards away, but their backs were turned and they couldn't hear over the
noise of the fire engines. After the six or seventh blow, the man's
screaming stopped. Ronnie kept beating him. Suddenly my feet came unglued
and I ran to him, grabbing the cane from his hands.
   "What the hell are you doing?" I yelled. "Jesus Christ I think you killed
him."
   Ronnie turned to me, a glazed look in his eye. "Yes, I believe that I
did." He turned around walked to his mini-van, got in, and drove away.
Hector, Frannie, and I just stood there, our mouths agape.
   "Well that's not something you see everyday." Hector said.
   "I think it's time to make our exit," Frannie whispered, backing away.
   "We can't just leave him here!" I couldn't take my eyes off of the old
man.
   "He's fucking dead man! There's nothing we can do. Let's get out of here
before the cops see us!" Hector yelled.
   Cars were driving by right where we were standing. About a 100 people
must have seen the incident, but no one had stopped, or said anything.
   "It's a sick world we live in my friends," I said as I started to walk
down the sidewalk, away from the dead man. After a minute or so of walking,
I looked back to see a couple of kids with bikes were standing over the old
man. I turned back around and continued on my way. The kids would tell the
police, and if by chance he was still alive, they'd get him to a hospital.
I was originally planing on walking all the way to the Jasmine, I needed a
drink, but realized it was only about 9:45. The bar didn't open till noon.
   I stopped at a bus stop and sat on the bench, contemplating what I would
do for the rest of the day. I was still pretty shaken up over everything
that had just happened, and I was feeling more than just a little guilty
about the old man. I sighed and rationalized to myself that it was too late
and there was nothing I could do now. There was a Denny's about a block
away, I could always apply there, but I wasn't really wearing my job
application clothes. The idea of walking all the way home, changing, and
walking back was not an inviting one. I really didn't want to spend money
on a cab, and the bus didn't run to the trailer park.
   "Excuse me, do you know what time the 10:00 bus arrives?" a gravely voice
asked me.
   I looked up to see the most disgusting man I had ever seen. Obviously
homeless, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that both looked like they
were pulled from a corpse found in a sewer. He smelled like polish sausage
that had gone bad in a broken meat locker. He was about forty years old.
The most disgusting feature of this guy however was his teeth. They were so
grimy you'd think he'd been eating chocolate pop tarts and mud pies his
whole life without once brushing. I felt sick to my stomach. He sat down
right next to me. "Uhh," I answered, scooting as far to the left as I
could, "at 10:00 I guess."
   "It figures," the man answered. "You know the bus people are all
communists."
   I didn't answer, trying my best to ignore him.
   "Hey do you got any money?"
   I turned to him, "I have no spare change, sorry. I don't even think I
have enough for the bus."
   The man laughed. "I wasn't asking if you had any money for me. It's funny
how pwople always seem to get that sort of thing mixed up. I was wondering
if you wanted some money?"
   I sighed, wondering if I had a sign on my forehead that read, 'Crazy
people please talk to me!'
   "I could always use some extra money."
   "I was planning on giving this to you a long time ago, but I didn't
really think you deserved it then. I still don't now, but it doesn't really
matter anymore anyways. I just want to watch your reaction." He pulled out a
dollar bill and a lottery scratch ticket and handed them to me.
   I almost asked, "What the hell are you talking about?" but decided I
didn't want to know. Just smile and nod. That's what you're supposed to do
to crazies. I stuffed the bill and lottery ticket in my pocket. "Thanks."
   "Just remember," he said, "Money isn't everything." He stood up.
   "If that's true," I smirked, "then I must be missing out on a whole lot."
   "As your fairy godfather, I hope that today you will realize what you
just said is very true." he answered and started to walk down the sidewalk.
A car honked and I looked away for a fraction of a second. When I looked
back, he was gone! He couldn't have disappeared that fast! I stood up and
looked around for a minute, but couldn't see him anywhere. His stench still
lingered though. He must have ducked into the shopping center behind me I
finally decided. I didn't believe in fairy godfathers, especially not ones
that were homeless.
   A group of four or five kids, all about 13 years old, rode by on bikes,
shouting names at me. One of them tossed something in the trash can near
the bus stop. Another poured a red slurpee on my shoes, and rode off before
I could knock the little shit off his bike. I contemplated running after
them, but decided not to. Nowadays kids their age packed heat. I swore and
kicked the red ice off my shoes before it soaked in and made my socks wet.
   Curiosity getting the best of me, I looked into the trash can. The kids
had thrown a wallet in and I pulled it out. Before I even opened it up, I
knew whose wallet it would be. The picture of the old man from outside of
Village Inn glared back at me from the driver's license. His name was
Vernon Yarnish. The kids probably hadn't even told the police about the
corpse! They had just taken his wallet and probably took the cash and
credit cards. I wondered it he was still laying there, unnoticed. I rifled
through the wallet, but there was nothing except his license, about 10 used
up Village Inn senior cards, and a picture of him and a lady I assumed was
his wife. I took the license, I could probably get a couple of bucks for
it, and tossed the wallet back in the trash.
	I sat back down on the bench and wiped my shoe off with a piece of
newspaper. The bus was coming from down the street, but I had no idea where
I wanted to go. Digging into my pocket I pulled out the dollar bill and
lottery ticket. It was one of those tickets where you scratched of the
silver stuff to see if you won anything. It was called 'Tic Tac Dough'.
The ticket proudly announced 'If you scratch off the same dollar amount
three times either vertically, horizontally, or diagonally then you win
that amount!' Using my thumbnail, I scraped away the first horizontal row:
$20,000, $10, $10. Wow, I had almost won ten dollars. I scratched the
second row: $1, $20,000, $10. If the last number of the third row was a
$10, then I would be that much richer! I had never won anything fair and
square before in my life and I had to admit that it was kind of fun.
Nervously I scratched the third row: $1, $2, $20,000. Damn it! No $10 for
me. I started to toss the ticket in the trash, but suddenly a chill ran
down my spine and I looked at the ticket again. I read the instructions
again. 'If you scratch off the same dollar amount three times either
vertically, horizontally, or diagonally then you win that amount!' I read
the ticket over and over. I had won $20,000! With shaking hands, I turned
the ticket over and read the prize claim instructions.
   The bus pulled up just then and opened it's doors for me. The Arizona
lottery prize claim center was just down the street. I slipped the dollar
the bum had given me into the machine and climbed aboard with shaky legs. I
sat near the front, clutching my ticket in my sweaty hands. My breath was
starting to come in slightly ragged breaths. I had never had $20,000 at one
time ever before in my life.
   I sat in silence, almost like a trance, as the bus took me the seven
blocks to the lottery claim center. I jumped off the bus and ran inside,
still clutching the ticket in my hands. A secretary, obviously used to
excited people rushing into the building, gave me a knowing smile as I
rushed up to her desk.
   "O.K. first off," she said, "Take a few deep breaths." She was rather
pretty. Long blonde hair and blue eyes made her look like a model, but I
wasn't thinking about sex at the moment. "Now, was it the lottery,
powerball, fantasy five, or a scratcher ticket?"
   "It's a scratcher ticket," I said holding it out for her to see. "I won
$20,000!"
   "Wow," she said, "Congrats! Let me call down a lottery executive and we
can arrange deliverance of your money."
   I sat down on the leather couch and waited for what seemed like an
eternity. The big clock above the desk read 10:30 when a tall man in a suit
came out of a door and shook my hand. He hesitated when he saw me, I
realized I must look practically homeless myself with the soot all over my
clothes and red slurpee staining my shoes. After a moment he smiled and
walked up to me. "Congratulations," he said, "William Jefferson's my name,
Come into my office."
   Lottery executives must make a lot of money because this office was
really nice. A huge oak desk stood before a picture window that gave view to
a small enclosed desert scene. Abstract artwork hung on the walls to my
left and right. On the desk sat a computer, a microscope, and a few pictures
of Mr. Jefferson with his family. He had a pretty wife and triplet boys
about 5 years old according to the picture. I sat on a leather chair and
Mr. Jefferson sat behind the desk. "Now let's see that ticket of yours."
   "Here you go," I said handing it to him. "I just scratched it about 1/2
hour ago. I came straight here after I found that I won."
   As soon as he looked at the ticket, he instantly frowned. He turned it
over and just stared at it for a second. He turned to his computer and
starting hitting keys.
   "Is there something wrong?"
   "Where did you get this ticket? Did you buy it today?"
   "Well I got it today.... It was a gift." I was starting to feel a little
nervous.
   He hesitated. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm afraid this
ticket is no longer valid."
   "What!?" I had a terrible sinking feeling.
   "Arizona state law has some very specific rules about the collection of
lottery winnings. All prizes must be claimed within 180 days."
   "But I just did it today..."
   "That may be so, but we haven't sold 'Tic Tac Dough' tickets in a long
time. Unfortunately, if you had showed up yesterday, we might have been
able to do something for you, but as of today all tickets in that series
are now invalid."
   "You've got to be kidding me! Because I'm one day late, I won't be
getting my money?!" I stood up, starting to yell.
   "I'm afraid so." Mr. Jefferson looked very scared.
   Suddenly something clicked in my mind and I stopped in my tracks. I
realized that I had met him before. I now understood why he had hesitated
when he first saw me. "Mr. Jefferson," I asked, instantly calm, "do I know
you from somewhere?"
   A trickle of sweat ran down his temple, and at that moment, I knew I
wasn't mistaken. "I've never seen you before in my life," he stammered,
"And I think you better leave now."
   I had no intentions of leaving just yet. I walked to the door to his
office and pushed it shut. "I think we need to talk about this ticket some
more Mr. Jefferson, I really do."  I walked up to his desk and picked up
the picture of his wife and kids. "If I remember correctly, you drive a
BMW, don't you? Is this your wife? Maybe I'll stop by your house sometime,
I would just love to meet her."
   I came home that afternoon with a cashiers check for $20,000 in my
pocket. Mr. Jefferson was even nice enough to give me some extra cash for
an air-conditioned cab ride home. I went into my trailer and put the check
in the cubby hole behind my velvet Elvis where I hid all my valuables. The
next day I would go to the bank and open up my first savings account.
   I decided to veg out for the rest of the day. I pulled out my lawn chair
and filled up the kiddy pool with water. I pulled my TV to the steps of my
front door. I sat in the chair, soaked my feet, drank 'Chihuahua' beer and
watched cartoons for the rest of the afternoon.
   At 5:00, when the news came on, there was a story about Vernon Yarnish,
the old man Ronnie had killed. The police were looking for a couple of kids
seen rifling through the man's pockets. There was a blurb about the fire,
and another story about a man who had shot himself. I would find out later
that the man was Ronnie.
   Jerry came out of his trailer and I bummed a cigarette from him. He had
changed from his suit to his typical wardrobe of dirty camouflaged pants
and rebel flag T-shirt. "So how'd the court thing go today?" I asked him.
   Jerry took a long drag from his smoke and blew it out into a ring above
his head. "No one ever told me the state supreme court had more than one
judge." He sat down on the ground and I handed him a beer. "At least that
one judge voted for me."
   "Was he the only one that decided for your side?"
   "Yep."
   A black sedan pulled up in front of my trailer and two women in business
dresses and sunglasses stepped out. One was really tall, and the other was
really short. They both had a very serious look about them. They walked up
to us and the short one flashed a badge. "My name is Gretchen O'Leary, and
I work for the FBI. Do either of you gentleman know a man by the name of
Reginald Nenderson? He lives in the trailer 2C."
   I laughed, "Is that the fat black guy who wraps himself up in saran
wrap?"
   The agent hesitated. "Yes" she said finally. "We are looking for him, do
you know where he might be?"
   "Hey are gonna arrest him 'cause he goes around telling people that you
guys are giving him money?"
   The tall agent stepped forward, "He's told you that he's on the federal
witness protection program?"
   "Yeah he told me about the aliens too."
   "Wonderful," the tall agent turned to the short one. "We better find
him."
   "Hey try Van Buren, he might be hanging out there," I said as the two
women got back into the car and drove away.
   "Man," Jerry said. "If I was on the Federal Witness Program, I wouldn't
be caught dead in no shit-ass trailer park."
   "I don't know," I said, "Maybe he likes it here."
   "I'd do anything to be rich," Jerry said as he grabbed another beer.
"Anything. It just seems like it's impossible to dig out of the hole I'm
already in. At least impossible doing it the legal way. It seems there's
only one way trailer trash like us can ever get our hands on some decent
money. We has to lie, cheat, or steal. No fairy godmother is gonna come
save our asses. We has to be sneaky, or we'll be stuck at the bottom
forevers."
   "Amen brother," I said clinking my beer bottle on his, "Amen."


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 uXu #478              Underground eXperts United 1998              uXu #478
		  Call tHE MiCROLiNKS WHQ -> +32-16-356019
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