Wine & Wireless (plausible fiction)
Seven-day stubble on his face, a nasty northeast wind across West Park, a bottle of red wine in a bag…none of that seemed to take away his concentration from the wireless laptop perched on a park bench…his gaunt
body squatting cross-legged on the ground.
“Believable yet unbelievable, what they’re saying about 9-11,” his face squirming. “The Bushies were hoping for a disaster…anything to give them a pretext to go to war in the Middle East…the cradle of civilization.”
I listened as he nearly shouted out to anyone willing to listen.
“Where do they get this info…guess the information playing field really is leveling…they can only keep us in the dark so long…then it all comes apart…we‘ve been lied to so long we don‘t know what the truth looks like anymore…truth and reality will eventually drive all those bastards out of office.”
It wasn’t immediately apparent, but the guy was probably homeless. The plastic sack with clothes popping out of the top was something of a clue. And then he checked out the line forming for dinner at the Light of Life Mission
across the street…thirty deep already and still growing.
He shut down his computer and closed it up, handed me his red wine saying he couldn’t take that with him into the Mission, and then picked up his clothes bag and started walking.
Weather from the northeast is often like a backlash from conventional prevailing westerly winds. Maybe ideas work like that too.
--- e b bortz