Rick was sitting on his porch reading a magazine. It was late morning, mid-week, already warm, and the sun felt good on his face. He hadn’t known that Tara Reid once dated the nephew of Alan Greenspan, or that Jude Law had contemplated studying podiatry while in grade school.

A man wearing a suit approached the porch. Rick didn’t recognize him. Rick grabbed a couple Doritos and took a sip from his Sierra Nevada beer.

“Rick Kansas?” the man said.

“Yes.”

The man extended his hand. Rick looked at it. It was his left hand and had a large blue-black callous on the middle knuckle.

“We’d like to talk to you. May I sit down?”

“We?” Rick said.

The man sat on a scuffed white plastic rocking chair next to Rick’s reclining lawn chair.

“You’ve got a lot of time on your hands don’t you?” the man said.

“Not a lot,” Rick said, and took another swig from the beer.

“Nice yard,” the man said. Rick had removed the dishwasher and had thrown some poison on the grass to kill the dandelions. About 1/3 were killed, and the rest had turned blue and now gave his lawn a cartoon-like Alice in Wonderland meets Edward Scissorhands appearance. He hadn’t yet done anything about the cardboard boxes that needed to be crushed and stacked by the curb. But the kids from the street seemed to like to play in them. Also the cats and squirrels.

“And you are?” Rick said.

“We’d like you to run for Mayor,” the man said.

Rick nodded. “Like I said to the other guy, I’m kind of busy.”

“We know,” the man said. “You’re quite a good tennis player, aren’t you? I’m guessing you’re good at other games too.”

“Beer?” Rick said.

“Sure.” The man removed his coat, and loosened his tie. He took a pretzel rod out of the bag on the cocktail table, and grabbed a beer from a 6-pack on the floor. “Nice day,” he said. “I used to play tennis. It’s not as easy as some people think.”

“Which people?”

“We can make it worth your while,” the man said.

Rick noticed his bottle was empty and balanced it on his knee. He looked up, and saw intricately spiraling cobwebs and paint chips as large napkins hanging from the porch ceiling. “I doubt it,” he said....read more Rick and Fled