Rick stood in the grassy triangle outside Starbucks and across the street from the Ye Olde Cheese Shoppe.

The sign on the rusting street lamp at the tip of the triangle said, Downtown Rejuvenation Plan -- On Track, For You.

Rick wondered, is seven years too long a time to enlarge the sidewalks and install a few faux 1930s electric "gas" lamps? Rick had heard several neighbors complaining that the project budget of $31 million seemed excessive for the little work done.

Rick watched a bulldozer push a dirt mountain away from the curb and into a pit in the center of Main Street. He sipped from his bottle of water. He recalled that earlier in the week he had seen several men pull the dirt from the center of the road -- creating the pit -- and building the mountain.

The downtown beautification project was now in its 8th year; and the Mayor, Jerry Logan, the owner of Jerry's Realty on the corner, was outside his store-front passing out leaflets.

Fled was standing with Jerry along with Rita, Fled's wife, and a couple others in bright sweatshirts and baseball caps. Fled waved to Rick, to come on over. Fled was carrying a small bag of mesquite oak chips. Rick ignored him. The Mayor then waved and shouted, "Hey Rick, how's it going?"

Rick waved back. He picked up a leaflet from the ground. On top was a logo of the Mayor's election campaign: A giant eagle, the Mayor and his smiling family standing under it holding an American flag. On this one, someone had scribbled some dark brownish dots and jagged shapes between the eagle and the Mayor, and on top of the Mayor's head, apparently indicating the eagle's biological "gifts" left for the Mayor. Under the logo was the bold printed campaign platform headline: Port-a-Potties: Safe, Convenient and Attractive, and Here to Stay.

Rick watched the Mayor. He kept offering his leaflets to passersby, none of whom took them; and he kept smiling with increasing intensity, and waving frantically to anyone who might, even by accident, look his way. Rick thought, he really might be retarded. Fled approached Rick, carrying the bag. Rita was behind him, yelling something that sounded pretty close to, "where the f*ck you going, Fled."

Rick nodded, not to Fled but to something...the blue sky and sunshine, the kids playing around him on the green, kicking balls and batting around balloons passed out by the shoe store. He wondered, how is it that shoe stores became linked to balloons; couldn't it just as easily have been diners or hardware stores or gas stations that always gave them out? He took another sip of his water. ...read more Rick and Fled