Changing our World [Holy Misfits 4]
Soy, Urban developers, CRT, death of the farmers, trans, Fats, Big med, academic lynching,
Part One … Part Two … Part Three
We leave the country club at Sun’s rise, follow his ascent up the sky like a path into a known abyss.
Barefoot, twisting down the gravel roads on a hardened heels.
Weathered fence posts hint at the start of Tindale’s Family Farm property and we’re all wide eyed, bushy tailed, electrified from last night but more so at the idea of action.
It’s that blinding moment between strategy and execution. The moment between marksman setting his sight, breathing slower and pulling the trigger. It’s the moment before the fingers’ muscle pulls backwards, before the bullet is let out of the cage.
We’re suspended there.
All that’s left to do now is treat today like any other because, until nightfall, it is.
“I blame the Jews” Easton, still drunk, mumbles under his breath to no one in particular.
“For what?”
“Million dollar question right? There’s the old timer!” he stops scanning, focusing on a lone figure near the cow pasture and he’s right. Butch Tindale in his morning glory: Worn in flannel, despite nearing 75degrees under the morning sun, dark jeans with mud covering the knees, more mud on one inch of fabric than the video game generation has earned in years, a testament to his livelihood. He’s leaned a little forward, resting his elbows on the fence watching the cows graze, the sky lighten.
We all walk over admiringly.
When Butch speaks we listen. When Butch is silent we pray he isn’t too in his head about the state of the world.
“Butch, what’s new?” Easton yells out. Despite us going unnoticed, Butch handles the run-up-on with old timer relaxation except I see his right hand, for a millisecond, instinctually reach toward his waist.
“Same old. Got the girls all taken care of already before the sun came up. Y’all looking for that?”
We all nod and from a third party perspective probably look like baby birds to a mom at feeding time. We know Butch has The Goods.
While following him through the dewey field we start talking crazy, maddeningly to him, trying to get him as wide eyed as us:
“Trans people aren’t real, if you consider the biological component and they never do.” “Butch you noticed how men are turning to women and women to men, not even the trans way just that each gender is moving towards the middle, you’ve heard of soy? Thank God you don’t plant that shit, the frogs are gay, disrupted endocrine…
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