While the clerk put the bottle of face cream in the plastic bag, Barbara glared at him. Chuckling to himself, the guy said, "Two cannibals are eating a clown. One cannibal turns to the other and asks, 'Does this taste funny to you?'"
"Very funny," Barbara said in a low growl. If she heard one more clown joke, someone was going pay for it.
The guy smiled and said, "I thought clowns were supposed to have a sense of humor."
"I'm not a clown," Barbara said still holding out the money to pay for her purchase.
"You sure look like one to me," the guy said.
"Just let me pay for my purchase so I can get out of here," Barbara said. She had never considered how other people were treated as a result of their appearance.
Sandra came into the store and asked, "What's the problem?"
"This guy is too busy making jokes to take my money," Barbara said.
The guy took the money from her and made the change. Handing it over to her, he said, "I like your purse."
Barbara looked down at the obscenely large clown purse in disgust. She said, "Right."
After Barbara picked up her purchase, the clerk smiled at her and said, "Don't hit your funny bone on the way out."
Barbara glared at the clerk and walked off growling. Trying to maneuver the clown shoes through the door, she hit her funny bone on the door frame. Angry, she stomped over to the car with Sandra. Barbara slammed the door shut getting part of her costume caught in the door. She growled and said, "I'm going to kill Cole."
Sandra got in the car and started removing her shoes since there was no way to drive while wearing the shoes. She threw her shoes on the back seat. Sandra said, "Get in line."
"He must have mailed out clown jokes to everyone in the area," Barbara said.
"Let me guess. You got the one with the cannibals," Sandra said.
"Of course," Barbara said.
Sandra said, "I don't know which is worse - having a guy drool while talking with you or having them laugh at you."
Tired, William rubbed his eyes and said, "Well, that's another candidate I've convinced to run for office."
"What was the problem?" Ed asked.
"Convincing Dan Corbet that he could actually win," William said.
Lucy asked, "Why would that be a problem?"
"He was concerned that it was too early in his career. The man felt that he had to have a better known reputation locally before he'd be accepted on a national level. I managed to convince him that with the backing of Mark Howell that he'd be taken very seriously," William answered. It had taken a telephone call to Mark Howell to convince Dan Corbet that he'd get the backing William was promising. Dan and Mark had crossed paths in the past and Dan knew that he hadn't impressed Mark.
Ed asked, "So what does that mean in terms of your plans?"
"We still have to convince two other people to run for office," William said.
"I feel like I've been on the road for months. How much longer are we going to be doing this?" Ed asked.
"Only another ten days," William answered.
"I bet you'll be glad that your job is done," Ed said.
"It is just starting. I still have to get them elected," William replied.
"Then you'll be done," Ed said.
"Not even close to done," William replied with a weary shake of his head.
"What do you mean?"
"The balance of power will change significantly to a more moderate tone. The volume of arguments in Washington will diminish. The arguments will still exist, but they'll be closer to the real issues. Real solutions to the nation's problems will be addressed without political rhetoric getting in the way. I'll have to guide people to the real problems," William answered.
"You keep talking about the real problems. What are they?"
Rubbing his forehead, William answered, "Where should I even begin? Every aspect of our society is on the verge of collapse. The infrastructure of this country is on the verge of collapse. Bridges, dams, roads, and water and sewage treatment plants are all being used twenty years after the end of their expected lifetime. When they start to go, the whole country is going to be in trouble.
"Economically, the average household is living beyond its means. A huge number of families live with a net worth that is negative rather than positive because of debt. Local property taxes are killing home owners. Inflating mortgage payments are sucking up any increased wages.
"The average family is living on borrowed time. There are two income families that are living paycheck to paycheck without any savings. They are at risk of losing everything with even a minor setback. Some families are even using the wages of their children to make ends meet.
"The major corporations are in serious trouble. We have to get a handle on corporate criminal behavior. Executives have to be held accountable for their negligence and incompetence. People who basically steal the retirement nest eggs from thousands of people should be treated very harshly. Somehow, corporations have to be held to standards of due diligence commensurate with the damage that they can cause.
"The legal system needs revamping so that equivalent crimes get equivalent sentences. The entire criminal code needs to be reexamined. What once constituted an unimaginable amount of money is nearly nothing today. We punish petty criminals as if they were major crime lords. Major crime lords get sentences that are laughable. Drug laws need to be revisited and solutions put into place that addresses the problem rather than punishing the victims.
"The huge number of trivial lawsuits has to be reduced. Lawyers have to take responsibility for bringing cases to court that are groundless. Hurt feelings are not a reason to sue. People need to take responsibility for their own actions; not try to blame others through lawsuits.
"We are living in times where crimes unimaginable in the past are occurring on a daily basis. Our legal system has archaic laws in place that don't even pretend to punish the newest forms of criminal behavior. It is possible to steal the identities of thousands of people in one afternoon and destroy their savings, credit, and lives by nightfall. We punish it as though it was a simple white collar crime. It isn't; it is murder. Some people commit suicide when they lose everything they have.
"People can write programs that destroy lives and companies, but it barely registers as a crime. Trillions of dollars are spent worldwide as a result of these destructive programs. That money doesn't improve the quality of life or improve productivity. It is a drain on the economic health of every person, business, and government.
"This is a nation that believes in entitlements and there just isn't the money to pay for them. It isn't that we have to balance the budget; we have to eliminate the debt. The national debt is killing our future. We are indebted to countries that are hostile towards us. You can't have a sane foreign policy when your enemies hold an economic sledge hammer over your head.
"Individuals need to take responsibility for their own actions. We can't solve the nation's problems by throwing money at people when they don't know how to use that money to their best advantage. It is even worse when they misuse that money to support their negligent behavior.
"This is the least healthy generation in almost two centuries. Nutrition is an individual problem, but the number of people who ignore it is overwhelming. I recognize it is impossible to control the eating habits of a population through laws, but changes have to be introduced. Obesity has led to a dramatic increase in the rate of diabetes. Healthcare costs are obscene once you factor out the moderating effects of the Fusion Foundation.
"The quality of education has to be addressed. The previous generation was better educated than this one. There's something wrong when the intellectual worth of a society regresses. Engineering and science education programs need to expand. There will be no future growth without engineers and scientists. The only reason the environment isn't a problem today is because of the invention of the Fusion Cell by my father. If we were still a petroleum based economy, we'd really be in trouble.
"Almost five percent of the people in this country are undocumented. With a population of three hundred million, to have fifteen million people running around who are outside of the system is a huge problem. We need to get control over who is in this country."
Ed raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is that all?"
"No. It is even worse than that. I haven't even dealt with our international policies," William answered.
"So do you have solutions to all of those problems?" Lucy asked. She had been playing with the economic models and knew just how complex the problems were.
"No," William answered shaking his head. He added, "I see the general trends, not the specific solutions. I have to nudge this society along pathways that lead to a better tomorrow rather than allow it to wallow in the mud.
"The first step was to get rid of the polarizing factions of the political landscape so that real solutions could be sought. The days of dogmatic pursuit of extremist agendas have to come to an end. That will help solve the crisis of followership."
Ed nodded his head in agreement. He asked, "What's the next step?"
"The Bards need to work to change things at a personal level. We need to educate people outside of a formal education environment. Only a small fraction of our population is in school where education programs are effective. We need some mechanism to educate the masses. That is the work of the Bards," William answered.
"What about Druids?" Ed asked.
"Oh, the Druids are going to be very busy helping the elected leaders find good solutions to all of our problems," William answered.
Ed frowned and asked, "How long is all of this going to take?"
"Oh, I'd say eighty to a hundred years," William answered knowing that he'd be dead and buried by the time the world was firmly established on a good path again.
Stunned by the kind of timeline that William was discussing, Lucy said, "I can't believe it will take that long."
"Why? It took us a hundred years to get in this mess," William replied. It would require at least three election cycles to get rid of the more extreme elements in government. The problem existed at the local, state, and national level. So far, his efforts were just a drop in the bucket.
"You can't speed it up a little?" Ed asked rather surprised by William's answer.
"I could do it in half of the time. It would require me to kill a couple thousand people. I don't think that you or any of the other Druids would approve," William replied with a negligent shrug of his shoulders.
"You can say that again," Ed said. He was pleased to learn that William wasn't even considering that solution. Curious, he asked, "How would killing that many people speed up the process?"
William said, "There are people with influence and power who are driving this country in the wrong direction. Their influence is going to last for decades. They'll be passing legislation thirty years from now that I'll have to undo fifty years from now. If I could get rid of them, I'd be able to address some of the issues a whole lot sooner."
Lucy said, "I thought that you were just going to tweak the society a little here and there."
"I am. The whole world requires a lot of tweaks," William said with a smile. The whole world was a pretty big place. He wondered if Oscar had the easier problem. All Oscar had to do was to win the war; William knew that he had to win the peace.
"Explain this whole thing about the bar to me again," Joe said looking at Melissa.
Melissa sighed and said, "Getting a degree in law doesn't make you a lawyer. It is just one step to being one. You have to pass the Multistate Profession Responsibility Exam. Then you have to pass a state administered bar exam. After that, you have to be certified by the state bar association that you are of good moral character and fitness to practice law. Then you have to apply to be a lawyer and pay all of the required fees. At that point, you are a lawyer."
"How do they know that you are of good moral character and fit to practice law?" Joe asked. It seemed to him that it was overly complicated.
Melissa said, "Don't worry about that. The hurdle I have to get past now is the bar exam."
"What about that responsibility thing?" Joe asked.
"I already passed the MPRE while I was in law school," Melissa answered.
"Okay," Joe said. He looked over at the stack of books and asked, "So you need to know everything in these books."
"Basically," Melissa answered.
Frowning, Joe asked, "What will you do for a living until you pass the bar exam?"
"I'm a law clerk for one of the state judges," Melissa answered. She was the law clerk for one of the judges on the State Appellate court. It was rumored that he'd be appointed to the State Supreme Court soon.
"Oh, so you ask people to stand when the judge enters the courtroom," Joe said.
Melissa laughed and said, "No. I help the judge research issues that are before the court."
"Oh," Joe said shaking his head. He'd never given much thought to the legal profession. As far as he knew, a person went to law school and became a lawyer when they graduated.
"Believe it or not, it is a very prestigious job. There are a lot of law students who would kill to have my job," Melissa said.
Joe shrugged his shoulders and asked, "So what can I do to help?"
"Well, you can ask me about cases in those books," Melissa answered gesturing to a huge stack of books.
Joe opened a book and looked at one of the pages. He frowned as he studied the page and then looked back up at her. He smiled and then said, "I'll try. You'll get through this. I'll make sure of that."
Melissa looked at Joe and realized that he was going to be there for her through the whole process. He would support her emotionally and physically. She wondered why he would do that for her.
William looked up from his science fiction book and said, "We're going to have to rush the next two visits so that we'll be in Pennsylvania in time."
Lucy was lying crosswise to William with her head resting on his thigh. She asked, "In time for what?"
"Debbie and Georgia will be giving birth soon. We'll want to be there for it," William answered.
"So soon?" Lucy asked.
"There is nothing soon about it," William answered.
In the center of Penn Station, a musician stopped and looked around. Signs announcing the departures of trains hung down from the ceiling above. Despite the late hour, the concourse was packed with people going about their business. The air smelled of close packed humanity. The high ceiling seemed to swallow the sounds of people talking and laughing.
He set out a small stool and sat down. From his case, he removed a mandolin. He spent a minute tuning the fragile instrument. He closed his eyes, gave a small word of thanks to the Gods and Goddesses, and then began to play.
The crowd that would normally pass by a street musician slowed and came to a halt. Everyone stood around listening to the man sing. He cast a spell over the crowd with soft notes that carried far beyond what physics could explain. His words took root in minds opened by music.
In Madison Square Garden above Penn Station, a large concert was just coming to an end. Thousands of fans excited about the performance of Street King started to leave. Many of them made their way downwards into Penn Station. The crowd grew quiet as the music reached out to them. Emotions that had been high cooled as if liquid nitrogen had been poured on them.
Word of what was happening in Penn Station trickled up to the dressing room where Street King was being entertained by a rather well endowed woman. Angry, he pulled her head off his cock. He shouted at his manager, "Are you sure it is that damned Bard?"
"Yes, Street King," the manager answered.
New York had been his last bastion of fans. Street King said, "That son of a bitch is trying to kill me."
"I don't think he's after you personally. After all, this is the first concert of yours that he's shown up at," the manager said. For six months, nearly every concert in Los Angeles, San Diego, and San Francisco had ended with the Bard playing outside the auditorium. Sales of rap music in California had dropped to nearly nothing. After California, it had been Atlanta, Florida, Detroit, Philadelphia, and Boston.
"Shit, I'm going to go down there and give him a piece of my mind," Street King said.
Still holding his cock in her right hand, the woman asked, "What about me?"
"Finish the blow job," Street King said pushing her head down to his cock. He figured it would be the last one he'd get for a long time.
The musician played for an hour to a packed audience. People sat where they had been standing. Police who had moved into the station in order to remove the musician found they were sitting on the floor along with everyone else. No one moved forward to drop a dollar in the instrument case.
Greg Banner stopped playing and looked around the room. The crowd stared off into the distance entranced as if seeing a vision of heaven. Smiling, he packed up his mandolin. That act seemed to drive people to their feet and they left the station for whatever destinations they had intended to go. Greg stood and folded his chair.
"You mother fucker," Street King shouted as he approached Greg. He was angry, but he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. William Redman Carter had told him that his form of music was going to die. That didn't make it any easier to accept.
"Hello, Street King," Greg said without turning around to face the musician.
"It isn't right what you've done," Street King said.
Turning to look at Street King, Greg was sure that the man had taken his actions personally. It wasn't a personal matter, but a matter of necessity. He asked, "What did I do?"
"You killed a music genre," Street King answered.
Surprised at how the man had phrased his charge, Greg said, "I guess I did at that."
"Why?"
"It was a genre that promoted ugliness, anger, and hate. It could have promoted positive values, but that was too much work for lazy musicians. You could have used it as a voice for self improvement. You could have used it to inspire, but you didn't," Greg answered.
"What am I supposed to do?" Street King asked. The loss of sales had hit him hard. He'd had to sell his large house, his cars, and his airplane. The money he made from the sale and his savings had just paid off the loans. He was nearly broke and living in a small house. At least he owned the house.
Greg had dealt with many musicians over the past year. Some had been angry and attempted violence. Some had been depressed and wandered off without saying a word. Others had left denying the growing trend away from their music. None had asked him that particular question. He answered, "I suppose that you'll have to reinvent the genre."
"How am I supposed to do that?" Street King asked knowing that after tonight there wouldn't be anyone in the music industry that would answer a phone call from him.
"Come with me," Greg answered handing Street King the little folding chair.
The pair went over to one of the stores inside Penn Station. Greg pointed to one of the men working there. He asked, "What do you see?"
"I see a black man working in a crummy store for minimum wage," Street King answered shaking his head.
"That man is the owner of that store. He got a business loan and bought it six years ago. He's making a living that will provide for his family. He doesn't live in the slums where he grew up. He lives in a nice neighborhood. His kids will go to college and become doctors or lawyers. They have a future," Greg said.
"Okay," Street King said watching the man sweep the floor like a lowly janitor. He realized that it was not an act of degradation for the man, but an act in which he was protecting his investment.
Greg pulled Street King out to the street and pointed to a man with a push cart selling hotdogs despite the late hour. He asked, "What do you see?"
"I see a man with no future," Street King answered.
Shaking his head, Greg said, "That man made six figures last year selling hotdogs. That's a good living even for New York City."
"Six figures?" Street King asked.
"Yes," Greg said. He smiled and said, "Go buy a hot dog from him."
"You want me to buy a hot dog from him?" Street King asked.
"Sure. He's a fan of yours," Greg said with a smile.
Street King went over to the hotdog vendor and purchased a hot dog. In the process he heard the man's whole life story. He walked away seeing a different world than before. Greg joined him and asked, "What did you learn?"
"There are battles being fought in this world that are of a different nature than what I've known. There are people who are engaged in battles fought with same level of determination and desire to succeed that characterize the battles of the gangs from my old neighborhood. There aren't guns or insults being bandied about. The weapons of choice are hard work, sweat, and tears," Street King said watching the vendor fix another hotdog for a customer.
"Yes. You can put to song stories about fighting the cold of winter to make a better life for your child. The driving beat of rap is fitting," Greg said.
"It seems like a cop-out to me," Street King said. To go from tough gangster rapper to a supporter of small business just wasn't the kind of future he had envisioned for his career.
"Chicks like wealthy men. They don't care if he got rich selling hotdogs," Greg said with a smile.