There are noises in the air: the jingle of spurs, the nervous whinny of a horse. Is that the sound of someone adjusting a gun in its holster? Or perhaps just tumbleweed rolling by in the breeze? The air is tense, crackling with animosity. The Wild West lives again.
Right here, that is. At the Pre-Submission Community Meeting.
wonders if those GGP folks knew to expect The Paumier Gang to ride into
town. They might've suspected, but who could truly be ready for that
relentless onslaught? Even Miss Cindy, the Dance-Hall owner, took her
best shots. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
I can almost hear the heavy footsteps approaching.
"There ain't enough room in this town for the both of us, kid. I
designed most of this town, and I don't 'low no competin' nor
collaboratin'--you know what I mean?"
In the Western
showdowns of old, women and children knew to hide when danger was
afoot. They knew what was coming. But, our Main Street is deserted for
another reason. Long years of apathy brought on by lack of
communication, and years of backward-looking management have left our
town square barren. To some, that looks mighty tidy.
few people witness this Wild West style of shooting down opponents with
differing opinions. They aren't there because they don't know, don't
care, don't know why it is important to care. And that's what makes
this sort of behavior possible--rudeness, bullying, selfish
behavior--because so few people are watching. If a shootout happens and
there are no witnesses, how can we say for sure that it really
No witnesses, no involvement. To some, that looks might tidy.
I reckon we need a new kind of Sheriff to clean up this town.