Old Mister Finley, as was his wont, opened the old oak door of his house and walked down the gravel driveway, the rocks still wet from a soft rain the night before, and crossed the street where he had lived for forty plus years, and snagged the newspaper next to his mailbox.
“President Impeached Twice” the headline read, and Finley grumbled and sighed.
So that’s the way they want to play it, he thought. Walking back to his home, he was somewhat startled by his neighbor’s wife, Eileen. “Hi!” she said. He didn’t respond. “Out for my morning walk,” she volunteered.
“I see that,” he said.
“Have a good day” she said as she proceeded down the street.
“Yeah”.
Maybe I should go for a walk too, he thought. Haven’t been in awhile.
Finley knew little of the neighbors. They had moved in five years ago. Herman and Eileen Vasquez. He’s Mexican for sure, he thought. Her, he wasn’t so sure about, but she did marry a Mexican. They had two kids, who looked white enough, though the girl had coal-black hair. This area sure has changed, he thought. He remembered when his wife and he moved in, nothing but good American families with lots of good American kids up and down the block.
Now all you see are these minorities everywhere, he grumbled.
Finley threw the paper down on the kitchen table. He told himself he would read it later. All it does is cater to them liberals – not like it used to be. Maybe I ought to cancel my subscription, he mused. That’ll show ‘em.
He turned on the TV in the living room and Fox news America Reports was on. There was some discussion about Congressman Matt Gaetz owning the libs, and then a commercial about silver futures. He was still an avid watcher of Fox & Friends, but he was a little uneasy about the tone of Fox ever since the election. People are saying they gave up too early on the President, he thought. He had watched Newsmax, as the President suggested, but he missed the familiar faces on Fox.
Alone with his thoughts, he felt a rising sense of rage and fear, combined with a feeling of helplessness. He tried to suppress it, but it kept coming back. He looked out his window at the bushes in his back yard, untended and overgrown since his wife died. I should get out there, he thought, and then just as quickly abandoned that notion.
He remembered holding his wife’s hand the day she died. The cancer had taken her in less than a year. Good thing we have Social Security and Medicare, he reasoned. Probably would have had to sell the house to pay all those medical bills.
“Goddammit!” he cried aloud. “Why do things always have to change? Why is everything changing? I want my old life back!”
