West of Mars

It dawned on me that we haven’t seen Chelle around these parts in eons. The music reporter for the (of course fictional) Trumpet newspaper, she’s always got an opinion that may or may not mirror my own. That’s the fun of fiction, after all!

Now, you all know that Chelle here won’t be spreadin’ no rumors to you. Not through this here Trumpet newspaper. That means what I got to say’s important, so listen up.

Boys and girls, we got us a problem here in our city. A darn big problem, one we all gotta come together and chase out of town.

I’m talkin’ about junk. I’m talkin’ about all that garbage, most of it moldin’ up a storm, that’s been sittin’ out on our sidewalks ever since this city started cleanin’ up after them floods. Yeah, THOSE floods. The ones that saw more’n half the city leave and not come back. The one that saw most’ve the rest of us livin’ in trailers. The only reason Chelle’s still in her home is ’cause she’s on the thirteenth floor of a building on one of the city’s only hills.

Which means Chelle looks out over a lot of junk. Wanna know a secret? Junk ain’t pretty.

Once upon a time in this city we all love so much, we had men drive these ugly brown trucks up and down the street. They’d stop beside every single driveway, or pull into the driveways of the millions of apartments this city used to have. Two men would pop outta those trucks and they’d haul all our junk away. Who knew where, and who cared. The simple point was that our stuff went away.

Now, these days, it sits on the curbs. Some streets’re so cluttered anymore, cars can’t get up and down ‘em. And sidewalks? For-get it. If there’s room to walk, the mold on everythin’ll do your lungs in right fast. Who needs the piggy flu when we got mold to take a population down?

That’s why Chelle’s callin’ all her readers to stand up and get busy. Let’s all take November first and clean up. Start with the candy wrappers left from the night before. They won’t mold overnight, Chelle’s hopin’.

Once you got all them, fill a trash bag with some of that there moldy junk in front-a your house. But then don’t wait for some garbage guy who ain’t gonna come. He’s too busy lookin’ for a new job, Chelle hears. Them garbage guys went on strike right before the floods and there ain’t no sign of ‘em comin’ back.

So let’s do it ourselves, boys and girls. Pick up one bag of that trash and take it yourself to the dump. Between now and then, Chelle’s gonna find out where that dumpin’ place is, and she’ll let you know.

And come November first, don’t you be surprised if Chelle herself walks up to you and hands you some swag courtesy of some of Chelle’s favorite bands. ‘Cause sometimes, we gotta clean up our city ourselves and show we got some civic pride.

You heard it first and you heard it here: No more junkin’ up our city!

Yep, a Sunday Scribblings for you while I am causing other trouble. Be sure to leave a comment wherever you visit!