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Extra, extra, it’s Election Day in Bramble. Taking place in a private city, the event is more of a democratic ritual in honor of ideals we esteem, but are not legally bound by. The full story of how we got here politically will be documented in a forthcoming book, they say. But will the real story of Bramble ever be told before the last book is printed? Regardless, one might vote or not, but the citizens mainly gather under a flag to debate for the fellowship. The elections are free and fair and totally meaningless.
A member of The Old Rats Motorcycle Gang always runs for mayor. It’s part of the fun. Their platform is they promise to put all the police in jail and then set the jail on fire. Every four years, there’s some modification of how exactly Bramble PD would be obliterated, but their position on the issue is consistent. It’s just a joke. Even the other mayoral candidates laugh. I’m always thinking about this, the enemy of my enemy, and the extent to which they can be my friend.
CRAZY OF THE DARK
There is an old saying in Bramble. It’s connected to the high school mascot, The Prowler. Like most slang, it takes liberty with grammar. The phrase’s meaning is nuanced. It’s not about someone who abuses drugs or alcohol, or someone with a diagnosable mental illness. Think more of the moth-hunting primrose that blooms at night. Think more of the werewolf. It speaks to transformation. I’m sure other places have phrases like this.
My friend Shadow asked me if I thought Vivian was crazy of the dark. His wife Wanda said that’s what I liked about her. Attraction is an exquisite mystery. But, it was also her black leather motorcycle jacket.
My friend Shadow of course has been crazy of the dark. For weeks he spoke to me late at night about a look his wife Wanda gave to him. They were making love, he thought. He thought they were enjoying themselves. But the expression on her face was pure pity. He hasn’t touched her since, is seeking therapy, and he’s also gotten weirder.
