"There's just no other way to say it. The U.S. economy has failed. The terrible truth is that it's too late for the federal government to do anything about it. Our sun hasn't completely set. We're in that moment of twilight just before things go pitch black. Rich and poor alike are about to see the end of what we used to call 'the American dream.'"

—"Money Watch," Talk TV, April 19, 2014

 

Anne watched rush hour traffic crawl by on the broken, dirty street below. From her fifth floor vantage point, she could see half the city. Rain clouds gathered on the far horizon. Anchorage was bathed in the red-bronze glow of a spectacular sunset fueled by a combination of the local smog and regional forest fires.

Commuter congestion was mild, compared to what it had been just two years ago. The city's unpopular mayor had called a halt to all but the most essential road maintenance due to declining tax revenues.

The tired civil servant drank from her favorite mug as unwashed vehicles of all shapes and sizes paraded by, bouncing on the uneven pavement. She turned in her chair to avoid looking at the armed checkpoint that dominated the street corner. The very thought of hungry eyes canvassing the building in which she worked made her stomach go sour. With a growing sense of dread, she watched the digital clock over her desk signal 4:00 p.m.

A chime sounded through the ceiling-mounted intercom, ringing across the entire floor. A pre-recorded voice announced the one thing she hated more than coming to work. "Work day ends. Lights, power, and plumbing will be turned off in five minutes. All employees must leave the building. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary action."

She pressed her thumb to a universal identification pad. "Computer, off."

Security software verified her voice pattern, retinal image, and thumbprint through a variety of sensors before it turned off her workstation.

The small woman pulled on her coat as one of her co-workers appeared. "Hey, I hear you have an open seat."

"You know my price," she countered, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

The man leaned over to whisper. "I'm a little short on cash. I was hoping to—"

She reached over and pinched his mouth shut, snapping, "No."

"I have gas," he mumbled through numbed lips.

She sighed while keeping her grip on the man's face. "You siphoned it out of your lawn mower or you bought it from somebody who stole it. Either way, it'll tear up my car's engine, and then I'll have to hurt you. My answer is still no. Say it with me. Nooo."

The captive shook his head involuntarily before he could break free. "Somebody's going to steal your car, and then you'll be just like the rest of us."

Anne put on her glasses and walked away from the taller man. "We've all got choices to make. Ride the bus or stop sending your kids to private school."

"This is why you don't get promoted!" he fumed.

She gave him the finger. "This is why I still have a house and a car."

The line was longer than she expected. Checking out of her agency's secured area took more time than usual. The guards were being unusually alert. When her turn came to show her I.D., she asked, "What's the problem?"

"Somebody's been camping out again," a security specialist explained as he passed her card through a hand-held reader.

"Ah." Anne took her identification and entered the packed elevator. During the ride down, nobody spoke. It was common knowledge that the elevators were bugged.

Single men and women who were financially strapped had been successfully 'camping' overnight in the federal building for the last ten months, in an attempt to avoid the spiraling costs of rent, food, and transportation. The problem was now so widespread that every federal agency had been ordered to take steps to find and evict squatters who used water, power, and sanitation facilities after the business day ended. The General Services Administration, which managed the building, insisted that increased utility costs associated with these unauthorized inhabitants were becoming too much to bear. Due to the impact on the agency's budget, the practice could no longer be tolerated.

The members of her carpool met Anne in the underground parking garage. One new customer, who had the cash she required and agreed to her terms, was waiting with them. She counted his money before unlocking the vehicle.

"It's really too bad there's no such thing as auto insurance any more. I just had somebody threaten to steal my car."

The riders became concerned and agitated. Anne didn't charge the same sky-high rates that other, more mercenary, car owners did. Her weekly fees kept pace with the rising costs of fuel and vehicle maintenance, plus a very modest commission. She might not be on the fast track for promotion, but she was widely thought of as fair and humane.

"Who threatened you?" Beth asked.

Anne shrugged as an overcrowded SUV rolled by. "It's not important right now. If anything happens, I'll get back to you."

Beth worked in Personnel, and wasn't afraid to use the power that came with her job. With so many friends and co-workers on the edge of financial ruin, she was pragmatic when it came to getting paybacks for dirty deeds done to those who didn't deserve the hate.

The anxious group of two men and three women piled into the twenty-year-old minivan. Some were going home to rent-controlled apartments. A couple of them were living with friends and family in cramped conditions that they would have considered unthinkable just three years ago. Even with enviable incomes from their famously stable federal jobs, home loans and credit cards were things of the past for every one of these survivors.

After the van and its passengers were inspected for contraband, Anne drove out of the garage and merged with traffic. The drive into the suburbs was pleasant, in spite of the bad news pouring out of the dashboard radio.

"A sensitive memo leaked to the press from the Government Accounting Office appears to advise the president that more cuts in the federal work force will be necessary before the end of the year. Experts and pundits are concerned that further reductions in federal services might impair the ability of the individual states to provide for their citizens."

Anne pulled into the waiting lane for her favorite gas station. "Would you look at that? Ethanol is the same price as gas! It must be so nice to be a corn farmer."

Beth leaned forward to read the sign. "It hasn't rained in Kansas or Iowa for six months. Corn, wheat, and everything else that needs water has doubled in price. We'll be in for much worse if the Mexicans stop exporting their corn."

"I can't read the sign," another passenger complained.

Anne tapped the accelerator gently as the line of thirsty cars advanced slowly toward the nearest supervised pump. "Three twenty-five per liter. Man, I hate those European measurements. Why do they insist on doing that?"

Beth shrugged. "I read about that last week. Most of the companies that sell us their oil aren't taking dollars. The same is true for a lot of governments. Everybody's gone over to the Euro. Nobody wants the dollar any more. Using the money means the sellers want to use the measurements."

Anne pulled up to the pump when it was her turn. "Two hundred and fifty dollars to fill the tank. Prices have definitely gone up. Sorry, folks. I need an extra ten from everybody," she said as she pressed a switch on her dashboard. The flex-fuel van was now ready to consume mostly alcohol instead of mostly gasoline. Everyone started to pull out their assorted cash as she took her keys and purse and got out to fill the tank.

In the distance, the Chugach Mountains glowed with a brilliant purple haze as she pumped seventy-five liters of fuel into the tank. She paid the armed attendant with a large stack of small bills before getting back into the car.

Once Anne had buckled in, Beth handed over the collected cash. "We've been talking. If gas jumped, that means groceries are going to be a problem. We should stop in today for whatever we can get, before the stores get mobbed."

Anne looked at her silent passengers using the rearview mirror. "Beth is right. Most people don't get off work until five or six. We can just beat the rush if we go now."

Nobody objected to the expensive detour. The days of cheap and easy transportation were over. Driving for fun, or even the sake of lazy convenience, was out of the question for most cost-conscious households.

Taking the silence to mean general agreement, Beth replied, "I think that means yes."

Anne started the car and headed for her preferred warehouse store, which sold a variety of goods in bulk quantities. Pride and embarrassment were still hard habits to break. Though everyone would go in, some of her passengers would buy what they could while others would walk the aisles and purchase nothing.

Traffic thinned out as they approached a crowded shopping mall. A news program chattered from the radio. She changed lanes and then turned down the volume.

"Interest rates for federal bonds held steady today at twenty-three percent, down two percent from last week. Treasury Secretary Andrew Brown praised the news, saying that investor confidence was being rewarded.

"In other news, food and employment riots continued in southern California as state officials admit they've lost control over the situation."

The tired woman drove her car into the Price-Co lot and parked near the entrance. "I know this stop isn't planned, but we need to get what we can before things get out of hand. Remember what happened last month. Concentrate on the basics. Don't commit to more than you can carry. If it won't fit in your lap, don't buy it."

The experienced shoppers got out.

Before the group entered the store, Anne paid a roaming security guard to keep an eye on the car. She took the time to write down his name and employee number. New car prices were unreasonable. Used vehicles could still command high prices if they were in good shape. Car thieves had no qualms about using any kind of trick to get what they wanted. It was worth a small fee to be sure her van would still be off the market when they came out.

Price-Co had the same problems that affected every other chain store in the nation. Currency exchange rates no longer favored the American dollar. Domestic consumers were faced with rising prices that hurt the same corporations that were trying to serve them. Fighting an average inflation rate of thirty percent, Anne and her co-workers bought less than half of what they'd been used to.

As the carpoolers walked the aisles, they noted that the fresh meat bins were empty and most of the frozen foods had already been sold. Floor space normally reserved for fresh produce was bare. Surly customers who weren't used to buying such things were picking up fifty-pound bags of rice, beans, corn, wheat, and barley. Anne dipped into her savings to buy the last five-pound bag of coffee beans on the shelf.

Before getting into the checkout line, they walked past long rows of empty pallet storage. Overhead lights had been shut off, blacking out half the store. The expected crowds hit just as they reached the frantic, harried cashier. Beth laughed when she saw the credit card logos that still decorated the cash register.

Anne's passengers followed her back to the car. The interior of the minivan was filled with scents of grain and spices as she made the neighborhood circuit, dropping each rider at his or her home. A civilian volunteer watch group flagged her down just once, making her feel good despite more whispered gloom from the radio.

"Congress remains deadlocked over a series of important spending bills. Most federal agencies have been kept open through a series of continuing resolutions, but that may change. House and Senate leaders are threatening to shut down the government if the president doesn't agree to their demands for banking reforms that would affect the nation's savings and loan industry. President Hill's office could not be reached for comment."

Anne turned off the radio so she could chat with her last passenger. "I sure am glad we're neighbors. Have you seen what they're doing across the street?"

Beth turned in her seat to look as they rolled into their shared driveway. "They're taking out their lawn to put in a garden. Everybody's doing it."

"Not me," the driver protested stiffly.

Her friend understood. "It's one thing to have a vegetable garden. It's another thing to keep what comes out of it. We could do it in the back yard."

Anne got out and unloaded her groceries. "What's the point? We can't be here to protect it. I'm not going to give anyone an excuse to break down my fence."

Beth took her things and started for her side of the duplex. "That reminds me. I made the appointment for next week for them to come put bars on the windows. They'll be here sometime Friday afternoon. Today is Tuesday, so we have plenty of time to warn the others if you want to take time off. It couldn't hurt to save the gas."

The smaller woman fumbled with her keys as she locked the car. "The long weekend sounds good, but I have too much to do. Performance evaluations are at the end of the month, and I know they're watching me. I'm not going to give them even the smallest excuse to put a bad mark on my record."

Beth unlocked the door to her home. "It's cash on the barrelhead with these guys. I'll call them back and make sure they'll come after five, so we can pay them when they're done. Have a good night."

Anne went inside and locked the door. She set her purchases and purse on the couch, tossing her coat beside them. Picking up the sacks of groceries, she walked into the kitchen to put them away and check her phone messages. The digital recorder's counter read zero.

Once her provisions were safely stowed, she sighed and went upstairs to prepare for a busy evening. After setting an old-fashioned, wind-up egg timer, she stepped into the tub for a brief shower. Moderating water use was just another sign of the troubled times.

After she had cleaned up, she went downstairs and prepared her dinner. She ate slowly, to make the small meal last. She next checked her e-mail. A single message waited for her attention. She read it, making notes on a sticky pad with her favorite pen, deleted the message, and turned off her computer.

Rising crime and scarce food weren't her only concerns in these trying times. Retirement, long hoped for, now seemed unrealistic. The government that would have guaranteed her pension seemed to be on the verge of collapse. That simple truth was forcing her hand, leaving her with no other options. She would have to take extreme measures to ensure her own survival.

The sun had been down for two hours by the time she got her van loaded. Two small boxes were hidden underneath the blankets and road safety supplies. With a pistol in the pocket of her leather jacket, she left her quiet neighborhood. She drove out of town to a campsite located beside a popular lake.

The vehicle's elderly shock absorbers protested with squeaks and pings as her vehicle bounced up and down along a seldom-used gravel road. She stopped at a checkpoint when two armed men appeared in the glare of her headlights. They were dressed for the evening chill.

She rolled down the window. "I'm not the pizza guy." They accepted her password.

A bald sentry walked around her car, probing with the beam of his light. "My son is teething. I need something for his pain. You got anything for that?"

Anne kept her hands on the steering wheel and one foot on the accelerator. "Actually, I do. Baby stuff is hard to come by."

"Tell me about it," the second guard complained.

The hairless man finished his inspection. He rapped his knuckles on the roof of her car. "Hold whatever you've got. I'll be by to trade in a while."

She drove into the black market meeting with her low beams on. Temporary camps like this one weren't exactly illegal, but they did tend to draw unwanted attention from anti-barter activists and cub reporters desperate for a story that might get them promoted. Living day-to-day on worthless currency was hard. Spiraling inflation drove those who could master the skills to trade for at least some of the things they wanted.

A variety of cars and trucks were parked haphazardly next to motor campers and recreational vehicles ranging in size from very large to very small. Tents with lanterns and bonfires formed the nucleus of the noisy swap meet. Adults and children from all walks of life worked, played, or fretted as their needs were variously met, rejected or ignored. As large and bustling as the gathering was, most of these free traders would be gone by morning.

Anne was greeted by people she had met during past visits. They gathered around after she parked and turned off the engine. The negotiations that took place over the next two hours were casual affairs, relying on the diplomacy that came with shared food and stories of both good luck and misfortune that could be laid at the doorstep of the country's declining economic health.

She bought a bottle of dark beer and drank slowly. Moving through the crowd, Anne then presented her list to a dozen sellers. She parted with most of what she'd brought, exchanging it for the capsules and tablets that would make her life easier for the next thirty days. As with many others, the logic behind her visit was simple: "My health insurance doesn't cover prescription meds like it used to."

As she made her purchases, she heard some disturbing news. One of the traders she knew had been killed at a gathering in Fairbanks. The widow who told the tale was justifiably bitter. "My husband was trading some guard time for table space. We didn't have much to swap, but we needed to do something for gas, or money to buy gas. Six armed men attacked the market. They had assault rifles. They didn't get anything; we scared them off. When the bullets stopped flying, though, my Wally was dead."

Camp gossip from several sources confirmed that things were only going to get worse. "The national unemployment rate is more than fifteen percent. A lot of folks have nothing left to trade, except their guns. Big city gangs are fighting over food instead of drugs or prostitution territory. Some knuckleheads think they'll find easy pickings if they go out into the countryside. Things are tough all over. When are they gonna realize that?"

Anne finished her beer and tossed the empty bottle into the nearest recycling bin. "It's only a matter of time till that sort of thing starts happening to us. We certainly won't be able to meet out in the open like this after the snow falls. There are a lot of empty warehouses in town. Why don't we try using some of those?"

One of the men who had organized this meet shook his head. "I have a source at the Anchorage P.D. The vice cops have orders to look for black market meets like this one. Those buildings are some of the first places they check. It's only a matter of time until some politician starts to think about anti-hoarding laws. Then we're sunk. We'd better make the most of this while we can."

Anne shook the cardboard box that held her pill bottles. "I can live without this stuff if I have to. I can't really get by on no food or gas. I don't know what the breaking point is, and I really don't want to find out."

Somebody laughed. "Two or three more years of this, and we'll have us a civil war."

Sensing that the mood of the crowd was about to turn, Anne said her goodbyes before she could get roped into any of the dark-hearted conversations. Civil disobedience didn't sound like such a bad thing in light of recent events, but as a federal employee, it was something she couldn't afford to be caught being involved with.

She searched for the bald man before she left. He gladly paid what she asked for the one tube of dental pain reliever gel she offered.

"It's just never on the shelf, no matter what store I go to. Where did you get it?"

Anne took his money and handed over the unopened box, shrugging. "Just got lucky, I guess."

The drive home was uneventful, other than the two randomly placed State Trooper checkpoints that stopped her. She breezed through those with her proper I.D. and vehicle registration. As she entered the dark, cool interior of her house, an heirloom clock in her living room chimed midnight.

* * *

"This isn't about globalization. It's about sound fiscal policy. The federal deficit isn't the only thing that put us in this situation. We bought into the idea that our national debt didn't matter. Well, I have news for you. It does, and we're paying for it. This con job they call the North American Union is just one more lie to keep us distracted while the rats get off our sinking ship. Anyone who thinks we need to trade sovereignty for security is kidding himself."

—"Politics USA," Talk TV, April 19, 2014

 

U.S. President Madeline Hill addressed the United Nations General Assembly. "The worldwide war on terrorism has taken many lives. It has also damaged many nations' economies. In our constant struggle to remain free, we've had to do a lot of things that, as leaders, our people haven't liked. Each time they go to the ballot box, they remind us of their discontent, and of our obligation to provide them with a better future.

"The world's prosperity now depends on what we do. As we create it, the North American Union will take its place in history with the other notable trade blocs that have come before it.

"Together, the United States, Canada, and Mexico will lift each other out of poverty. We'll put an end to the tariffs and trade practices that have held us back for so long. Together, we will trade as equals with the European Union, the South American Free Trade Association, the ASEAN Free Trade Zone, and the numerous other new economic partnerships that are sure to be created in the years to come."

The members of the Assembly applauded her short speech. Madeline left the dais feeling accomplished. She took her seat while Secretary General Allen Moreau made his remarks.

Moreau was just as brief in his assessment of the fledgling trade bloc. "The treaty that establishes the North American Union has been a long time in coming. Many world leaders have lent their skills and wisdom to this effort. Three American presidents have endured much criticism from the people who elected them. In spite of this, they have prevailed. In good faith, I now add my own signature to this document."

More applause echoed through the chamber as the he went to the ceremonial table to sign the symbolic parchment to which the leaders of Canada, Mexico, and the United States had already affixed their names.

President Hill made eye contact with everyone she could see, smiling as needed. Minutes later, she was escorted from the Assembly chamber to the private offices of the SecGen.

Moreau greeted her with a warm handshake. "Madame President, you've made history."

Madeline dismissed her entourage. "Now that we're alone, you and I need to talk."

"Of course." The Frenchman pointed to a spare chair and sat behind his large desk.

She took the offered seat and crossed her legs. "I had a few words with my Mexican counterpart before the signing. He informs me that a certain high-profile drug cartel plans to make raids into New Mexico sometime after our Thanksgiving holiday. His remarks confirm what I've been told through my Department of Homeland Security."

"What would you have me do?" Moreau asked with open hands.

Madeline relaxed. "When these attacks happen, my Congress will insist on upgrading our border security. Naturally, I'll sign any bill they send me, within reason. Then I'll make a patriotic speech to keep the folks in fly-over country happy. When I make that speech, I'd like you to counsel caution. Suggest rather broadly that I might be overreacting."

The veteran diplomat nodded his well-groomed head. "I see. This is another move on the chessboard for you. Another small step closer to your larger goal of long-term power. Tell me just one thing. Does anyone in your Congress understand that your country's economy will fall apart before the North American Union can be put into effect?"

She placed a manicured finger on her chin. Her grin was predatory. "The idealists have no clue. The rest have their suspicions. The wealthiest families have already moved their money out of the country. The people who back me are ready to ride out the worst of what's coming. The NAU can't be put into effect until we've defeated all resistance to it."

The experienced facilitator showed his admiration. "You speak with such conviction! I realize the answer is self-evident, but I must know. How will you overcome your constitutionally mandated term limit?"

The President struck a conspiratorial pose. "You of all people can understand my need for secrecy. You're due to leave office before Christmas. It's better that you go into retirement without knowing. N'est pas?"

Moreau visibly demurred, accepting her explanation. "So true. There are some things I don't need to know. One thing puzzles me. Why did you put so much effort into the selection of Antonio Ramirez as my replacement? The man is a shark. He runs the World Bank very well, but he has no style."

Madeline got to her feet. "My country's influence is waning. Antonio and I have developed an understanding that might turn that around, after some unpleasant things have been taken care of. When he takes office, I will owe you a very large favor."

The SecGen walked her to the staff door. "My family owns several very old vineyards. We maintain some of the proudest pedigrees in all of France. In my old age, I would like to export my family's legacy to your country. Perhaps we can arrange permits before the rise of your new government."

She allowed him to open the door to the outer offices. "I have somebody in Europe right now. I'll have him stop by your estate. It won't take long. He can brief your people on the nuts and bolts. My administration excels at that kind of thing. You'll have your licenses and permits by the end of next year. Even so, I expect a bottle of your best to be delivered to the White House before this Christmas."

"I understand," Moreau replied as he followed her into the next room.

After an exchange of pleasantries with U.N. staffers, President Hill was escorted to her motorcade. She spoke with her Chief of Staff by secured phone as the convoy made its way to McGuire Air Force Base.

Larry Hodgekiss was pleased. "I saw your speech. The networks are still buzzing about it. Lots of great photo angles on that signing ceremony. The talking heads can't say enough good things about it. Nobody was expecting you to be so brief. Our friends from both the north and the south are still performing for any camera that looks like it's turned on."

President Hill read a memo that an aide handed to her. She clipped the phone to her ear. "The important thing is that Moreau is going to back my choice for his replacement. Larry, I've just seen another note from my least favorite pain-in-the-butt. I'm going to have Fisk deal with this when he gets back from Spain."

The Chief of Staff sighed. "I hear you. Andy's trying just a little too hard to do his job. Treasury needs to be on board with our plans or they don't work. If Mr. Brown won't play along, he needs to go. Why don't you let me take care of this?"

Madeline initialed the memo and passed it on. The staff that surrounded her stayed busy. She tried to get comfortable as the long, armored vehicle accelerated. "Don't take your eyes off the prize. We can't stop what's coming, so we might as well profit from it. If we don't keep a strong grip on the reins when the currency collapses, we won't stay in power. Think about it, Larry. No more term limits. No more elections. If we do this right, we'll have a free hand for the next twenty years."

"You know I'm with you. I just don't like using outsiders to do the dirty work. It'll send the wrong message to the rest of the Cabinet."

The ambitious politician glanced at her watch. "I want to make history. I don't want to be history. Even though I didn't start the ball rolling on this economic collapse, I might as well make the most of it. The average person is too busy trying to pay his bills and keep his family fed. Nobody's going to care how we put things back together after the collapse. They're just going to hope and pray that somebody like me has the nerve to step up and do it."

* * *

"What is the American collapse going to look like? Are we going to know it when we see it? Does federal failure mean the end of our individual states?"

—"Radical Minute," Talk TV, April 20, 2014

 

Cordelia stood in line at the grocery store. Using the calculator function on her trendy wireless data device, she added up the cost of her purchases while the people ahead of her gossiped with the cashier.

"How come the pharmacy is closed? When did that happen?"

"Who knew that milk could go for six bucks a gallon?"

"Hey, that's nothing. You should try buying baby formula for twins!"

The math didn't lie. Cordelia left her place in line to put some things back on the shelf. She heaved her cart around the turns to work off some of her frustration, causing it to squeak. This would be the second week in a row that her paycheck failed to meet her desires. It was bad enough that she had to resort to canned goods because the frozen stuff was out of stock. Now she was putting even those back because she didn't want to pay the high prices.

College loans and rising rent had long since put her into a funk. One year out of college and she was already on the verge of maxing out her credit cards. The large commissions from her ad agency job weren't coming fast enough to keep pace with her evolving lifestyle or the inflation that darkened her outlook on life.

She loitered in the air-conditioned produce section. The plastic grip on her shopping cart felt warm and sticky. She tried to ignore the residue.

The smells of fresh fruits and vegetables tantalized her senses. All the things she loved to eat, so tasty and near. She picked out a single orange and put it in her basket. The act of giving in to such a small impulse made her angry.

"Somebody has to stop this."

"What do you have in mind?" a deep, male voice asked from behind her.

She turned to look at him. "I'm just fed up, that's all."

The big man pushed a cart with one hand, stepping closer to her. "I think we're all fed up. The question is, what are we going to do?"

Cordelia inspected the pushy man. His ruddy face, dirty work boots, faded blue jeans, and flannel shirt with rolled sleeves told her that he worked with his hands.

She plucked a tiny speck of lint off her designer blouse. "I'm not political. I'm just going to wait for this to pass, like everyone else. Even the president says these hard times will blow over. I believe her, so I'm just going to wait."

The blue-eyed man grabbed three small avocados off the nearest display. He juggled them high in the air with an easy flourish. "I used to work for one of those circus casinos in Vegas. Man, I love these things. Used to buy 'em by the dozen. Now, I get 'em one at time—kind of like you and that orange."

She moved away, worried that a pickup line was about to ruin the moment. "My buying habits are none of your business. Things will eventually get better. They always do."

The stranger returned the avocados to the stand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I heard you ask a fair question. I've been trying to make up my own mind. What am I going to do about this? I could be like you and keep my head down, or I can do something. You know?"

Cordelia's feet stopped moving. She looked down at her handmade Italian shoes. "No, I don't know. I don't want to know. I'm not a letter writer, I don't sign petitions, and I don't send money to politicians. Even if I did those things, nothing would change."

He scratched the back of his longhaired head. "So you're just gonna keep eating oranges one at a time until things get better for no particular reason?"

"Yeah," she muttered.

He picked up a single avocado and put it in his basket. "Thanks for the help."

"I didn't do anything."

He turned his cart. "You just helped me to make up my mind."

Cordelia was surprised. "I did? Come back! No. Wait! What are you talking about?"

He struggled for words. His gaze was intense. "The country is coming apart around us, and we're all just waiting for somebody else to step up and make it better."

"What can you do?" she asked indignantly.

He took a crumpled handbill from his pocket. "You'll find one of these on your windshield when you go outside. Somebody plastered the whole parking lot. It's from the city councilman who pretends to represent this district. He's been in office longer that I've been alive. I'm gonna sell my truck and use the money to run against him in the fall."

The very idea made her laugh. "You're nobody. You can't win."

He unfolded the advertisement and showed it to her. "My kid has a computer and a printer. I can make these. I'll spread 'em around on nights and weekends."

Cordelia remained skeptical. "You've got three months to register. You're also going to need a better campaign strategy than flyers on windshields."

He folded the paper and put it away. "I've got friends. Between the bunch of us, we'll have plenty of ideas. My wife is a real whiz with money. Image isn't everything."

She rebelled at the thought. "Image is everything. Positive impressions make us feel good about ourselves. When we feel 'right,' we want to buy the things that make us feel that way."

He looked at the staple foods in his cart. "There's a lot of things I'd like to buy that would make me feel good, but they won't fit my budget. If most people are like me, they've got the same problems. That means they want the same things, like good government. Getting that ought to make anyone feel good."

Cordelia looked at the things in her cart. Then she looked at the simpler things he was buying. "I… know somebody… who manages the PR for that guy you want to run against. He's going to be on radio, TV, and in every newspaper you can get in this town. You can't beat that."

He looked her up and down. "Maybe not, but I'm sure gonna try."