Red Fox Suburbia--TI

   
   "Red Fox Suburbia--TI"
   
   She called it suburbia, though not a commando like Hulk Hogan, where his adversaries threatened a law suit--those class action crooks, all from a Guild of Thieves; specifically, the fried chicken was not healthy for Nevada; still, she ate fish on Fridays, and the Pope's brother was a fisherman, so goes the smarty-pants back onto the legs of her Eastern Orthodox relatives, mentioning that Adamkind should not be in space, especially Deep Space Nine, where Gold-Pressed Latinum is the order of the day; anyway, at the C-Store, way out in Faulkner's alcoholic Mandela Effect, Nevada was eating what fueled the Vietnamese during the War without them inheriting diabetes--white rice.  A man named Stubby sat down next to her in the booth, a cricket crawling amid the igniting conversation.

STUBBY
They want you baby--so do I.  Better buy some painter's tape and many magic mirrors.

NEVADA
What, the Age of Information?  You believe it?  Oh yeah, truth trumps fiction.

STUBBY
Want some Duck a L'Orange?  It's toasted.  Like those Luckies your Grandma smokes, before the white man put a piece of cotton on the tip.

NEVADA
I can yell harassment.  Plenty of girls have done it, without any evidence, them having sought it in the first place, and it seems to stick.

STUBBY
Just don't make waves.

NEVADA
Why?  You guys will kill me anyway.  Thanks to the Mirror of Justice, maybe the death you sow in my direction--you'll reap.

STUBBY
Not very Christian.

NEVADA
Don't give me crap; Jesus was no wimp.  He told it like it was, and my purpose is to totally mimic Him.  What's better than a mere tradesman infused with the Holy Spirit Itself?