HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout Read Free Page B

said Larry, as he set
two single bottles of German beer, a bottle of club soda and a
heaping armful of bagged snacks on the counter. “My lady friend
sure will appreciate it.” Larry unzipped a pocket in his wallet,
unsnapped a snap and dug out a VISA card. A folded lottery ticket
was also in the hidden compartment. “Also, three bucks on
MegaMillions... gotta invest in my retirement future.”
    The clerk printed the new ticket, rang up
the order, swiped Larry’s card and handed him a credit
authorization slip for signature.
    “And can you give me tonight’s winning
numbers?” The clerk picked up several orange slips from a pile of
narrow orange papers sitting atop the computer unit of the lottery
terminal, handing one to Larry, who put it without a glance into
the snapped compartment of his wallet. “You really ought to think
about stocking Tuborg or Carlsberg,” said Larry, as he signed the
authorization slip. “Danish beer is good stuff.” He walked out with
a wave.
    .
    “Bought you some club soda and other
essential survival supplies,” said Larry. “I hear Hermosa Beach is
pretty primitive.”
    “Why do you throw your money away on that
shit?” asked Lori. “Salt, sugar, fat.” She took the club soda and
sifted through the snacks, pulling out a bag of trail mix.
    “See? I know what you like,” said Larry. “So
can I hang out with you in Hermosa?” Larry opened a bag of
Cheetos.
    “I don’t know,” said Lori. “It’s not my
place and I don’t even know if I’m gonna go there. If I do a
‘stay-cation’ thing and just don’t show at work, I can avoid the
‘open carry’ people.”
    “Sort’a yer call, isn’t it?”
    “Yeh, I may just stay at the beach after my
swims or something.” Lori pulled a narrow bottle with “eco” on the
label from her bag and poured a capful of liquid into each of the
three machines she had loaded with clothes. She closed the lids and
set the temperatures, fed in coins from the roll of quarters Larry
had brought and started each load.
    “Aw, c’mon,” said Larry, as he
systematically moved bright orange puffs to his mouth. “You’ll need
company. I can be your bodyguard.”
    Lori laughed, as she popped a handful of
trail mix, while watching the muted TV over Larry’s shoulder. The
sitcom had broken away to a FOX News teaser, showing Mr. Mocha
Latte and several of his open-carry compatriots, standing in front
of Bucksters Coffee, one with a handmade sign reading, “We Want Our
Freedom... & our coffee!” Mouths moved mutely to the sounds of
washing machines chugging. The news teaser cut to the nodding,
solemn, seldom-moving face of the redhead. Lori watched motionless
as the teaser morphed into a Chevrolet commercial.
    “I can see what’s in it for the manager,
sending you here,” said Larry. “You, alone in an apartment in
Hermosa... without your bike... his keys, his raise, his vacation,
his benefits.” Larry licked Cheetos dust from his fingers. “Sweet
deal for Peter Pan.”
    “Peter Pan didn’t have red hair and my boss
is too dorky to make a move,” said Lori.
    “So…,” said Larry, pulling out a bag of
Doritos, “you stopped talking about whether to reenlist. Does that
mean you’re gonna go back in?”
    “Maybe,” said Lori, hopping up and sitting
on one of her three washing machines. “Still talking to a
recruiter. Can’t make a commitment yet… cuz… I got another big
thing that I might take on this summer. Don’t know yet, but, yeh,
probably.”
    “Where would they put you?”
    “Probably Afghanistan.... Hopefully as an
E6, like I came out,” said Lori.
    “What’ta’ya think you’d be doing?”
    “Convoys. Fuel. Vehicle repair. The stuff
where you only carry a personal sidearm.”
    “Such a girl,” said Larry.
    “There’s actually a lot of women in
theatre,” said Lori. She glanced up to the muted TV, which was
showing a commercial for psychic telephone readings. “But all of
’em are so… young… tattoos