Autofable of Self-Governance

Howdy.

           Thanks for remotely meeting me halfway for this midtown rendezvous. Despite this seasonal nuisance rain, I needed to step out of my house for some fresh air — my cat was staring at me like I owe it money.

There's supposed to be a town hall at this community park pavilion we're at. I thought we'd slip in for a while, absorb some oratory vibe & then go to a nearby roller rink for something equally loopy — the eatery at The Wood'n Wheel Family Fun Corral has a great a build-yer-own hot dog bar in the all-ages outdoor smoking arena.

These excerpts of visions lie meditatively beyond the fused body of various frays & float that fine riptide of political ambiguity like cryptic foam on a trending stagnant pond, so I figured this particular rally would be acceptable for any of us to attend — no ideology need be taken for granted as it's of that conjoined-party-approved, generic-brand type, like relaxed-fit common-good apparel shoplifted from a non-existent superstore.

However, I just noticed there's a glittery paint-penned notice taped to that No Loitering sign at the park entrance which redirects to a different venue across town. I can drive us over — just push the parking tickets & spent N95s covering the passenger seat onto the floor & strap in. I'll take a scenic route lined with a load of lawn-planted candidate placards that'll entertainingly flash by like an autumnal party-color kineograph. I don't listen to the radio anymore, so on the way over I'll fill you in on what happened last time I opted to undergo one of these civic affairs: