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There's lockdown tonight. Gotta stay off the streets. I push aside some Viagra boxes to peer out. Choppers dangle shipping containers, and a Jumbo-copter swings something the size of a house. A convoy of flatbeds hauls concrete blocks, there's pairs of trucks balancing bridge sections. Next morning there's this God-Awful noise. If a constipated bear was roaring in the steambox of a Victorian engine in an endless conduit, you'd be close.
Next morning the lockdown is over. I go ask Pink Sweety a few questions and offer her some thermal underwear. Say she can try it on in the shop. She says I am an old creep and I should know better at my age. "My grandmother used to shop here," she says. "And she's warned me about you." Damn, she knew about my spy hole in the saddle box. I used to fit right into it. So I go to Tangerine Boy, and call him "son". I think he likes that, probably doesn't know who his father is.
"That's the Extrapolator, Pops," he says. I want to pop him on the head, but my fist would bounce off his hard hat. "Haven't you been reading about the big project in your papers? Lucky for you I'm a Public Rural Interface Committee Kommisar, I can tell you all about it. BC Bylaw 2012, Volume 17, Edition 6, Set 24, Evolution 14 says that 'All features must conform to best practice'."
"What 'features'?" I ask.
"As it says, Pops, 'All features'. They are to be regulated holistically within the existing non-local paradigm." I feel a bubbling deep within.
"What's 'best practice'?"
"The consensus view on constructive activity that is sustainably authorized."
Why has everybody started speaking mumbo-jumbo? Official words that mean nothing at all? What's wrong with saying things plainly? What you really mean or think about stuff? But that could be offensive to somebody, somewhere, sometime, and we can't have that. Political Correctness. Paranoid Cuckoo. I pop a smelly one out behind and move away.