The Farm on the Edge of Town

This town used to be a decent place to live before all the goddamn city-folk started bringing their snot-nosed little kids who think they can just run through anybody's fields they chose. I shoot them with a pellet gun, while they're trespassing, and suddenly I'm the asshole? That's how it goes then. Modern. Bah. Who needs it. I ain't never owned a computer in my whole damn life. I've got a newspaper subscription and tv. 's all I need.

I buried two wives in this town, and had a handful of ungrateful children between 'em. So I stay here. Ain't nobody got use for a seventy-year-old farmer these days, with their cellular phones and their goddamn nigger music. I remember a time when that old sheriff Linkwalter made sure none of those people stayed in town, 'cept for the barber. He was a good one. Knew his place.

My barn is damn near empty these days, 'cept for a couple of cats. Which is fine, they keep the rats outta the house. Mean bastards too. The old Tom's got himself one eye, like I do. Bet he lost it fighting too. I've seen him tangle with those raccoons that still think I've got some feed 'round here. He wins. I pull the stool up to the old dodge, and pop the hood so I can get a good look at it. I'm gonna get this damn car running before I die, I promise you that. It's about the only thing I got to look forward to these days. Can't farm no more, damn government. Ain't no grandkids around no more, too. Ingrates haven't been around since Gloria died. Ain't been the same.

I didn't hear the car pull up, it took the ingrate knocking on the barn door to get my attention. He's been here before. When I look up he gives a wave and starts jabbering, "Mr. Jensen! I've come back with another offer!"

"My offer still stands. I ain't selling."

"Mr. Jensen, I understand you're reluctance, but this is quite a deal. Besides, you have about, what, 200 acres here? You wouldn't have to sell all of it. We've decided to offer at 5% over estimated value. We won't take all of it, yet, but I'm sure we could work out another deal if you decide to sell the remainder."

"Two-hunnerd and six acres. And I ain't selling a single one."

"Mr. Jensen, it's very generous..."

"Stop right there," I cut his jabbering off as I grabbed my cane and walked over towards him. Suit. Kind of a disgusted look on his face. What a piece of shit. "How many goddamn times do I have to tell you or your boss I ain't selling my goddamn farm? Fifty? A hunnerd? I'll tell you every goddamn time the same thing: I ain't selling any part of my farm."

"I understand that you're reluctant, but..."

I jabbed my finger into his chest, "You don't understand shit. I ain't selling. You want to put up more of those goddamn 'subdivisions' filled with damn folk who've never worked with their hands, raising ingrates who'll never work with their hands. Makes sense, cuz you damn sure ain't never worked with your hands, making your goddamn six figures. This town used to be a decent place, full of decent, hard-working people. My grandpa carved this farm outta ten lousy acres, and my old man made it what it is today. And your boss showed me his plans, his big 'low-income' apartments or whatever. I know what that means. I'll be long dead in the ground before I let you give my land to a bunch of niggers and spics. So get the fuck out of here and if I ever see your ass here again, I'm gonna put some buckshot in it." He was trembling as he backed towards his fancy car.

"You can't fight progress forever, Mr. Jensen." I gave him a quick, good old one-finger salute as he drove down towards the road. I walked back to the dodge, and sat down. I grabbed a wrench, and went to work on the engine block.