“Of all the blogsites in all the world, she has to come here.  Well, they got Leftfield.  One in, one out.  What’s that you’re posting, Sam?”

“Just a little something I wrote up, Mr. Pete.  About the Wars, the Injustice, the Hate, the Fear, and, of course, Gaza.”

“Well, knock it off.  You know what I want you to post.”

“What’s that, Mr. Pete?”

“About a lady.  And about a guy at the Republican National Convention with this comical look on his face cause his insides had just been kicked out.”

“You’re talking about Ms. Sarah, Mr. Pete.  She’s no good for you.  She only wants back those letters she gave you.”

“As if she isn’t in the news every day.  As if I don’t think of her every time I see a working family getting the shaft, and that big oil spill in the Gulf.  Huh.  And Wall St., and WalMart, and wall to wall Capitalism.  And now she wants those letters.  Seems like if I have those letters, I’ll always be popular.”

“Mr. Pete, you could use those letters to save the world.  She’s got the whole Corporate Plan in those letters.”

“Why should I?  Why should I stick my neck out for anybody?  I’m the only cause I’m interested in.  Even if I gave those letters to Ralph Nader, he’d probably fuck it up.  Better the goddamn world be put out of its misery.”

“Awh, you don’t mean that, Mr. Pete.”

“Maybe.  But I’m going to hold on to those letters.  If she thinks she can put one over on Fred C…wait a minute, wrong movie.  If she thinks she can get me to help her, after all she’s already done, then I say to her: Go back to Alaska.  It’s a good place to die.”

“Can I finish my post now, Mr. Pete.  Are you all done?”

“I’ll all done.  We’re all all done.  Unless we can get Louie…I mean Obama to take a stand, it’s all pretty much over.  Might as well catch the last plane out to Lisbon.  If I could only get those letters out with me.”

“That TSA will find them and arrest you, Mr. Pete.  Put you in that concentration camp.”

“Do me a favor, Sam”

“What’s that?”

“Those letters.  I want you to keep them for me for a while.  Hide them under your computer.”

“Well, if Ms. Sarah comes back with that Major guy, I guess she won’t look there.  I don’t think she knows what a computer is.”

“Good.  Huh.  Mister, I met a man once…”

“What’s that, Mr. Pete.”

“Nothing.  Just something in one of those letters.  President?  We’re in for it now, Sam.”

“I know, Mr. Pete.  But I just want to say one thing: Here’s looking at you, Mr. Pete.”

“Who’s looking at me?  What?  Where?!  Goddamn government!!!”

Peter Buknatski

Montpelier, Vt.