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No, this is a bad idea. You don’t want to sign your name on this only for Hubbard and her sycophants to disqualify you once the deadline is passed. That seems exactly like something she would do, right? You already promised yourself that you wouldn’t take any shortcuts. You’re gonna cover all of your bases every step of the way. Keep your enemies honest. No foul play can stop you if you stop the foul play first…and once you’ve ensured that the elites can’t rat fuck you off the ballot, you just need to become too big to rig!
You scratch the idea entirely. You know somebody who you might be able to get to sign this, anyways.
“Chet! You in there?”
You’re standing outside a trailer in an old trailer park on the edge of town. And by edge of town, that’s meant literally. You checked the property and municipal lines just to be safe before showing up, and half of the trailer park is actually outside Whispering Oaks. Thankfully, Chet’s trailer lies on the right side for you to ask for this little favor.
Ah, Chet. You met him in your freshman year of college, which was a funny coincidence considering you two were probably the only people at the time from Whispering Oaks who were attending that big city school. You were studying business management. He was taking pre-med. Look where that got him…
A hallowed out face peeks through the door window before it creaks open and he steps out. He’s a skinny, unkempt, mess of a man, someone who’s hardly recognizable from the handsome sophomore you knew back in the day. His shirt is stained and dirty and his teeth have gotten more yellow since you’ve last seen him.
“Whaddaya want, man? You only come ‘round here when yer askin’ a favor,” he speaks in a voice that is both deeper and more masculine than his appearance would suggest. He stands slouched, but grounded.
“Not even a “hi,” Chet?” You’re standing straight, hands in your pocket. You’d be lying if you said your bond has stood the test of time, especially after your lifestyles diverged as greatly as they have.
“Look, if you ain’t got nothing for me, I’m headin’ back inside…”
Chet tries to turn his back to you, but you grab his wrist before he can fully do so. With your other hand, you pull out something from your pocket and hold it in front of him, a naughty smirk curling your lips unwarranted. Chet looks at the bag, then at you.
“Come on man, you know I don’t smoke that weak shit no more.”
“How ‘bout for old time sake, then?”
Chet pauses for a moment, considering his options.
“Alright, fine…but leave yer phone in the mailbox. Yer watch, too. The fed’s watchin’ us through them now, too.”
(1/2)
