by Vivian Davenport
Copyright 2007 by Vivian Davenport
Published by Vivian Davenport at Smashwords
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"Look at them! Bud, just look at these…these…people! It's not fair!"
Bud Quinn had been listening to his wife Jean harp on the same subject for the past half hour, and she was draining his vast reserve of patience. All he wanted to do was sit back and enjoy the evening news stories about the Watergate scandal, gas lines caused by the oil embargo, skyrocketing unemployment, and soaring interest rates. "Why don't you get away from that window and stop spying on them? Forget about them. There's nothing we can do about it." Another thought excited him. "Unless you want to move back to the city. I mean, I'll go, if you really want us to."
He never wanted to move from the city to the cinnamon brown split-level ranch house in Nowhere Suburbia. Even his teenage daughter Jennie initially objected, but Jean had hounded him for ten years to "get the hell out of the filthy city and raise our child somewhere safe," so in 1972 he relented and they moved. They'd spent a year in their new home, and ever since the move he regretted every day.
She turned from the living room side window and grimaced. "Go back? No way in hell! We're staying here, but I'll be damned if those…those…neighbors lower the property value of our new home. We've worked too damned hard for it."
Once his wife's new Dr. Scholl sandals click-clacked off to the kitchen, he undid the top hook of his Magnastretch flared slacks, stretched his legs on the glass and chrome coffee table, and focused on the infallible Walter Cronkite's words. When the station cut to a Hai Karate After Shave commercial, he took the moment of peace to close his eyes and think back to what life was like a year earlier, when they lived in their city apartment.