Campaigning near the Crossroads

It was so hot that flies burst into flames. And it was only June.

The old man sat on his front porch, strummed his guitar and spit. Psssssssssssssss. The spit turned to steam as it hit the wood. His old dog hid under his chair, searching for any small patch of shade he could find. The old hound would have licked himself, but it would have burned his tongue.  It was that hot. The red sun burned through the haze as it set.  Just one more “to Hell with you” gesture to the Earth it had spend the day frying.

It was hottest June in the old man’s 83 years. He spit again.  And once again, it turned to steam. Psssssssssssssssss.

The man in the seersucker suit appeared out of nowhere. Or so it seemed.

“You ain’t one of them travelin’ preachers are you?”  the old man growled as the man stepped up onto the porch.  The dog growled, too — but a look from the stranger made him mysteriously stop.  The stranger laughed, “Oh no, I’m running for Governor of this great state.”

The old man looked at the man suspiciously. It was 104 degrees and this man didn’t have one drop of sweat on his head. His suit was pressed and wrinkle-free.

“I am asking for your vote.” The stranger smiled, revealing his pointed fangs.

A black crow landed on the porch rail, cawing at the old man.

“You should send me to Jackson.  I can fix all your worries.  I can solve all your problems.”

The old man looked at the stranger and almost asked him for air conditioning.  “What will it cost me?”

“Just your vote.”

“Just my vote?”  The old man’s soul burned like the red sun licking at the horizon.

“Yes, old timer, just your vote.  That’s the deal. Just tell me what you are afraid of and I will solve it. I will create a commission. I will pass a law. I will make government work for you. ” The stranger smiled again as flames danced in his eyes.

The dog growled again but was drowned out by the crow.

The stranger handed the old man one of his push cards.  The old man gazed at the picture of the man in the suit. No family. Just him in front of the state Capitol building.  “I will do great things when I get in power.”  The old man looked up and into his eyes.  It was the first chill he had felt all week.  He clutched the card and nodded politely.  The stranger nodded back, walked off the porch and down the dirt driveway, disappearing into the shadows. The crow flew off in the same direction.

And on that hot June evening, the old man strummed a Robert Johnson tune and knew there’d be Hell to pay if this mysterious young man won the election.