Take notes. Appalachia: I have coffee in the coffee shop on Main Street. We call it Main. The City Fathers arrived to answer questions. There is really only one question: Why did no one show up to help us through a hurricane. You rebuild. Struggling. There used to be mountain people who thought Climate change was a hoax. Great Leader said so. You have to look at education in the South. There is little tolerance for kids who ask too many questions. So you never ask questions. You slink around marginalized. You put adolescent energy into basketball. Sports is your only option. You will Comply. I am the unofficial Secretary of State. I arrive every morning with a long list of the Felon’s crimes. We have one woman who the gossips say: She’s a Lesbian. Half the people left. Good riddance. Some of us (including me) think that the Felon wants to kill us. We think he will succeed because Americans (this is where you would tobacco spit on the floor, and you catch yourself) are weak. Women serve us. Coffee? Bleached blondes. No high heels. Hospital shoes. Everything comes home. These are men who own tomato fields, cucumber fields. Potato fields. Apple orchards. They need migrants to pick the crops or they go broke fast. Migrant workers arrive in August. Changing your mind is hard stuff, you all. They are slowly coming to realize I am a radical. Not a liberal. We swear. “Language.” The women don’t like it. “Language.” In time I will teach them to hate the Felon’s guts.

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