THIS IS EMERY-TOP MOUNTAIN
It used to be quite sacred to whatever tribe
once lived here. The name we call it now
means nothing now; it's merely some phonetic
equivalent of what they used to think the local
natives were saying - the old-time equivalent
of hearing 'There's a bathroom on the right', in
some goofy old rock song.
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That tribe? All gone now, except for two or
three scattered families left in hovels down
by Kanmare Street - the one guy is the
Pharmacists at Delaney's but just because
of who he is, no one really trusts to deal
with him. Isn't that weird - the same guy
whose ancestors once cured everything from
herbs and flowers. Instead they'll gladly buy
some chemical concoction made by Monsanto
or some equivalent and call it healing, and
then five years all join a class-action suit
thinking they'll get rich because they have
trouble catching their breath. A woman from
the same old tribe is the cashier over at
Belle's Fashions. She has a daughter I used to
really like, back where we went to early school
together. But now, she can't 'date' out of her
tribe because they're trying to preserve their
line. Survivors? Or more like passengers
on a locked ship of doom?
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