The Stranger

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It was mid-morning when The Stranger rolled into the small town of Lawson, California. The townsfolk sensed trouble immediately. They had heard of his type from Lou Dobbs. He would come and take their jobs. He would bring crime, drugs and incest. Lawson would never be the same if they didn’t do something about The Stranger.

When The Stranger stopped at Steve’s Gas and Laundromat, more than half the town of Lawson had guns in their hands. They were not about to allow this man to destroy their culture, their way of life. He was a threat who didn’t belong in America, let alone in Lawson.

Steve warily left his office and approached The Stranger’s car. “You speak English? We don’t have nothing Mexican here,” said Steve, puffing his chest out to let The Stranger know that he would not willingly give up his town. Steve had a pistol tucked into his jeans, just waiting for The Stranger to ask about getting health care or try and get his kids enrolled in Lawson Elementary.

“Fill it up,” said The Stranger.

“You got money? American money?” asked Steve.

“Uh, yeah,” said The Stranger.

When the transaction was finished, The Stranger drove away. The town folks calmed a bit, but it would be weeks before they put away their guns. The Stranger could come back to try and overrun their town with disease, diversity and DMV manuals written in Spanish. They’d be ready.

As he drove away, The Stranger looked in his rear-view mirror and thought, “That was strange.” But he didn’t think much more about it, as he wanted to make sure he made it back to Anaheim in time to see the Los Angeles Angels – the team he owned – play a night game against the Texas Rangers.


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