Welcome to the good old USA. Where we do everything on an absurd scale. See. It all started way back in the 1980s, when we elected an actor as the President of the country. From that point on, what’s happened, and how we live, as a people, was inevitable.
See? This is my house. Look at the picture. Beautiful, ain’t it? Sitting right there on the ocean, right on the sand. All four stories of it. I like it out here. The sounds of the ocean help me sleep at night.
Now, I know, I know. You think I’ve got Fruit Loops for brain cells, building a house on the ocean like this, so it can be washed away when the next hurricane blows through. Especially these days, what with most hurricanes being Cat 5, and nearly 1000 miles across.
But, this is the USA, see. And it’s my house. And my car. And my office. And my shooting range. And my farm. And everything else I own. I get word there’s a storm coming, and all I have to do is push a button, and my house grows wheels, and a big ass motor, gas powered of course. None of that cheap battery powered shit for me. And I put her in gear, and fuckin’ move. I can always come back later.
That’s the best thing about how we do things. Your address is you’re house. No matter where your house is. I had fun a couple years back. Drove her up to the Grand Canyon, and parked there for the summer. Man, but Arizona’s toasty in the summer. Want breakfast? Put it on a plate, and set that on the porch. An hour later, fried eggs, and crispy bacon. But, the view. Oh, my God, the view! You can’t see that anywhere else. Only in Arizona.
Next summer, I’m planning on a trip to what’s left of Florida. Place is abandoned, after all the flooding and storms. But I’ve seen pictures on the big screen. Some dude went there, and spent most of a year exploring the marshes, and the swamp. He said get a boat, that there’s nothing like boating in the Jacksonville and Tampa Bay remains, seeing all the tops of buildings sticking up out of the ocean.
To be honest, mine’s just a little place. My girl, Jill? She’s got a pretty place. Even has her own biomass plant inside it, so she can tank that sucker up in the middle of nowhere. She let me park next to her once. Felt like I was parking one of those tiny-ass Toyota cars next to my house. That’s how big hers is. She doesn’t like to move it around too much. Says it gets crap for gas mileage.
That’s why I stuck with a four story beach house. Sucker’s pretty light, and cheap to move around.
Gonna take it to Iowa next month. Heard Iowa was flatter than hell. Figure I should go find out. After than, not sure where I’ll park to kill the time until summer.
Why are you looking at me like that? Y’all don’t have mobile houses, or something?
This is written for Week 44 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.