Waist deep in muck
Sit back and read a tale of the matriarch of a small community, a matriarch at least in her own mind. She lives under a bridge at the entrance way to the quaint community, a community that was once vibrant and thriving. When the matriarch comes to town, she drags her bag of tricks and garbage, leaving bits behind here and there. As time marched forward, the bits added up. A decade and a half later, the streets and every green space lie filled with muck almost waist-deep. A permanent cloud of stench darkens the sky. Her bag of tricks were pithy sayings written on bland gray stone. Slate it had to be. Slate could easily be wiped clean to make a new saying to fit the debate of the day. Then she began building a slate wall of pithy sayings to remind the residents how weak and unworthy they are. "You only see evil if you aren't looking for good." "Everybody sees things differently." "Won't you admit you're wrong?" "Everyone has good in...