January 13

“Not enough land,” Mitch responded, stirring his coffee.  “According to yesterday’s press release, the new plant is going to be larger than the old facility.”

 “And I suppose they got a nice tax break on the Long View property,” Nonnie sniffed.

 “Don’t they always?  If you or I were to buy land up there, we’d pay through the nose,” Jude wrinkled hers in disgust, her freckles converging.

Amid the clatter of dishes and chatter of customers, Zim drew some calculations on the paper placemat.  “If you consider the information Wrightley announced, they really could modify the existing factory to suit their needs.  Don’t know how much that’d cost, though”, he frowned beneath his black fringe, black glasses sliding down his nose. 

They fell into a depressed silence.  Their table was a gloomy island washed by  the high-spirited surf flowing from the Escher’s other patrons.  Sunlight poured through the windows.  The sidewalks were dry and snowless, and people were popping out everywhere like gophers from hibernation holes.  The restaurant was three-quarters full, surprising for 9 a.m., and talk was effusive, much of it gushing about Wrightley Industries and “progress”.

Jude scowled, her clenched teeth grinding bacon.  “Why does everybody always think “progress” is great?  They see some new building going up and think it’s wonderful.  Why is that?”

“They DON’T think,” Patrick announced, appearing behind her.  He dragged an empty chair from an adjacent table, startling two women who were smearing cream cheese on their bagels.  Straddling the chair, he leaned toward the glum quartet.  “It’s indoctrination. Progress is Good.  Progress means more jobs. Progress means more money, a better standard of living.”   The wild-haired youth drove his reckoning gaze through the distracted patrons.  “They never think about what standards they’d really like in their lives, or if money actually makes them happy.”

“I suppose they think they can buy back the newts and orioles, squirrels and snakes once they’re gone from Long View”, said Jude.

“Or purchase enough insurance to cover their ruined houses once the topsoil and ground cover is gone and rainstorms flood down the hill,” Mitch added.

“They’ll ruin the land then hang framed landscapes in the foyer of their wonderful new factory”, Nonnie suggested wickedly, and raised her teacup.  “Here’s to progress and Wrightley Manufacturing!” she toasted.

A few of the closer diners echoed, lifting their coffee cups,  “Wrightley Manufacturing!”

 Nonnie just rolled her eyes.