Downtown Diary 

This week: "sunk"

This week: “sunk”
[this is satire] Rocky the Diabolical Cat™ and I relaxed in our seats on the gondola City of Indianapolis while our guide and gondolier, Bart-tron 2K3, propelled us along the mile-and-a-half long, 4-feet-deep downtown canal. “You.two.are.very.negative//,” the robot-mayor said. Presently, a cumulus cloud of soot from the power plant south of downtown appeared and made itself stationary above us. “’,” the robot said. “Don’t set your goals too high, Bart-tron,” Rocky snorted. A gondola-load of drunken policemen sped past us, then crashed. Bart-tron crooned “Space Truckin’” by Deep Purple as he stood at the stern and pushed the boat along with his oar. “Bart-tron, briefly outline your plan for this canal, how your plan will bring prosperity again to this benighted city,” I asked in a journalistic tone. “ the.gondoliers//. Department.of.Corrections// background// I.just.think.we,” the robot said. “Dear, dear Bart-tron,” Rocky said, “the only ‘business’ this city reminds one of is a plantation.” “,” Bart-tron said, glaring at Rocky. “Anyway//,” the robot said. “Win what?” Rocky asked. “,” the robot chuckled mechanically. A gondola-load of drunken business leaders, lobbyists and politicians roared by in a speedboat, causing our gondola to capsize. “You.see.//,” the robot said before his wiring fell victim to the water and he short-circuited . I looked at Rocky and asked, “Well? Shall we go?” “Yes, let’s go,” he replied, and we slogged out of the canal, chilled to the bone by the wintry temperature.

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