Even the educated could barely write, Rudy rued, "I know a lawyer who writes 'u,' the letter, instead of 'you.' Soon, we'll have a post-literate society!"
Unable to read or write, we will still have to obey innumerable rules. At a supermarket, the cashier asked near-death, stooping Rudy for his ID as he bought beer. "It's the rule," she lamented.
"They're getting so intrusive."
"And prayers aren't going to help."
"I agree."
"Maybe a gun will!"
"I'm with you."
They both laughed.
Back in the car, Rudy added, "Not only do they care what you do, but pretty soon, they will tell you what to do, and observe that you're not doing it. It's that bad."
Dexter Township is 97.5% white, while adjacent Dexter City is 92.7% vanilla. Together, they have just over 10,000 souls. During the first decade of the 21st century, Dexter City grew 73.9%, and one can assume that its whiteness is a prime attraction for newcomers. With no violent crimes, graffiti or loud music from passing cars, the only civic discomfort seems to be the longish wait at the Dairy Queen on summer evenings.
In the middle of town is a handsome, four-sided clock on an iron post, standing on a well-tended flower bed, and on the side of the Riverview Cafe' is painted, white on indigo, "GOD BLESS AMERICA."
Dexter High School's mascot is the Dreadnaught, and its most famous alumnus in recent years is Mark Koernke, a militia leader. Son of a sheriff's deputy, Koernke joined the Army Reserve then worked as a janitor at the University of Michigan for 15 years. In the early 90's, he started to broadcast on shortwave radio, gained a following, then achieved national prominence when he was mistakenly identified as the mastermind behind the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995.
Now broadcasting over the internet five times a day, five days a week, each Koernke show opens with a Thelen Paulk poem solemnly intoned, with slight variations, over ominous drum beats. It's a state of the union and indictment of our government:
I had a dream the other night that, well, I didn't understand.
A figure walking through the mist, with flintlock in his hand.
His clothes were torn and dirty, as he stood there by my bed,
He took off his three-cornered hat, and speaking low to me, he said:
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