Apolitical Attraction: a story in 60 seconds

"There ain't no answer. There ain't gonna be any answer. There never has been an answer. There's your answer." --Gertrude Stein

“Election’s next week,” Marty said right after ordering his coffee.  

“Yup,” Frank muttered from the next stool over.

“You know who you’re voting for?”

Frank bit into his muffin and watched as a few crumbs fell on the table. “Probably Carmen,” he mumbled through a mouthful. “She’s got nice eyes.”

Marty ripped open a handful of sugars and stirred them into his coffee.  “Yeah, she does—amongst other things…Doesn’t sound like she’d be good for the economy, though.”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know—one of those suits on the news. Hell, I still might vote for her, though. At least she’s pretty.”

It was a late Tuesday morning, and the diner was quiet except for a handful of wrinkled regulars sitting at the counter.

The TV was on.

Marty looked up at it and pointed. “Then there’s this guy…”

A man with a salt-and-pepper crewcut, square jaw, and immaculately dimpled cheeks smiled into the camera. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and his sizable forearms flexed with every handshake.

“I can’t stand him,” Frank murmured. “But my wife loves him. Says he’d be the most handsome President since Kennedy.”

“Brock Davies…” Marty said, rolling his eyes. “What a freaking name…”

The commercial continued. Now Brock Davies was in a sleeveless tank top and hard hat, nodding thoughtfully as he spoke with some nondescript factory foreman.

“My wife can’t remember how to change the thermostat,” Marty went on, “but she can recite this guy’s morning workout routine without missing a beat. Says she’s voting for him because—and I quote—'he’ll be the first President with a six-pack.’”   

“Ain’t that something….” Frank said, staring aimlessly at the milkshake machine on the other side of the counter. “I guess people just don’t know what to believe anymore…”

The two men spent the next few minutes in silence.

“Maybe I gotta go back to church,” Frank finally murmured. “Word of God used to keep me grounded, you know? Give me some direction.”

Marty nodded. “Better to believe in something instead of nothing.”

“There was a time not too long ago when I used to believe in myself,” Frank grunted. “Now I got arthritis in my knees and can barely make it up the steps to my front porch.”

Marty finished his coffee and pushed it across the counter. “You’re telling me. I take a dozen pills every morning just to keep my heart working, but the meds get me so constipated I can hardly squeeze out a crap to save my life.”

A couple of the other diners looked in their direction.

Frank didn’t notice. He stood up and signaled for the check. “Damn politicians, man. They’ve really screwed up everything.”   

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