My sidekick Butch, a lux four form old f every(prenominal)(a)er patriot and forces veteran told me all close to it. “yea thats hippieville all around those parts, your fume dab in the eye of it.” Our zippy rented house was surrounded. Were polite community, my fellow Gabe, our friend Aaron, and me. We acceptt comparable to make sentiments, or make slew feel unwelcome. Its reasonable non our style. So when the flower people came, and didnt leave, still just kept sitting in that location, petition for beers and cigarettes, we didnt go how to take it. We were remediate off the “Hip Strip” as it is called, on a side highroad off Higgins, the principal(prenominal) drag through and through d causetown Missoula. They k pertly we were virgin there. Their spies had inform them that we had just moved in. The cable length was soon pass over when we heard that a momentary, a seasonal local by the name of Mike, was pickings showers in our ground-floor bathroom at odd hours of the night when all were asleep, or more accurately, passed come on. straighta manner Gabe was new to the Missoula scene. Aaron and I had been here a year al run downy and had heard of much(prenominal) outrages, known people that felt light with such behavior. Gabe, fresh from the old demesne of the Midwest, felt wronged. And justly so, as did Aaron and I. This was our home, it wasnt much, but it was ours. So we brooded. Between creation kicked off our own porch by the incessant hordes (the only way to swallow justify of them besides reservation a scene was to go in spite of appearance and shut the penetration) and having to business concern go in on a naked transient in the middle of the night, we were no long- determinationing “stoked” about our new place. Then iodin and only(a) bright blissful day, I had an idea. The quaternary of July was just a couple of eld away. Of course there would be a front grand pia no barbecue, so Aaron and I piled in the jeep and headed for the Hardware store.
Flags, American flags, and the semi-circle red tweed and blue banners that watch over them were purchased. It was casual, almost careless, and the last straw. “Whats with the flags,” one of them said walking by. We laughed at the joke. remunerate? He was kidding. And so another, later on that evening. Something about the flags, something about America. Drunk and cater up like the rest of us that night, Gabe asserted his opinions, thrill out the not so informed but entitle citizens. Shortly thereafter, bolstered by our new experience with our next door neighbor Poncho, a six foot, devil hundred 50 pound Mexican-American from east L.A. who came to Missoula to “stay out of trouble,” we put up a homespun yard theater tha t simply read: “Bush 08.” thereby galvanizing our residence, flags and all, as the U.S. Embassy to Hippieville.If you want to get a abounding essay, order it on our website:
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