Chapter 26: Wall Patches (8/25)
And Now Some Politics
I jumped for joy when I first heard this song come on.^^^^^^^
Lately, we have an influx of Spanish-speaking customers.
Which I don’t mind at all, as it allows me to practice my Spanish. Some of my favorite words pertaining to the store and the Spanish language are “ganchos” (hooks) and “moscas” (flies)... “polvo” (dust) is also a favorite.
I also really love saying goodbye to them, as when you say “vaya con dios” (“Go with God”) they will respond—particularly if they are religious—with “igual” or “igualmente”…
Which makes me feel good—and is a good example of just another lie the leftist press tells you: Hispanic folks are BASED.
But why are there suddenly so many immigrant contractors in South Boston? Simple: vacancies.
Enough people have left town that the housing market is red hot, and rich landlords are hiring contractors to fix up their vacant, if not dilapidated, property. Typically, of course, this happens on or around September 1st, and we have the wall patch and repair kits to turn over rentals, but this is not a typical year.
So in come the contractors picking up all sorts of fix-it items from plumbing to caulking to, yes, wall patch kits. ¡Adios!
“¡Vaya Con Dios!”
So, getting back to Somerville.
There was a local Black woman (Rayla Campbell) who was running for a government position as a Republican. The Democrat racists hated her. I mean, they really hated her. So I volunteered to help with her twitter account for a time—and she would receive the most vilest of threats and harassment.
Out-and-out racist comments.
You wouldn’t even believe it. I can certainly attest that
There is nothing Democrats hate more than a Black Republican.
And I mean nothing.
She had organized a “stand-out” / protest outside one of the most racist / leftist places in America: Somerville. My one friend and I decided to support her and we bought some cheap bikes to make the trip fun.
It was only about six miles total to go from Southie to Somerville, but it seemed like an eternity: literally night and day. While Southie was getting crowded with mask-less nightlife, Somerville still would not allow you to eat inside. So people were still dining six feet apart … outside.
In fact, the lunatic who ran Somerville had banned all gatherings: churches, concerts, anything and everything, until the end of the year.
Finally we got to Rayla.
Plus everyone had a mask on. (Well, except people who were eating—sitting down.) And I mean everyone. People in their cars, people walking down the street, the police. Everyone.
Well, except members of this Republican stand-out. They formed in the middle of a traffic stanchion down from Winter Hill.
“I’ll keep six feet away from you,” said one of the organizers as we approached. “If you want me to.” … “I don’t care about any of that ma’am,” I said, and we immediately became kindred spirits. The crowd was light but spirited, with Trump gear and Old Glory waving in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.
Eventually, a nearby house spilled open. It was clearly a “poly-amorous” household (a policy which would soon become legal) as numerous adults walked out. Fully masked, they took whatever cardboard they had sitting around and drew on it in black markers.
I remember one of them wrote on the back of a pizza box: “Vote Biden.”
Then they crossed the street and silently protested our small rally. Fully masked, they would stand in Rayla’s face and try to put their signs in front of her face… If this sounds like it was something out of a horror movie it was not: This was really happening.
Eventually they would confront Rayla, a black woman. They would start to yell, scream and sometimes push her. They weren’t as explicitly racist as they might have been online, but these were genuinely racist people. They would never admit that, of course—they would go so far as to say that they are “anti-racist.”
But the mere fact that they hate a black person for being a Republican—and the mere fact that they are so violently angry about it, would prove my point.
The Democrats are the real racists.
There was some genuine support for Rayla, and a few people honked and waved, but for the most part it was a repulsive display of white hate for a black woman.
I couldn’t take it anymore, so we biked back home.
But things got even weirder as we biked back.
Throughout Somerville, the diners had arrived at the restaurants so there were some people around. All of them outside. All masked. All of them were masked—even sitting down and eating they would mask up between bites.
My friend and I were on our bikes and rode unmasked.
We were getting glared down by everyone: people on bikes with masks, people jogging with masks, cops with masks, everyone had a mask on. As we biked through the town, at one time I thought we might have even been arrested for not wearing a mask. Needless to say: We picked up the pace.
It was palpable, and it was very dark and gloomy.
It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone but it wasn’t the Twilight Zone—it was REAL.
Try listening to this song without crying, btw.
“I have to get out of town,” I remember thinking.
It was feeling increasingly dangerous for me to stay.
We’ll find out more next week when I define the term I coined right now: Sodomville
