Chapter 33: Chains (10/13)
Answered Prayers or, Maybe, Broken Chains
(To properly experience The Invent-Ory, start at Chapter 1.)
We had sold out of different size chain in different ways in different months for different size chain. But now, we were selling our heaviest chain and mostly for people who had recently bought mopeds and bicycles.
The economic effects of the plandemic shut-down was hitting hard, and some folks went to mopeds and bicycles to save money.
Three different times we sold our heaviest chains for guys locking up their mopeds.
And also, there was a lot just a few blocks down which sold bicycles. The man was Mediterranean (Greek I think?) and we were a source of parts and grease for him. His business was booming, because fewer and fewer people could afford cars or would start to choose to bike places.
Addendum: Praise the Lord, my family had found a hardware store in Tulsa, Oklahoma that was for sale and was finding a way to rescue me from my turmoil.
As I was getting deeper and deeper into reading the Bible, watching religious videos (I cannot recommend Ryan Reeves more highly) and praying real hard every morning, I felt more and more like I had to leave and here was God providing me a window.
It was, if not almost literally a miracle, it was certainly the hand of God, or what they call Providence (also, coincidentally, the most mobbed-up and corrupt city in America).
At the time, it seemed like a far-flung dream, a sort of after-life or halcyon field.
Plus, I would be moving to a place that was going to be happy when Trump won re-election. All the signs and surveys and polling and trends was suggesting a landslide win, and, I didn’t want to be in a place that would riot or turn on those who support Trump.
Here in Boston, with a Trump win, a now-wicked place would become violent, unruly and vengeful. I would imagine anyone with an American flag flying would come under assault. It would not end well for The Town.
Yet, I would imagine a city like Tulsa would have dance parties in the streets, light fireworks and sing songs.
Little did I know how ruthlessly and obviously the election would be stolen from him.
Next week, we’ll run out of indoor heaters … for the porches.
