Anyway we can!
|Making it Rain
Word Count 300
Mr. Miller parked his old flatbed outside the State building and prepared to meet his probation officer. With a heavy limp from a hitch in his hip, he circled the truck, pulling back the canvas cover. He placed a spraypainted sign in the center of the bed. Satisfied, he turned, faced the imposing wall of the government building, sighed, and then limped his way to the entrance.
He has been a farmer his whole life, that’s eighty-four years. An honest man, salt of the earth. That he had violated the law is a shock to him. But, once sentenced, he would serve.
After a long wait, he was ushered into the probation supervisors office. Margaret Goodhall stood at the window, gazing down at the street.
“Mr Miller,” she said, without turning. “Do you recognize the seriousness of your crime.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He stood patiently, wearing faded denim over-alls, his hat in hand,.
“Explain it to me.”
“Seems, operating a business without a license is against the law. The State requires official oversight and taxes to be collected. I failed to ‘render unto Caesar.’”
“And, what motivated you?”
“Well, Ma’am, my grandson say’s it’s called a ‘food desert.’ That people starve because the food in their neighborhood is over-priced and poor quality. I thought I would sell them my surplus. That’s all. It won’t happen again.”
“Really? Please come here,” she said.
Mr. Miller shuffled to the window, and followed her gaze to the street below at the crowd gathered around his truck.
“I ain’t selling nothing,” he said, a sly smile on his face.
Down on the street, on his truck, baskets of squash, okra, and much more were being snatched up by the inner city residents. The sign propped up amidst it all simply said, “Free!”