Playtime by Bart Hopkins Jr. Read Free Book Online Page A

breath flowing in
and out, and the stars and the moon shining above.   
    He finishes up in front of the house and walks
around to cool off some, stretching as he goes, trying to keep the old muscles
from seizing up. Of course it is the middle of the night again, and he is wide
awake.   
     Porch lights shine up and down the street,
including the one at Mandy's house, and he wonders if he will ever really get
any money from her. The hospital bills are probably going to mount up to
considerable, though he hasn't turned in a claim to his insurance company yet.
He had thought her company would be paying. He kicks that around in his mind as
he walks by her house. Her lack of coverage made his insurance company pay.
They, in turn, in response to higher claim costs, would raise rates at some
point. At which time, he and the other policyholders would in effect be picking
up the slack for those like Mandy, who messed up and had no coverage. 
     And ain't that the way it always goes, Blaine
thinks. Got to pick up the slack for those that can't handle the freight, for
whatever reason. That is what our society has become. He really doesn't know if
it is good that we do that or not. It is wonderful in one way that there is a
safety net in place for those who are unable to get medical service or are
disabled, or need welfare help or whatever. It seems to him like it is a good
thing for people to have. On the other hand, he thinks that when people give
you stuff you don't work as hard for what you need. It is the nature of the
beast. Of course if the country fails financially, nobody is going to get their
needs taken care of. And right now, the country is closer to failing than it
has ever been. Debt up the kazoo. Debt that will saddle their children for
generations. Sustainability, he thinks, that is what it is all about.
We've got to start doing things that work. We can't keep borrowing from the
future.   
     He has walked all the way down the block away
from his house as he pondered all this, and he turns around now and goes past
Mandy's house toward his own. He thinks about his train of thought on the run,
and he realizes he had gone from a great insight about the wonder and glory of
human ability, to a soliloquy on how screwed up everything is. Schizophrenia in
bloom, he thinks and goes inside. 

Chapter 11
    A couple of reporters make the effort to contact
him, one or two coming to the door at the house, but for the most part they had
quit after the "press conference" at the hospital and gone elsewhere
looking for stories. His brother and his mother, out in California but in
different towns, call to check on him, his mother getting a bit choked-up on
the phone. His sister calls from down in Dallas. He reassures everybody he is
fine. And for the most part he is. The neck is still stiff sometimes, but it
seems to be getting less so, and all else is good. 
     He starts sinking into his normal routine,
getting up in the middle of the dark nights occasionally: writing, researching,
running. No shutdowns coming that he knows of anytime soon. Middle of the
summer wasn't a good time for the plants to schedule those deals. It was like
Christmas; everybody had something going on. Schools were out, and the guys
with kids had vacations scheduled. And it was hot. So hot you could literally fry an egg on the sidewalk. Blaine doesn't remember the exact
numbers, but the accident rate is always higher in heat like this. Heat stroke
and exhaustion. Plain old fatigue. Sometimes the plants don't have any choice but
to go down in the heat of summer because some piece of equipment had failed, or
just because it is good for them financially. That's what it boiled down to
with those big companies, the bottom line. They talked a good game about
employee health and safety, but when it came right down to it, the dollar ruled.  
     He fires his old Dodge Ram up and runs it a bit,
going to the Chevron on 61 st Street, watching the tourists and
fishermen