Back in the bar that evening, Celia and Harold occupied a booth
since playing piano a midst this incredible tide of current events
became impossible. Philly turned the ball game up.
“This shit is not going down Harold. By divine guidance or
accident or who the fuck knows what, I have lived a day in
paradise or as close as I will ever get and I may not reside there
but I'd rather be skinned alive than allow my Mother and her
infected minions to corrupt that place to extinction. I didn't ask
for this but now it is mine. Spent my whole life play acting. Make
believing. Now its real. Shit's real and I'm pissed Harold. I will
become Bodica.” Celia slammed her mug down secure in the
knowledge it was empty.
“Rome defeated Bodica sweetie. Defeated the whole uprising.
Ugly biz really.”, Harold informed.
“Well the hell with it. I'll become someone who didn't get
defeated. Who didn't get defeated?”
“Okay, he, who's he?.”
“American Revolution in the south. The Swamp Fox. Made
the Red Coats crazy so they could not concentrate all their forces
to the northern end of the war. Brilliant guerrilla fighter.”
“Okay then, I'll become Franklin Marion. Fine.”
They had another round which Celia did not really need. In the
morning, she was back on the crop duster to Ardensville.