The Short Circuit At Solares Hill
A couple of boys were proofing the captions back in the composing room
While the gal out front who handled the phones was humming a Buffett tune.
Back in his cave, eyes locked on his screen, sat Marvelous Mark McCann.
And at his side sat his partner in crime, the lady that’s known as Nan.
Their office was cramped, and lit by the glare of a bulb all lonely and spare.
It hung from a thread so tattered and red that to touch it was taking a dare.
It was the kind of a room you expect to have when you work on a small town rag,
A light and a desk and a creaky old chair with a seat that’s beginning to sag.
Solares Hill was quirky and good, the voice of our island town
But the pencil-pushers were sending a suit to shut the paper down.
Out from the sun the suit stepped in, his clothes all shiny and wet.
You wouldn’t have thought he could sweat so much between here and his corporate jet.
His hair was slick with some slippery stuff that smelled like Gatorade.
He said, “My God, it’s hot out there, it must be ninety-two in the shade.”
Nan whispered to Mark from out of the dark, “Do you think he’s read some McGuane?”
“Unlikely”, said Mark, “From the looks of this shark, he’s got Ayn Rand on the brain.”
Now there’s some men who’ll smile and who’ll charm you, and soon you will offer a chair.
Then there’s others whose face will alarm you like the Werewolf from down in Mayfair.
This guy was one of the latter and Mark had a solid gold hunch,
The suit wasn’t there to sweet talk him, or to offer him a drink and some lunch.
You could see he was there on a mission, and now it would come to a head.
They both knew that one way or another one of them soon would be dead.
You could see that the suit was determined but he wanted to work in the dark.
He made his move and reached for the light and got there one step before Mark.
He grabbed for the wire and sparks lightninged out. In a second the suit was quite dead.
“Potentiate syzygy”, Nan blurted out. At least I think that’s what she said.
“I asked them to fix that light”, said Mark, “I left a note for the boss.”
“Oh well, too bad, so sad” said Nan, “It don’t seem like such a great loss.”
The boys from the back came rushing in and spotted the suit on the floor.
“Round up the usual suspects”, said Mark, as he headed toward the door.
“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship”, said Marvelous Mark McCann.
“Look, I grabbed his wallet”, said the lady that’s known as Nan.
I’m sure that many are wondering about what’s true and about what ain’t.
They can call the Citizen’s Voice and whine, if they want to make a complaint.
But that’s all I know and that’s all I’ll tell, my sources I’m protecting still,
‘Cause there’s never been quite such a mystery as the short circuit on Solares Hill.
Dispatches From Key West 