Parade of Iniquity

The Fourth of July parade meandered past the Dominion again this year, and Fernando had a third-row seat. Much like in previous years, the parking lot before the Dominion filled with cars aligned in as many different directions as Steve Buscemi's teeth. Children frolicked about outside and one enterprising soul, given the uncomfortable heat outside, decided to make use of the Dominion's air conditioning while he waited for the parade to start.

“Hello,” Fernando greeted him.

“Hey. I'm not rentin' nothing, just want to get out of the heat for a while.”

Fernando had slept for shit the night before, unable to attain even a full REM cycle given the oppressive temperature and humidity. It was 4:30 PM, he'd been up since 5:30 AM, and he was running on less than four hours of sleep. His mood was understandably foul, given a convention was not around to temper his crabbiness. “Oh. I see. Tell you what, buy a soda and you can hang out in here and enjoy it.”

“I'm not thirsty.”

Alrighty then. Fernando heads to the rear of the store to turn off the AC. When the blower stops, the man leaves.

Once the parade got rolling such mooching ceased. People had set up chairs on sidewalks and truck beds and many cold ones were sipped as the procession meandered past. Fernando, being on the clock, was unable to vicariously join in their alcoholic revelry and instead procured a sodey pop from his fridge.

It was overall a nice parade, a small-town celebration of one particular nation-state's assertion of self-determination on an otherwise arbitrary day. People in the parade threw candy out to the kids, a local marching band played, horses the size of small buildings pulled floats of varying sizes and shapes. The local beauty queen sat among flowers and waved to the crowd with a not-quite-plastic smile on her face.

There were also, of course, the wretched politician vehicles sandwiched in. The local businesses and other organizations, like the Child Scout chapters, in the parade at least put effort into their advertising by creating floats of various qualities. The ten (Fernando counted) politician-whore vehicles were trucks or sedans with a VOTE FOR DIPSHIT sticker slapped on the side and an American flag decal on the window. Though Fernando believes that political organizations have as much a right to pimp their wares as the local propane dealership, Fernando reserves the right to affix labels of his choice to their activities.

Once the county police vehicle at the posterior end of the snaking procession passed by, everybody packed up and the parking lot transitioned into a churning morass of simultaneous departure. Compared to previous years, though, the emptying of the lot was fairly orderly and people were able to make it out without the honking of horns or the bending of fenders.

Once the crowds fully dispersed, Fernando was left alone in his Dominion, ever vigilant.