CARLTON FLETCHER: The unbridled folly of the Demographs

Oh very young what will you leave us this time?

— Cat Stevens

“Hey, Zee, where you headed?”

“Just wandering, bro. I was down at the park working on some tricks on my ‘board, but some old dude came and run me off.”

“Yeah, the way it is in this town.”

“So what are you up to, K.C.? You recovered from your birthday party yet? I heard it was epic.”

“It was cool.”

“So, the big 1-6. When are you going to get your license?”

“I’ve got an appointment to go take the test tomorrow. I think I’ll ace it. I’ve been studying.”

“So what you thinkin’ about doin’?”

“I was thinking about going down to vote. We get to do that now, you know, and I don’t know what the fuss is all about, but I heard you get orange juice or cookies or something when you vote.”

“Yeah, cool. But I don’t know about this voting stuff. I mean, do we get to vote for someone like that Cortez woman that’s always in the news? I don’t know what she’s all about, but I think she’s looking good. Me and Juan call her AOC-cups.”

“I don’t think we get to vote for her. She’s from Canada or somewhere. My mom was talking about voting for some kind of Demographic party or something, but my dad told her there was no way anybody in our family was voting for a Demograph. He said we were going to vote for some guy named Trump. I think he’s a wizard or king or something. He lives in a tower.”

“Yeah? I also heard we’d get to vote for some kind of local yokel race for like commander or governor or something. I think Billy Rafferty’s dad is running for that office.”

“I know him. He wouldn’t let Billy go to that Tame Impala concert because he said Billy’s grades had gone down. Who would vote for a guy like that? What a dick.”

“Word. How is some guy going to be a commander or a governor or whatever and he doesn’t even get how important a Tame Impala show is? I’m like, ‘You think I’m gonna vote for you when you’re some kind of dictator or something?’ If he gets elected commander or governor, he’ll probably make a law that nobody can go see Tame Impala or Migos or anybody else?”

“Yeah, we’ll probably be forced to go watch some geezer concert like The Beagles or Fall Out Boy or something.”

“No way I’m voting for that dude. We need a commander or a governor who’s down with Cardi B, not someone who says you gotta make B’s on your report card.”

“Amen. Hey, you got that report done for Ms. Tinson’s class. I think that thing’s due Friday. I haven’t even started on mine. She expects us to write a 200-word report. 200 words?! Is she out of her mind? I don’t even know that many words, and I can’t write that many by … Hold on, let me shoot a text to Evan …. oh yeah, and I need to get back with Cher, too.”

“Yeah, I need to hit up a few folks …”

(The teens spend the next 30 minutes texting.)

“Well, Zee, what you want to do now?”

“I was thinking we might as well go on over to the jailhouse or whatever it is and do that vote thing. Maybe we can vote to keep Billy Rafferty’s dad from becoming commander or governor or whatever before we end up having to spend the weekend working at a slave camp or going to a Luke Bryan concert.”

“Yeah, cool. I’m thirsty and I need some orange juice anyway.”

“Word.”

Email Carlton Fletcher at [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter @ABH_Fletcher.