Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

“There’s a devil on ma shoulder
It’s doin’ real good fer me
It’s not about breakin’ any rules
It’s all about keepin’ free…”

Greaseman Don’s on form today: dirty overalls attracting flies, red cap on backwards, boot stomping time on an empty crate while picking on a fuel can guitar. The man does wonders with that three-string, he really does.

“There ain’t no point in tryin’
When ya gonna fail that test
Better off not botherin’
Stayin’ like I am be best…”

I come down here every few months, just to remind myself of how people will adapt to anything, including the ruinous results of piss-poor voting choices.

“Workin’ nights at Freeport Hub
A good job passes the time
Honest work an’ honest pay
No need for govermint dime…”

Sounds great, but everybody in this borough survives on welfare: Faircare credits if they’re unemployed, Besthealth credits if they’re unemployable, and all the employed receive Workloyal credits because the wages are so low. The only advantage of qualifying for Workloyal is that you deteriorate slower than those receiving Faircare or Besthealth.
Don picks up the tempo.

“Expect too much yer’ll come up wantin’
Best ya stop yer dreams from hauntin’
Play life straight: jus’ toil an’ drink
Be one o’ the workers, no need ta think…”

This place can be bitterly depressing. Which is why military recruitment does so well: offering regular wages, regular meals, and – most importantly – a rent-free place to live in that’s far away from here.

“Afternoons drag when the shoppin’s done
Nothin’ ta do but ‘n extra beer run
Then stack the fridge an’ swipe the TV
Swig yer booze an’ love that AV…”

What everybody misses is that while it can be depressing, it’s still living. I’ve visited military barracks, law enforcement enclaves, and immigration officer high-rises. They all say it’s a good life, but I’ve seen more life in A.I. drone hangars. Kind of telling when a home populated by robots with the intelligence of cats has the most individuality.

“Call the girls an’ make that bookin’,
Weekend’s come an’ it’s time fer lookin’
Watch ‘em dance an’ make yer move
Walk like ya got noth-in’ ta prove…”

The biggest businesses in these areas are bars like this, prostitution, and 24-hour bodegas. Except on the weekends, when nightclubs compete for the number of drunks they can part from their fresh credit.

“Digital paradise ain’t missin’, oh no
Scan the dancer as she a’ go-go
Take that home an’ watch for free
Cheaper beer an’ no bonus time fee…”

The speed at which urban areas became wall-to-wall havens for weekday shut-ins surprised me. There are a few exceptions, but they’re cleaners, roaming security – or criminals.

“Goin’ down ta the homeware store
Gonna get me a portable I ain’t seen before
Take it home an’ learn it well
Show it off next meet an’ tell…”

What baffles me is the hatred for cities from rural areas. Urbanites are blamed for the agricorps taking over. Just about everyone works for them: living in their encampments, never venturing out except to work. The only alternative is subsistence farming.
When did freedom come down to nothing but two flavours of poverty: slow starvation or urban stagnation?
Don drops back to barebones the opening hook: just vocals and stomping.

“With this devil on ma shoulder
I don’t need nothin’ at all -”

Time to leave Greaseman Don to his adoring fans.

“Got no angel on tha other side
Jus’ da scar where she took a fall.”

There endeth today’s sermon. I’m out of here.