A few houses on my street sold early in the year. The same houses have been flipped a number of times over the years. The rest of us in the neighbourhood throw our local realtors' invitations to sell our houses into the recycling bag as fast as we receive them. We are the street lifers.
One of the new couples is German, the other Polish. The German family drives a Volkswagen bus and a new Bug; the Polish family have a Chevy pick-up and a Prius. Most Steepleton families have at least one car that is easy on the gas.
The Germans and the Poles fucking hate each other. It is like Hitler is still alive. When the Germans have a house party the Poles have other plans. When the Poles have a party the Germans are making plans. They go to different churches and different schools. The only two things they would agree on, if they could speak without air raid sirens going off in their heads, is that they are glad they are now Canadians and the Canucks suck.
World War Two ended three generations ago.
This short story is meant to give you an idea of when to expect peace in Afghanistan or anywhere else in the world. Never.
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