I was walking up to the Dripolator to get a mocha frappe yesterday afternoon, when I spotted Lorraine sitting on the porch of 44 Cherry Street with a frown on her face and a sign clutched in her hands. The sign read, “ Hell No, Wackos! I won’t go!! Find another spiritual vortex to occupy!”
I plopped down on the step beside her and asked what was going on. “Those Moonies or whatever they are tried to buy this building for one million dollars on the condition that they could get the entire house. The landlord, told them I was a longtime tenant and he wouldn’t put me out. They even upped the price they would pay, but Barry told them they could either buy the place with me and Frederick in it or not at all. “
“How did they take it?” I asked. “I’ll bet they were pissed, but in a spiritual way, of course.”
“Oh, yeah! They paraded up and down in front of #44 chanting in a strange language for hours, and I thought I’d go out of my mind! Finally I called the police and the cops sent those crazies in red packing.”
“That’s nuts!” was all I could think to say.
“Yes. It is,” she agreed. “I wish Barry hadn’t gotten this idea to redo the building. It seems to have caused a lot of upheaval.”
“Black Mountain is getting gentrified for sure!” I said. “Too bad.It’s so fancy now you don’t know who is going to move here!”
We were interrupted by sirens coming from far away that seemed to get closer and closer. “I hope no one has had an accident,” said Lorraine, craning her neck to find where the sound was coming from.
The sirens were getting louder, and suddenly a motorcade of police cars turned up Cherry Street, leading a string of big black SUVs with windows shaded so we couldn’t see who was inside. The cars and SUVs soon filled up Cherry Street from 44 Cherry all the way down the hill to Sutton Street. The doors of the vehicles opened up and men in dark suits with devices in their ears stepped out and looked carefully up and down the street. They signaled to one of the vehicles in the center of the parade, and the doors of the SUV opened up, and a familiar-looking couple stepped out. “Could it be…?” I began, stunned.
Lorraine gasped, “OMG!”
A couple who looked identical to Barack and Michelle Obama approached where we sat on the stoop. I almost passed out!
“Hello!” I stuttered. “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like the Obamas?”
They looked at each other and laughed. Michelle spoke,”So funny! We are the Obamas! I guess you didn’t expect to see us here in Black Mountain, but here we are!”
Barack spoke, “We saw an ad in the Washington Post about an available apartment here at 44 Cherry Street, and we want to take a look. It’s impossible to find a rental these days, and we fell in love with this area when we visited here during my Presidency. This might be just the ticket! We’d love a pied a terre here in this quaint town,” said Barack.
“How would you like to share the building with the Secret Service?” I whispered to Lorraine.
