As a New York optimist — it’s genetic, don’t yell stats at me, I can’t help it — I read her with a certain amused distance. An attitude of “oh, let’s see what’s going on up there in Maine.”
And so I came to these paragraphs:
Last month, in an act that one lawmaker called “political terrorism,” unknown persons in Bowdoinham burned a sculpture of a donkey. And over in Rockland, two police officers were fired after beating porcupines to death with their nightsticks.
The porcupine slayers don’t appear to have been politically motivated, but the story feels very 2020 to me. These are dark days, man.
But then there’s this at the very end:
As I stood there by the woodpile I heard a sound. I looked over to see a porcupine emerging from the woods. He was the fastest porcupine I ever saw. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he had the whole Rockland police force chasing after him.
It was so funny, it was all I could do to keep from laughing.