The two women stood on the sidewalk, swapping a cigarette back and forth in the cold. They’d both told their husbands that they had quit, and always blamed the other one for why they still smelled like that.
“New folks movin’ in down the block.” Said one of them, pointing at a moving van a few houses down, before handing the cigarette over.
“Umhmmm.” The other was too busy inhaling to give a better response.
“Plates on the car says Vermont. You know what that means, right?” She paused for effect, then hissed out the accursed word: “Yankees.”
“What in the hell is that?” Coughed the other, giving the cigarette back. A man was pushing something that looked like across between a wood chipper and a lawn mower up the driveway.
“I…I think its a snow blower.” She said between drags. “Who the hell keeps a snow blower in the South?”
“A yankee serial killer, that’s who. Probably uses it to chop up his victims. Whilst naked and all painted up with clown make-up. Why else would you need that in down here?”
“Mmhmm. Ain’t that the truth.”
“Damn yankees,” she spit as she stomped out the cigarette.
The Civil War’s been done for years, a hundred and fifty of them, to be exact. But, that doesn’t do anything to lessen the inherent, irrational distrust people in the Deep South have for Northerners. In the South, “Yankee” will forever be a derogatory term.