The skinny man sat on a worn pillow in the middle of his single bedroom shotgun, smoking a cigarette and eating sunflower seeds. The ashtray before him was filled with spit, seed hulls and butts.
His front door opened, but turn around to see who it was.
“Hello, Lee,” he called out to the older man that stepped into his house.
“Don’t lock your doors?” The other man asked.
The skinny man shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? City’s crime rate is at a historic low.”
The older man laughed, “And we’ve got you to thank for everyone else hearing that.”
“Don’t remind me.” The skinny man groaned.
“Why the griping? You’re the city’s secret weapon! You masterminded the advertising campaign that raised our visibility to unprecedented levels.”
The older man looked over at the boxes piled in the corner.
“And to think you were leaving when I offered you the job.”
Most were still folded shut, gathering dust, but a few had been opened and pilfered through.
“If I ever find a way to break this spell this city’s cast over me, I will be again!”
“Well, I hope that never happens. You’d just miss us terribly.”
“I hate you, Lee.”
One of Crump’s greatest successes was the relative prosperity and peace the city entered into because of his efforts. Seeing itself in the middle of a Renaissance, the city commissioned a nation wide advertising campaign to extoll our virtues – one that actually succeeded in drawing people to the city.