User:Sircatus7/sandbox

Christy Clark (Or on BC’s Housing-Prices) By Catus Brooks University of Victoria 10 May 2017

Persons of the Dialogue: Catus Brooks, Austin. The scene begins at noon 01 Feb 2017. Austin and I run into each other at the UVic fountain outside McPherson Library. It is nothing special, a simple Wednesday on a regular school day. We greet each other with regard to housing-problems in present Victoria, BC. Austin:    Hey, what brings you here good Cato? Cato:    Why, you talk like this is prison! You know I’m always at the university, I might as well pitch a tent across the park. Austin:    Housing-prices got you too eh? Same old. Cato:    Yes, Saturday Night Live put it in words: Trump the landlord of landlords, from Trump Tower to the White House. You saw his real-estate without borders. Austin:    But wouldn’t you say there is a degree of correctness to those fancy newscasters. Cato:    What? Austin:    That we millennials are nothing better than braggers, beggars, and borrowers, with cap-in-hand and cheek past a balanced judgement? Cato:    Oh, you must’ve just talked to your landlord. I guess it is the first and all: that holy-day of the feudal era. Austin:    Aw… What did you forget what The Old Man said? “The park’s a step-up from the caves. You saw the news today, they got doctors telling us about homelessness. So ask yourself, what kind of job you gonna get with philosophy?” Cato:    Yes, that geographer  comes right out of the mountains with it; a historian too. Every time I came around enthused, he’d cite a newspaper, trying to get me into real-life. To quote his own words, “what you doing with that pie in the sky? You better learn how to manage a small room: learn the art of stacking as high as the bookshelf, with files on the top. You want to know the square and cube of the room, and buy your shelves, your dressers, and your action-packers accordingly; maximize your space by height, not width. You heard me, each part of each wall.” Austin:    Even your dad was calling for his council. I really find a place in what he says. Cato:    Of course, I am of the same mind too, but I still don’t know where you’re gonna find a place! [It is 1:30 pm by now, so Austin and I depart for class. We meet in The Commons Dining Hall afterwards at 3:00 pm.] Austin:    Cato, I’ll cover the cups. So how was the philosophy? Cato:    I’m studying political theory, not philosophy! Philosophy’s a spare-time prereq. Austin:    Well definitely don’t go whining to your pa. He’s in the same housing-spot as you! Cato:    Nah… I moved out of there  a time long ago. Wherever there is, professors tell me to come up with descriptive nouns, but how do I explain a crammed nook? Austin:    So then what do we do? Cato:    Landlord asks for a service, then we give him lip. Austin:    Then he’d be coming-back for pleasure! Cato:    Well I’m sure not putting-out. Austin:    But isn’t what a man jokes about what he puts-up with? Cato:    Trust me, I’m not putting-off my housing. Plus, I’d rather be a slave to my humour than my landlord. You sound like a man that cannot take nor tell a joke. Austin:    Ya, enough with that street-corner talk. You know the housing-market is going to crash, yet you ask more questions than you have answers to. Things will surely be worse, you heard the news. Cato:    We go with our gut, we shoot from the hips; friend, we conspire with feminists. Take down that ol’ boy’s club once and for all. The housing-market is going to crash like ol’ marriage contracts, like the impermanence of a friendship solely for use. Austin:    Yes, we call ourselves feminists, up Christy Clark’s pay, and coax Trump’s daughter. Cato:    It’s in the bag, it’s a done-deal. We play the wild-card, the joker! Austin:    So what’s the secret? How’d they get into power anyway? Cato:    Ballots are a secret vote. Austin:    They’re no secret, we’re initiated, we’re in university! Cato:    You got my vote in favour. Austin:    Yes, then we can get roundtables and sit equally like our Old Nordic ancestors. Cato:    Well they sat in good judgement. Austin:    You’re quite the spokesperson, for surely we need a place to sit. Cato:    So we leave it to the free-market, to UsedVictoria, to Craig’s List. We leave it to Robin of 760 Queens; let the landlord burn his apartments down. You know The Old Man moved out back to Topaz, and what’d he say? “Enough of that Micky Mouse crap!” Austin:    Ah quit barking, we’ll find a home someday. Remember grade 8 math, you knew how to save your minimum wages until dividends covered the down-payment. Cato:    Until bank-bureaus pressured on us fast-credit, and then SINed  us for bad-credit. Their dogs are worth more to them than us. Austin:    Oh Cato. Take another kick at the can, not the dog. Cato:    (!) Austin:    Ya and don’t take it out on me, that’s like flogging a dead dog. Cato:    Then have it your way. Austin:    You need to move-on. Cato:    No! I need to move-in!