Songs of Suburbia - the Lemonade Squeeze

Times have been tough here in this little town on the edge of Big Town. Unlike farm kids, poor suburban children have nothing decent to entertain them. The Wiis are worn out, the PS3's are played out, and still the doldrums whine. No hay to stack, no stalls to muck, no cows to milk at 5 am. Just sterile suburban boredom.

My neighbors' son has the shrillest, strongest vocal chords of anyone ever to come within my earshot and survive. A slight child of around nine with the attention span of a guppy, he is ninety percent vocal chords. Like a slender hot-dog-eating champ, he's so far from intimidating you'd never think he could blast away the competition like so many feeble rookies. Coyotes, crows, even the leaves on the trees flee his call.

One blissfully quiet Saturday morning, I was sitting in my kitchen reading the newspaper and drinking my coffee. This was my weekly golden time, my chance to recharge and recoup.

Suddenly a hideous screech simultaneously shattered the morning air and the carefully patched seams of my sanity. I thought the factory next door had blown sky high until I remembered there was no factory next door. The dogs cowered, the birds flew away, even the sun hid behind a cloud.

"LEMONADE!!!" came the shriek. Ye gods, it wasn't human. I cleaned up my spilled coffee and went to investigate. I figured it was coming from the north since the windows on that side of my house were rattling violently. Sure enough, the Loud Family's vocal offspring was parked in his driveway, 'marketing' his lemonade stand. Apparently business was slow and he couldn't afford radio advertising. I debated whether to give him twenty bucks just to go away. But the last time I did that, he kept coming back for more. Someday he'd make the Senate proud, but right now...

"LEMONADE!!!" It was sucking the air from the sky and the blood from my veins.

The next day, the neighbors on the other side of the little lemonade salesman put a 'for sale' sign up on their house. Yes, really.