Official

Justin Lucas wasn't getting pushed around by pencil-pushing doofs. One simple, chain link fence. You'd think he was building the Great Wall, or even its minature. The bored county clerk eventually came back, with no expression. "We've looked again, sir, it's not on file." Lukas felt his BP lurch upward again, ears getting warm. Stay calm, he told himself. "Well, you looked. Okay. I didn't imagine it. Filled out the forms right on this counter, six months ago."

"You're not in our computer", she blankly said, looking up at the wall clock.

"Then, I have to fill them out again."

"You can, sir, but it's past deadline for home improvement permit apps. Can't file it until next April."

"April, that's swell. This is simply unacceptable. Who else can I speak to?"

"The supervisor position hasn't been re-filled yet, Covid. So, no one, sir."

Lucas left the permit office thoroughly stymied, broken- beaten down to a fraction of the former man, by official beauracratic decree. He will plant some shrubbery, no permit should charge a man his soul and spirit, injury enough. So, Justin Lucas, meter expired, didn't need the added insult left on his windshied.