'Longdale' by Geoff Benn

Something was off in Longdale, California. Sure, the well-watered lawns were perfectly edged

and the only sound louder than the sprinklers was the occasional whir of a Tesla headed off to

the country club or swim lessons. But something was definitely off.

I first noticed the signs:

A huge billboard, just off the freeway, showed a smiling woman holding a test tube, with the

text “Genely Labs – engineering tomorrow, today.”

Outside of a city park, a bus bench read “Genely – passionate about community safety.”

“Genely wrangler positons starting at $20/hr – same day hiring” scrolled across the bottom of

the local news in my hotel room.

I decided I wanted a drink and headed for the Pelican Tavern, which promised “Mixed Drinks”

and “Billiards” in a neon glow just up the street.

Alfred’s Sporting Goods was closed, but a printed sign in the window said “We are sold out of:

croquet mallets, golf clubs, lacrosse sticks, BB guns, and marshmallow roasting sticks. We

apologize for the inconvenience. Good luck!”

After I settled into the vinyl embrace of a stool at the Pelican, I asked the bartender what the

hell was going on in Longdale. He shook his head and pointed to a framed notice behind the

bar:

“By order of the City Council, discussion of the ongoing safety incident is prohibited in the

interest of public order. Violators are subject to fine and / or placement on a wrangler crew.”

On the walk back to the hotel, I saw a business card stapled to a telephone pole. It said

“McTernan Law – have you or loved one been harmed by mutant hamsters? Call 1-800-HAMHARM!”

As I pocketed the card, I thought I heard scurrying in the nearby alley. It was time to get out of

Longdale.