The Man on TV

The man on TV said, “I own you, motherfucker,” then pointed a big gun right at us and pulled the trigger, turning all sixty-five inches fiery orange and blood red. And white. And blue. Was that a movie, or the news from the war? Then my phone buzzed. It was a neighbor who said, “He owns me, motherfucker.” “Are you nuts?” I asked him, and he hung up. By the next afternoon most of the houses in the neighborhood had signs in their yards that said He Owns Me, Motherfucker. During dinner there was a knock at the door; it was the woman from across the street, and she said, “Here’s a sign for your yard, motherfucker.”