"Skyscrapers bloom in America! Cadillacs zoom in America! Industry boom in America!"
"Twelve in a room in America!" The girl sang along, bobbing to the tune in her beaten up recliner. She coughed once, twice, three times and took a much needed swig from her water bottle. "Wow, I really need to work on my baritone," she croaked as she screwed the cap back on the bottle and tossed it in her lap. The T.V screen crackled with static, the song jumbled and lost through the audio distortion.
Muttering, the brunette stood up abruptly and the water bottle skittered across the peeling linoleum floor with a hollow drumming sound. She reminded herself to put it in the recycling bin later and then remembered there was no recycling. "America," she scoffed bitterly, as she crouched in front of the wood panelled box that could barely be called a T.V. She had gotten it at a used electronics store a few blocks away for forty-five dollars which seemed like a steal at the time but she was starting to wonder if she got swindled.
She rotated the antennae around until the static cleared enough for her liking and then returned to her seat. Just as she sunk back into that perfect comfy position the T.V buzzed and went black with a sharp ping. She rose once again from her pleather throne and crouched in front of the T.V pushing the 'ON' button once, twice, three times before pounding the top of the machine with her fist.
"Stupid piece of shit!"
A piece of loose wood panelling popped free from the T.V's side and landed on the floor catching the girl's attention for just long enough to remind her she had more important things to do then get in a fight with her T.V. Like put the water bottle in the recycling- no, garbage- but as soon as she stopped pounding she realized there was someone knocking at her door.
She stood up fast and whirled around to face the door to grungy apartment. She wasn't expecting anyone but she walked toward the door nonetheless, as it was common courtesy to answer your door if you're home. She didn't look through the eyehole before she slid the chain back and unlocked the door.
When the door opened she found herself face to chest with a large man, possibly a construction worker from the looks of his industrial safety vest and steel toed boots covered in paint splatters and soot. "Julia Walcott." It wasn't a question. A sledgehammer was resting in the doorjamb and he held a clipboard in his too-big, meaty hands. Julia was starting to wonder why she hadn't looked through the eyehole first, though she probably would have opened the door anyway.
Julia felt her face growing hot with embarrassment but she tried ignored it, "That's me. Sorry about the banging, I was doing a little handiwork myself." She gestured to the T.V and let out a small chuckle but the man didn't show even a hint of notice. He peered past her into the apartment and then scribbled on the page attached to his clipboard before giving Julia a cursory glance. She tried not to show any visible discomfort but she felt vulnerable and her body temperature was climbing too high not to notice. She kept one hand on the door handle just to be safe, "Do you need something...?"
The man reached for the handle of the sledgehammer and Julia flinched slightly. He grunted as he hauled the tool up and rested it on his shoulder. "This building is being seized by Armand Tully," his voice was monotonous, rehearsed, " You have twenty-eight days to vacate the premises. You will receive a payment of ten thousand dollars for your cooperation."
Julia's breath caught in her throat. What could she do with ten thousand dollars? Maybe rent a nicer apartment, for starters. The man turned his back to her and knocked on the door across the hall, apparently done his business with her. "Thank you, have a nice day," she called out to him. He didn't turn but she thought maybe she heard him make a noise of acknowledgement just before she closed and latched the door.
Padding slowly back to her recliner she collapsed onto the over-stuffed cushion sideways letting her legs dangle over one arm and her head rest on the other, her long straight hair brushing the floor. She could buy a fancy cat and a fancy place and a fancy new T.V that actually worked with that kind of money and all she had to do was move out of her place. She wasn't too attached to its puce green stucco walls, coppery tap water, or lingering tobacco stench and she hadn't even talked to any of her neighbours in all of her six months of living there, yet her stomach was turning. Something didn't feel quite right but she couldn't put her finger on exactly what.
The T.V suddenly burst to life and Julia bolted upright in her seat, pulse racing.
"Life is all right in America!"