Part I

Tuesday. Frank Kosowski woke at seven, as he always did. His left knee ached—the weatherman said clouds were moving in, and Frank's knee knew it before the radar did. He showered in water that was slightly too cold, dressed in clothes that were slightly too worn, and drove to the garage past three closed storefronts on Main Street. The 'For Lease' signs had been updated. New numbers. New phones. Same empty windows.

The Ford F-150 needed a transmission job. Three hours. The owner was a heavy man who complained about gas prices. Frank nodded. Took the money. Said nothing.

At the bar that night, Old Man Miller told him another family had moved out of town. 'Texas this time,' Miller said. Frank drank his beer. Nodded.

Tuesday.

Part II

The garage had a small television mounted in the corner, always tuned to the evening news. Frank was under a Buick when the anchor's voice floated down: 'Sources confirm the Watcher Program continues to operate under strict secrecy. The program, designed to develop strategic defenses against an unspecified threat, has faced mounting criticism from congressional observers...'

Frank pulled out from under the car, wiped his hands on a rag, and changed the channel. Basketball. Then a commercial for a local car dealership. He went back under the Buick.

On Saturday, he went to the supermarket. Aisle four, the discount section. Two women at the checkout ahead of him were talking about curtains and strategies and threats. Frank paid for his groceries—canned beans, ground beef on sale, a loaf of white bread—and loaded them into his trunk.

He did not know what they were talking about. He did not care.

On the drive home, the radio discussed economic recovery. Frank thought about the three closed storefronts on Main Street. If they knew how many empty shops there were, they would not say the economy was recovering.

Part III

It was past midnight on a Thursday when Frank was working on an old Chevrolet in the garage. The fluorescent light hummed. The radio was off. The only sounds were his wrench and his breathing.

He thought about the news. About the Watcher Program. About the blurred faces on television, the commentators discussing cost-effectiveness.

This town was a watcher too. It kept a secret—not a specific secret, but the fact of being forgotten. People in Washington developed strategies. Selected watchers. Discussed threats. But they would never know how many empty shops were on Main Street. They would never know what eighteen percent unemployment felt like. They would never know that every time a family moved away, the town got a little smaller.

Frank thought about the people who stayed. The ones who woke at seven every morning. Who went to work. Who paid bills. Who drove past the closed storefronts and did not look at them too long.

They did not need watchers. They were the watchers. Keeping a truth that nobody wanted to hear.

He tightened the last bolt on the Chevrolet. Wiped his hands. Turned off the light.

Part IV

He drove home through a town that was mostly dark. Streetlights flickered on Main Street, one by one, like someone was turning off the world. He passed another closed shop. One more.

He called his daughter. 'Dad, I'm fine.' 'I'm fine too.' They talked about the weather and homework. He hung up.

Sat on the sofa. Listened to the quiet house.

Tomorrow he would fix cars. Pay bills. Buy discount groceries. Wake at seven.

But tonight, in this quiet house, Frank Kosowski felt that he had done something important. He kept living. He kept working. He kept getting up at seven every morning.

In this forgotten town, that was enough.

—

OTMES v2 Encoding: [DR]-2008-OHE-[ECO]-4ACT-[1150]W-NO-SUP-PER-1PL-LIM Style: Dirty Realism | TI: 28.0 | θ: 315° (Gritty-Marginal) Themes: Post-industrial decay, the dignity of ordinary survival, the absurdity of grand narratives Narrative: Carver-esque minimalism. Short sentences. Sparse description. Power through omission. Prohibited: Science fiction elements, Chinese names, supernatural magic, direct copying of source material