Week 6; Prompt 3

 A picture postcard view and you hate it, because postcards belong to anyone with the money to buy one. If the tourists ever got past the obvious, they'd see what you see....

They would see that Maine is a dump. Maine is not vacationland, it is retirement/drug land. In my opinion, half of the drivers on the road should have their license revoked. Most are too old and senile to be able to make quick and accurate decisions about their driving choices. My grandparents included. One has Parkinson's so bad he is bent over at a 90 degree angle, and the other is so senile she barely recognizes anyone but her four german shepherds. Both have caused numerous accidents, yet still have their licenses without restriction.  If you live in Bangor, and happen to walk ANYWHERE AT ALL, you will meet several unsavory characters. For example, I used to walk from the parking garage by pickering squre to exchange st. That short 1/2 mile distance has given me enough stories for a lifetime. It was common to see many people curled up with all their earthly belongings, with a paper bag bottle in their hands and an incoherent song on their lips. The park benches that they decided to sleep on had to be repainted often, due to the filth that they left behind. Other times that I would walk that walking bridge I would come across drug deals and sketchy people inserting said drugs into their bodies, a nauseating sight to be sure. However, the worst was the duck. On the walking bridge, the city had set up sporadic baskets that hung over the edge of the bridge. These baskets were full of pink petunias and purple pansies, in an apparent effort to try and spice the place up. A duck decided to take up residence in one of those baskets and lay some eggs. I feared for the duck due to the disgusting people that frequented this area and I tried my best to conceal her. I planted flowers in front of her to shield her from the eye, I even called the warden service to have her moved to a safer location. Unfortunately, my efforts failed. I walked to work one day and came upon a gruesome scene. The mother duck's head was hanging lifelessly over the edge of the basket, her small beady eyes were staring off and unblinking. I winced and moved forward to the basket. All the eggs were smashed. Fresh spray painted figures and tags were all over the bridge and I shook with anger as I surveyed the scene. I immediately reported the situation, but there is not justice for mother duck.