Free The Swing Voter of Staten Island by Arthur Nersesian Page A

German-inspired replicas, had made it into the final imitative plans.
    Passing 34th Street, Uli spotted a strange building soaring up six majestic flights with a sign that read, Vampire Stake Building . It didn’t have swastikas emblazoned on it like some of the other midtown buildings, but was instead covered with leering gargoyles and hieroglyphics that suggested powers of the occult. A string of sightseers cued up at the front door.
    At 23rd Street, when a group of people finally got off, Oric and Uli grabbed a pair of seats across from a cute girl with curly hair and glasses. She smiled, revealing a mouthful of black teeth.
    Uli greeted her with a smile of his own. “Hi, I just arrived yesterday from old New York and I’m totally lost.”
    “I’m jealous,” the woman replied with a chuckle. “Unlike everyone else here, I never really lived in New York. My name’s Kennesy. You guys go to the rally earlier today?”
    “Yeah,” Uli said. “How bout you?”
    “Yeah. Now I’m heading down to CoBs&GoBs for a benefit show.” She spoke with a slight Southern twang.
    “What’s that?”
    “A musical palace. I’m a deejay for a rock show on the local radio station.”
    “Where exactly are you from?” Uli asked.
    “Mississippi.”
    “How’d you wind up here?”
    “When I was a kid, we lost our place to Hurricane Camille and were offered temporary asylum in New York. No sooner did we arrive than the attack happened and we were offered refuge out here.”
    “So which gang are you with?”
    “That’s a rather indiscreet question,” Kennesy replied coyly, “but I’m still a Crapper. At least until they fragment into a half a dozen other parties.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Go to the next Crapper convention and see for yourself.”
    “What would I see?”
    “Well, recently they broadcasted the Pigger convention in Queens. It was like watching a high mass. Everyone talks softly, one at a time, and they all applaud politely. But the Crapper convention, wow! They held it at the Coliseum on Columbus Circle last year. I did a radio show from there, and I swear, I couldn’t hear myself think. Five thousand screaming voices. Fistfights in the aisles.”
    “Amazing that they’ve been able to hold two boroughs together.”
    “Yeah, but in the last month they’ve lost three Brooklyn neighborhoods and one in Manhattan,” she said. “Inwood just elected its first Pigger Councilperson, Julie Rudian. And it was done by internal dissent. All the Crappers just voted for her.”
    “Sounds pretty messed up.”
    “That’s the wave of the future, and the Crappers don’t get it,” she said. “It won’t be gang warfare that’ll decide the future of this place, it’ll be the sentiment of the people. Folks in Manhattan are growing more and more Piggish.”
    “Why do you think that is?”
    “Pure-ile Plurality—they’re this quasi-evangelical outreach organization.” Uli thought he remembered seeing their headquarters in southern Queens. “A lot of Piggers work for them. They’re always hiring people. You know that expression, If you win their hearts and minds … Well, P.P.’s food trucks won the stomachs of Inwood, then they went down to Harlem. Now they’re going all the way to the East Village. They start with food, then it’s clothes and basic medical treatment. Soon it’ll be free movies in the park.”
    “So is P.P. an arm of the Piggers?”
    “Technically no. If any evidence is found showing they are swayed by any one gang, they could lose their government funding—”
    “Would you mind keeping your brilliant insights to yourself?” interrupted an older woman a few seats away.
    Kennesy rolled her eyes, and without lowering her voice she resumed: “The only thing I respect about the Piggers is their pro-life stand. They’ve accepted this as the life they are fated to, instead of always waiting for the day they get to leave—that’s the pro-choice position.”
    “How can someone