Home > Lankville Action News: YES! > The Small Towns of Lankville

The Small Towns of Lankville

By Lloyd Byas-Kirk

By Lloyd Byas-Kirk

Lloyd Byas-Kirk recently won a large, unwieldy trophy with several distinct layers supported by columns for his series on the small towns of Lankville.

One passes through a verdant dell, a gigantic graveyard and an abandoned cake refinery before arrival in the town of “Curtberg”, located in the Eastern Lankville Mountainous Regions. There is a gas station, a handsome restaurant named after a former Lankville President, some houses and some cars. It is a place where a man can sit outside and ruminate over the morning sun coruscating brilliantly off the rooftops, it is a place for peace but also a place for guns, it is a place that holds Lankville tradition deep to its breasts [sic].

Harry Solids is the “mayor” of Curtberg. “Well, I was not officially elected,” he says, as he we stand in front of the post office for reasons unclear. “But, I act as the sort of person that sits on floats and accepts medals and other ceremonial geegaws. And, when there is dissent, I’m the person that gets the beating. I accept that. It’s part of the job.”

Main Street, Curtberg

Main Street, Curtberg

Glenn Chowder has lived here for as long as he can remember. He works at the gas station, in the belt department. “This is a good town full of good people. We don’t cater much to interlopers,” he notes, as he consumes his meal (the meal of the Lankvillian– a hot dog and some raisins) in the grass behind the gas station. “We try to keep the town clean of nonsense.”

People like to look out windows in Curtberg. “We like to see what’s going on,” said resident Debbie Didier. “Like to see if the fence is holding up, if the garbage cans are on their paving stones at a proper angle, that the lids are on straight. It’s the little things that are important here,” Didier added.

Although the sun makes its radiant appearance in the early morning, it rains often here. A pounding, vigorous rain that leaves everything soppy and moist. “We’re all pretty much half-wet all the time,” Solids noted, as we moved along Main Street, passing in and out of a series of clashing storms. “You buy, say, a 24-pack of beer from the liquor store and the cardboard container is sodden before you get it out the door. You know how cardboard just kind of breaks down and turns real floppy? Just flops all over the place, you can’t control it, why try? And then it lands in the street and all the cans roll down the hill. That happens pretty frequently, everyday in fact. And I buy the big cans. The cans with the new “vast cavity” for more accessible drinking. Have you seen those?”

“I don’t drink,” I admitted.

Solids looked off towards the mountains. “Well, anyway, a bunch of my cans are at the bottom of the hill. They throw some straw over them and that’s that.”

“Terminus,” he added, after a long pause.

Pastor Glenn Laboy runs the town’s church. “I give a Sunday sermon and we have some little room sessions where people talk about life issues that are bothering them– work problems, the ceaseless rain, how hard it is to get anybody to put out for you anymore. I don’t judge, I listen. My job is to listen.”

“Shall we read a passage together in celebration of your article?”

Byas-Kirk immediately ran out of the church. The article will be continued at a later date.

  1. oversion
    May 30, 2015 at 11:37 pm

    Let’s not rush to conclusions about this. Small towns can be great places to study tropical fish in multiple tanks, do something different with your yard, or get to know the village reeve, and have a real political impact on things, arguing for padded hydrants or unpaved parks. It’s never too soon.

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