Westlock, Alberta is so barren these days. The town is still hibernating from winter’s last asphyxiating embrace. The tractor museum’s not even open until May.
In that celibate desert, Peter Kelly has had plenty of time to think. An orgy of idle notions allegedly swirl around in his head. “What’s for dinner tonight?” “Need to get a haircut soon.”
No one reports on those whimsical thoughts. No headlines dominate news websites across two provinces like when he first took the job as Westlock’s CAO.
Flying back to Halifax for Easter weekend to serve fish and chips, Peter Kelly thinks about some more things. He daydreams about jobs he might, could, possibly have one day.
Halifax is ablaze with excitement. Could Peter Kelly be trying for the political failure trifecta?
He remembers Michael Keaton’a voiceover from that Birdman movie he didn’t see (Westlock doesn’t get a lot of Iñarritu).
“You spent your life building a bank account and a reputation, and you blew 'em both. Good for you. Fuck it. We'll make a comeback...You're the original. You paved the way for these other clowns. Give the people what they want: old-fashioned apocalyptic porn.”
More thoughts swirl through Peter Kelly’s head. It might be tricky to pull off a mayoral campaign in Halifax. But then again, nobody in Westlock reports on his imagination.