a short story by Danny Mendlow and Zack Mitchell The houses were all empty. This was no surprise. All houses were empty. That’s what houses were after all, just ask anyone... empty structures in which one could invest. They were sound investments though, sometimes. All depended on that finicky little thing called “The Market.” Everyone knew that if you got in at the right time in the right market you could surely be in for a sound return on your investment. At least that’s what everyone said they knew. Not too many folks seemed to be getting sound returns these days, or have anything to invest. But they all knew that as soon as they did have something, they’d surely be the first to find a good market to invest in, at just the right time, and get one of those sound returns they knew so much about. Nobody really knew what would happen should they get that sound return, but it clearly meant things would get better for them and their family. It would be pretty damned impossible for things to get much worse. It was hard work building all these houses. But somebody had to do it. Otherwise there’d be nothing to invest in, and no way for the hard workers to at least have a chance at one day cashing in on a big return and retiring from the hard work. Had to be done, just ask around, it was the only way growth would come back. Things hadn’t grown in a long, long time, but everyone knew if they kept working hard, the growth would come back. You can’t go around complaining about things you can’t change. And if there’s one thing you can’t change it’s the fact that houses have got to be built, and they’ve got to be invested in. Especially if things are ever going to grow again. Fact. Carl Jang knew it. Knew it all too well. Barely had any fingers left to prove how well he knew it. Hurt like you could never know every time Carl Jang tried to move his poor fingers. His wrists too. And ankles. His back was a bundle of nerves and discs so damaged he couldn’t bend at the waist or lift anything without letting out a loud “Aaarrrghhh” noise from his mouth. But houses had to be built. Had to. After yet another hard day of work Carl walked down the rows of identical, empty houses. It was his job to install the sinks. That was all he did all day, all week, all month, all year. He was good at installing sinks, it wasn’t hard to be. There was no plumbing after all, the sinks were just one of many pieces required to build what could legally be considered a house. Like Lego blocks or puzzle pieces. All of the houses had the same pieces, and none of them had any function any more. It wasn’t clear why they bothered to make the houses with all of the different components that used to have a purpose, but they did. Bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchens, stairways, basements and garages. But the toilets did not flush, the bedrooms were not slept in, and the sinks did not run water. They were shiny though, the sinks, and extremely heavy. But a good strong man like Carl Jang could lift them all day and attach them to the countertops. Even if he had to scream out “Aaarrrghhh” every time he lifted one and carried it from the sink truck to the kitchen countertops. Carl hated the countertop installers. They never took into consideration his needs as a sink installer. They never appreciated how hard it was for him to install a sink properly if they hadn’t done their due diligence installing the countertops. They would always do the bare minimum, never prepping the counter for a fresh sink to be dropped in smoothly. Carl’s job didn’t have to be so hard if the damned countertop installers would just do their job properly. But there was no way they would ever change. No reason to. For one thing, Carl never worked with the same installing crew. Didn’t matter who he had to work with, it was always a different crew of countertoppers, and they were all the same. Not one of them gave a damn. But the real trouble was the bosses. Carl would have complained to his bosses, but he knew nothing would happen. He knew this because Carl Jang talked to all the other sink installers regularly, and they all said the same thing. It was common knowledge that the bosses only cared about erecting as many houses as possible, and if anything they would be upset at the sink installers for being too picky about the detail of their work. The important thing wasn’t to make good houses… it was to make houses. Lots and lots of houses. Quotas had to be filled, and despite the long, and getting longer, hours and the constantly reduced pay, the quotas were being missed terribly. The quotas were never met. Not once in his 40 years had Carl ever seen a quota that was met. He questioned what the point was of having quotas if they were never met… but he never brought it up. Such ideas were dangerous. People who brought this sort of thing up tended to not work much longer. They would disappear shortly after. The constantly reduced pay was barely enough to afford a square, but at least you could have a square.