Chapter Twenty-Five
The Voted In
“Hilda’s jokes are as funny as a plucked chicken.”—Mex
Senator was reading a read before you ride leaflet to women too shocked to listen. Voted In Three appeared from behind a curtain. She pulled it open.
“I’ve found the sleeping compartment,” she shouted, dusting her hands. “And it’s not pretty.”
Senator posed under the matchbox of a window for light looked up from her leaflet. It was a fold-out affair that required light to catch the small print and made as much sense as a cleaner who didn’t clean.
The leaflet talked of “making oneself at home” and how “relaxed riders made better energy” while listing a set of conditions as bearable as one of Hilda’s waste not want not lectures . . .
“Eleven-hour shifts and five-minute breaks only after quotas have
