You watch, he tells me. Soon they'll start messing with Social Security. I dream that a hunched, mudcaked creature prowls the landscape, entering our homes while we rest. It leans over us with ragged breath, the smell of quicklime and swamp water rising, misting our faces in sleep. Try to kick down more cash into Retirement, he'd said, bracing himself on his good foot.
Nobody knows for sure what the hell's going to happen.