Ten times the taxes

"Why are you still living up there, Mom?"

"Because it's my home. I'm not leaving."

"It was my home too, and I left. Marie left, and John, and Joe. Dad kept saying the taxes were killing him, and I'm afraid he was right."

"Don't talk about your father that way. He's still here. I visited his grave this morning."

"Mom, if you came down here we could take care of you. Everything's cheaper here, everything's easier. You could have your own place, your own car - it's easy to get around. You don't need to call that stupid bus and hope they show up."

"They do show up, most of the time."

"Most of the time, maybe. And if they do show up, it's a bunch of junkies on board, the people you keep paying taxes to support."

"They're not all..."

"Mom, you know who's left up there. Old people who won't move and people who like the benefits. You know that's why your taxes are destroying your retirement account."

"There are lots of us left here. Nice people."

"Sure, Mom. Lots of nice people whose children are trying to get them to leave a place with no industry, no future, collapsing bridges, and the same lousy winter it's always had. The nice people who pay everything so that other not-so-nice people can sit around and do nothing."

"When are you going to come visit me?"

"Soon, Mom, soon."