“Me and the hundred million other people who play it.”

No wonder the world was in such a mess. Didn’t anyone worry about important issues anymore? Like politicians controlling people’s lives. The oppression of capitalism. The evil inherent in authority.

Not to mention the people who promoted a society where big government, getting rich, and institutions of authority were not only accepted but encouraged.

People like Eve Reilly.

He swallowed past his distaste.

Unthinking morons like Suds and Crip were slaves and they didn’t even know it—because they’d rather play Candy Crush than fight for their rights . . . and their freedom.

Idiots like them got what they deserved.

But he wasn’t an idiot—and the status quo wasn’t acceptable. That’s why—

“Hey.” Suds stared at him. “What’s with you? You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

He clenched his fist but relaxed his features. “I’m thinking about the screen porch we’re going to tackle this afternoon. It’s going to be a bear to paint, with all that lattice.”

Suds watched him for a few moments, then shrugged. “At least it’s not a hundred degrees in the shade anymore. Crip lucked out pulling that pool house job in Ladue, though. His gig is air-conditioned—and the owner buys the crew those froufrou frozen drinks from Starbucks every afternoon.”

“Sweet.”

“No kidding.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “You ready to hit it again?”

“Yeah.” Buzz pushed himself to his feet. “Let me put my stuff in the truck and I’ll join you in a minute.”

“See ya there.”

Suds strolled toward the back of the house, whistling one of those stupid songs with asinine lyrics that were the rage.

After he disappeared around the corner, Buzz picked up the insulated carrier and newspaper from the spot he’d claimed in the side yard and headed for the truck in the driveway. Compared to the estate where Crip was working, this neighborhood was low end.

Not that he begrudged his high school acquaintance a plum job. Ever since that varsity football injury had left him with a limp—and a politically incorrect nickname—he’d had more than his share of challenges.

Buzz tossed the paper and carrier in the truck and swiped the sleeve of his T-shirt over his forehead, anger roiling anew in his gut. No one should have to sweat in this heat to put food on the table and a roof over their head while the fat cats sat on piles of money and pulled the strings on the puppets who did all the real work.

Unless more people were enlightened, though, nothing would change.

Nor would it change if personalities like Eve Reilly, with her bully pulpit, kept convincing the masses that the structure of this country, and the capitalistic society championed by those in power, was worth defending.