novelnext Chapter 72 "Performance Art" on the Lawn
Chapter 72 "Performance Art" on the Lawn
Chapter 72 "Performance Art" on the Lawn (Total 22700 words published)
Pittsburgh mornings always carry a chilling cold, especially at this time of year, when the fog, mixed with the dampness of the valley, can penetrate even the thickest coat and seep straight to the bone.
Grant Street in front of City Hall is quiet at this time of day, with only a few street sweepers moving slowly.
But today, that tranquility was shattered by the roar of an engine.
Three old trucks, their bodies weathered and bearing the "Pittsburgh Regeneration Project" logo, lined up and drove into the plaza in front of City Hall.
The security guard, who was dozing in the guard post, was startled awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the strange convoy.
The truck did not stop at the unloading area, but drove straight onto the large lawn in front of the city hall, which represents the face of the city.
The sound of the brakes was sharp and piercing.
The car door opened, and Leo Wallace was the first to jump out.
Immediately afterwards, Frank, Sarah, Ethan, and a dozen or so strong union volunteers also jumped off the bus.
"Quick! Get moving!" Frank shouted, "Unload everything! Be careful not to break that copier!"
The security guard finally realized what was happening. He grabbed the walkie-talkie, called for backup, and rushed out of the guard post in a panic.
"Hey! What are you doing? This is City Hall! No parking here! No unloading here!"
Leo turned around and looked at the security guard.
He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket; it was a "Notice of Office Location Rectification" issued by the city council to make things difficult for him.
"Good morning," Leo said calmly. "We received a notice from the city administration office saying that our prefabricated office in the South District poses a fire hazard and we must move out immediately. As law-abiding citizens, we must cooperate with the government."
"But—you can't move here!" The security guard pointed to the lawn. "This is a public area!"
“You said it yourself, this is public space.” Leo shrugged. “I’m a Pittsburgh taxpayer, and I’m also an executive member of the Urban Renewal Commission. I have the right to work on land that belongs to the citizens.”
"Moreover, this place is closest to the mayor, making it convenient for us to report to him anytime about those endless forms."
The security guard was stunned; his brain couldn't process this sudden situation.
While he was still in a daze, the volunteers had already swiftly unloaded everything.
Several peeling desks were placed in the middle of the lawn, forming a temporary office area.
A metal filing cabinet stood to the side, crammed full of those damned application forms and rectification notices.
Several folding chairs were pulled out.
Even the printer that frequently jammed and the coffee machine that always made strange noises were moved down and connected to a portable, high-powered generator.
In less than twenty minutes, an open-air "campaign headquarters" appeared at the foot of the city hall building.
"Alright, everyone." Leo clapped his hands, his breath dissipating in the cold air. "Let's get to work."
Sarah quickly set up three cameras.
The angles of these three machines were carefully designed.
A camera facing the office area recorded footage of Leo and his team working on documents in the cold wind.
One was facing the constantly running generator and the mountain of documents.
The last and most important camera had its lens tilted slightly upwards, looking up at the third floor of the City Hall building.
There is a huge floor-to-ceiling window there.
That's the mayor's office.
"Live stream signal connected." Sarah stared at the monitor. "YouTube, TikTok, Facebook, streaming across all platforms begins."
The live stream title was simple and direct: "24-Hour City Hall Reality Show"
Eight o'clock in the morning.
City Hall staff began returning to work one after another.
They stared in astonishment at the scene on the lawn; some whispered among themselves, while others took out their phones to take pictures.
Passersby stopped in their tracks, and a crowd began to gather.
Leo sat at the open-air desk, pen in hand, filling out a form with tedious information about "Hygiene Standards for Workers' Lunch".
The wind was strong, making the papers rustle, so he had to use a brick to weigh down the documents.
His hands were red from the cold, and he had to stop every few words to rub them or breathe warm air on them.
In the background behind him is the warm city hall building.
This striking visual contrast was transmitted in real time to thousands of mobile phone screens through Sarah's lens.
No explanation is needed; the visuals themselves are the most powerful indictment.
Nine o'clock.
Several workers wearing tattered jackets walked onto the lawn.
They are workers at the Pittsburgh Renewal One construction site.
The project has been halted, their accounts have been frozen, and today is payday, but they haven't received their wages.
They originally intended to go to the prefab houses in the south district to confront Leo, but found that the place was deserted, with a notice posted at the door directing them there.
The leading old worker, named Old Joe, held his dirty hat in his hand, looking somewhat uneasy.
"Mr. Wallace," Old Joe walked to the table, "we heard you moved here. We don't want to cause trouble, but—when are you going to get paid this week? My wife needs her medication, and the landlord is pressing for rent."
The camera immediately zoomed in, giving a close-up of Old Joe's wrinkled and dusty face.
Leo put down his pen.
He stood up, walked around the table, and went to Old Joe.
He looked into Old Joe's eyes, his face filled with remorse.
"I'm sorry, Joe. I'm sorry, everyone."
Leo's voice was clearly transmitted to the live broadcast room through the on-site recording equipment that Sarah had prepared in advance.
"The money is right there."
Leo turned around, pointed his finger straight at the third floor of the city hall building behind him, and pointed to the floor-to-ceiling window with the curtains drawn.
"That's money allocated to us by the federal government, your hard-earned money, two and a half million dollars, right there in that account."
"But the man in that window, Mr. Martin Cartwright, took the key."
"He told us that he had to freeze the money because we needed to fill out a survey report on how to safely eat sandwiches on a construction site."
"He told us that in order to comply with administrative regulations, your children must go hungry, your rent must be in arrears, and your medication must be stopped."
Leo's voice rose a few decibels, filled with anger.
"I can't write you a check, old Joe. They've taken my pen and tied my hands."
"If you want that money, if you want to ask why you didn't get your paycheck today."
Go knock on that door.
Leo pointed to the tightly closed door of the city hall.
"Go ask the mayor, sitting in his warm office sipping hot coffee, why his compliance is more important than your survival?"
Old Joe followed Leo's finger and looked at the building.
His eyes changed.
The resentment he initially felt towards Leo instantly transformed into anger towards the unseen person in that building.
"Let's go!" Old Joe shouted to his coworkers behind him as he put on his hat. "Let's go ask!"
The workers surged toward the city hall gates.
Although they were stopped at the bottom of the steps by a large number of security guards who rushed to the scene, the footage of this group of angry workers storming the city hall gates had already been broadcast live throughout Pittsburgh and even the whole of Pennsylvania.
The chat room exploded with comments.
"That's outrageous! Cartwright is a robber!"
"That's the workers' lifeline! How dare he freeze it?"
"Look at Leo, he's working in the cold wind while the mayor is enjoying the warmth. Is this our government?"
"
What is this "sandwich investigation report"? This is bureaucratic murder!
At this moment, public opinion completely shifted.
People no longer care about those complicated legal provisions.
All they saw was a young man working tirelessly in the cold wind, a group of desperate workers who couldn't get their wages, and a cold and arrogant mayor hiding in a high-rise building.
This is the "performance art" that Roosevelt taught Leo.
Don't argue with bureaucrats about the format of forms.
Move the table to the street, lay all the unbearable and absurd things out in the sunlight, and let the people judge for themselves.
Until noon.
The situation escalated further.
The city hall's complaint hotline was overwhelmed with calls, and the switchboard system crashed.
But that wasn't the most troublesome thing for Cartwright.
What terrified him even more was that the citizens began to spontaneously show their support.
A pizza delivery truck was parked next to the lawn.
The deliveryman unloaded twenty steaming hot pizzas and placed them on Leo's desk.
"Who ordered this?" Sarah asked.
"I don't know." The deliveryman wiped his sweat. "The order only said: For those fighting for Pittsburgh in the cold wind. The money has already been paid."
Next up was coffee.
A Starbucks employee from nearby came over carrying two large buckets of hot coffee.
"These were bought by some white-collar workers who work in that office building over there," the clerk pointed to the opposite side of the street. "They said, 'This is for you to drink, let that bastard mayor go drink his bathwater himself.'"
Blankets, hand warmers, and even two heaters were delivered.
The office area on the lawn was piled high with supplies donated by citizens.
This was no longer a simple protest; it had become a city-wide moral trial.
Everyone who delivered the coffee, everyone who liked the live stream, was casting a vote of no confidence in Cartwright through their actions.
At this moment.
The mayor's office is on the third floor of the city hall.
The room was well-heated, making it warm and cozy.
But Martin Cartwright felt a chill run down his spine.
He stood in front of the French windows, hiding behind the gap in the curtains, looking down at the bustling lawn below.
He saw the mountains of pizza boxes, the young people taking pictures of Leo, and the workers pointing at the building.
He couldn't bring himself to drink the coffee he was holding.
He became the animal being watched.
He became the tyrant locked in a glass cage.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
Cartwright slammed the coffee cup onto the carpet.
He turned around and looked at Police Chief Dave Miller, who was standing in the corner with an equally grim expression.
"Dave, is this the kind of policing you've managed?"
Cartwright's voice was deep, carrying a hint of impending madness.
"A group of circus clowns set up a stage in front of the city hall, inciting riots, obstructing traffic, and disturbing public order!"
"And you, and those useless cops under your command, just stood by and watched?"
Director Miller wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Mr. Mayor, they—they didn't break the law. That's a public lawn, and they applied for an assembly permit—although it was an old one, the law is a bit ambiguous—"
"I don't want to hear the law!"
Cartwright interrupted him with a roar.
"The law is for dealing with them, not for binding me!"
"I don't care what reason you use, whether it's for city beautification, illegal occupation of green space, or suspicion of drug possession!"
"I want them to disappear from my sight before sunrise tomorrow morning!"
"Disappear completely!"
Cartwright pointed out the window.
"If when I come to work tomorrow morning, I can still see even a single table or a single piece of paper left on that lawn."
"Then you don't need to wear this uniform anymore."
Director Miller straightened up, a ruthless glint in his eyes.
He knew that the mayor had been driven to a dead end.
In Pittsburgh, when the mayor goes mad, the police chief has to become a mad dog.
"Understood, boss."
Miller put on his police cap, turned and walked out of the office.
His hand rested on the holster at his waist.
Since civilized methods have failed, let's return to the most primitive way.
violence.
As dusk fell on the lawn downstairs.
Leo, wrapped tightly in his coat, was answering a question from a viewer about "the allocation of community education funds" in front of the live stream camera.
His voice was a little hoarse, but still clear and strong.
Suddenly, Roosevelt's voice echoed in his mind.
"Watch out, Leo."
"The wind has changed."
"Look at that street corner over there."
Leo looked up in the direction Roosevelt had indicated.
At the edge of the city hall square, several black riot police vehicles were parked silently in the shadows.
The car door was not opened, and the police lights were not flashing.
"He's desperate," Roosevelt said. "He's finally resorting to his last trump card."
"Are you ready, child?"
"What happens next is the climax of this performance art."
Leo smiled slightly at the camera.
"Friends, today's live stream might have to be a little longer."
He winked at Sarah.
"I think we're about to have some uninvited guests."