Phase Two of the Firework Tent-based economy begins now.

Poison Dart Frog and The Apathetic Mower.
They live in the corner house and they paint things gold. Doesn't matter what. They get their hands on it, they paint it gold. Spray paint and dipping method. That's how they do it. Poison Dart Frog is blind and The Apathetic Mower smells like cigarettes.
And they're happy. They've figured things out. They paint one hundred items gold each week – chair arms, bags of water, leathers, all of it – they paint it and they're good. Eat out and order in. Nobody's business. Fine times.
And when they set the stuff out to dry, out on cardboard in the yard – you want me to steal you anything? I'll do it. If I can carry it, it's yours. Means nothing. I'll break everybody.

He's in there reading newspapers again!
Got all the lights on and the curtains open. He stands up real tall and lays all the papers on the floor. Spreads em out all over. Then he reads every page. All out loud! Screaming like a dog.
Now this goes on all night. You can't believe it. You just can't believe it. Oh my god…
And he won't remember any of it. Never does. Not a word.
“What's all this business in the middle east?”
“How would I know?”
“You were screaming about it all night!”
“Me? No.”
“Oh yes you were. I almost took you to the hospital.”
“You're very confused.”
“Don't you quote your mother to me!”
 

The joy of narrow gauge backyard railroading has been spoiled by biblical plague.
At least in this town. Scientists determined it was God's will that all the town's families' middle children should throw themselves from the trains at high speed. The slaughter proved unstoppable as the middle children just bit through the guard chain.
Endeavoring to stop or even slow God has proven futile. Experts recommend fasting and prayer fits for affected families.

The poetry of leg muscles shall be Rodney's salvation. We will all agree to not stare at the Canadian quarter stuck on his exterior right thigh. Each day the oils and substances bonding it deeper and deeper into the leg flesh. We will whisper about it, about its grotesqueness, to one another. We will privately share our revulsion and obsession and secret glee over his suffering. In front of the others, though, we remain well behaved, groomed, reverent and obedient. Nothing will disrupt the party. We will not be the ones to take something away from the evening. The pool is safe.
 

Turns out there's a place for everyone in the hot dog trade. Even if you're too sensitive to slice the onions or lack the eye cones to perceive yellow mustard, you're still welcome. You'll be up near the start. Just after the bunning but before the first relish bath. A little brush, a vial of soy ink and a can-do attitude are all you need.
As the bare dog passes your station, simply lean over, eyeball an inch or so from the end and paint on a face.
Happy, sad, confused or confident, the expression is up to you. Does he look like sad to you? Then draw a frowning face. Does the next seem happier? Paint a smile! People will pay you to do this!
As long as it has two eyes and a mouth, make it as pretty as possible.
There. You've done your part. Go tell mom.