The Oakland Museum of California, 2025. A tour party is about to start viewing the ‘Dorothea Lange Collection’.

A man, wearing a MAGA cap, points at Lange’s photograph, ‘Migrant Mother, Nipomo, California, 1936’, and asks Leonid, the tour guide, Why’s that so famous?
Leonid sees the man’s name badge. Ok, Billy, I’ll try to explain. Dorothea Lange is one of the great social photographers.
Ah, a socialist, Andrea, another tourist, states.
Leonid sighs. No. This portrait of Florence Owens Thompson and her children, embodies the suffering of destitute ordinary people during the Midwestern Dust Bowl disaster when 300,000 people migrated to California in search of work and a future for their children.
She’s a failure with no shame, Andrea says.
You said she’s a migrant, September says, She illegal? 
Migrant not immigrant, Leonid replies. The photograph was taken at the height of the ‘Great Depression’. You all know about that, right? Leonid asks.
Sure do; was when Jew bankers stole our money, Andrea asserts.
That’s a lie and racist, Leonid objects.
You calling me an antisemite? Andrea responds. I got Jew friends.
Where’d she crawled from? Billy asks. Skid Row?
She was an American citizen, just like you, Leonid explains. Shall we move on, there’s so much of her work to be seen?
Why do that? Billy asks.
Why come here? Leonid asks.
To see what commie propaganda looks like before Donald closes the museum down.
That’s outrageous. Leonid says. 
You don’t create MAGA by celebrating failure. This place is subversive, Billy states.
Your badge says you’re Leonid. You Russian? September queries. 
Do I sound Russian? I’m British. 
If you were a spy, you wouldn’t sound Russian.
Are you Russian? Billy demands.
Ok, Leonid laughs. I’m Russian – I’m Leonid Brezhnev.
Told you! Andrea shouts. They’ll come for you, for sure.

Following fierce pounding, Leonid opens his apartment door and is confronted by two stocky men wearing face masks, baseball caps, stab-proof jackets, ICE* badges and prominently holstered automatic pistols. 
Well, if it isn’t the boys from the Arctic, Leonid laughs.
You Leonid Brezhnev?
Speak up, will you? You’re mumbling.
Are you Leonid Brezhnev?
I’m a British citizen and outside of your jurisdiction.
Like fuck you do, Pal. This is your jurisdiction, one of the agents says forcing Leonid’s face against the wall.
Are you Leonid Brezhnev?
I can’t speak like this, Leonid groans. Standing free, he continues, You been listening to those
dumb fucks in the museum?
You the dumb fuck, arsehole. Them, citizens doing their duty and looking out for commies, got it? Leonid winces from a sudden slap in his face, 
Are you Leonid Brezhnev?
Brezhnev died in 1982; he ran Russia. Let me get my ID, Leonid says, putting his hand inside his bomber jacket.
Don’t do that!
Look, Leonid says, here’s my … He doesn’t finish his sentence.
I thought he was pulling a …
He was.
There’s no gun.
Sure is.
Yeah, I see it now. 
He’s as dead as JFK.
Another mystery.

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Immigration_and_Customs_Enforcement

I hope you enjoyed this story. Please feel free to pass it on to others who may be interested. You can read my previous 500 word stories on my website www.philcoskerwriter.com under ‘Writing’.>>>More
© Phil Cosker 2025
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