"It's the scene in (i)The Last Knight(i) where

  "In which" 

  "Where the men and people are bereft of their kingdom, but

  "Look we have to reorganize this based on 

  "BUT (i)they don't give up(i)." 

  Palms flat out wanting correct pens, phones, key fobs, and a bag of unsalted peanuts. 

  "Look, these scripts don't match up." 

  "What scripts?" 

  "The scripts for this.  Meeting or whatever it is." 

  Scrunched up lips, more lipstick, a snapping shut of a clutch clasp. 

  A subtle seeing.  Then a most mature and rapidly aging people dash.  War flowing like lava to be survived. 

"Put the Torso on the Turbo."

  "Worldclass," a Sales Manager was explaining to a prospective client. 

  "Look at these.  That one's even able to read on it." 

  The treadmills outnumbered the rowing machines but not the bicycle machines with video of real world bicycling situation. 

  "Not even an (i)owie(i)?" 

  "That is something you will never hear me say." 

  "Is he the one?" 

  "Yes, the (i)interviewee(i)." 

  "I have malaria to boot." 

  "How's that work without an asshole?" A man in a very starched dress shirt and slacks approached. 

  The Torso grimaced. 

  "We can come back." 

  "NO!" 

  "Okay.  We'll stay." 

  "Did they call for me?" 

  "Been ram-rodding the Kelvin?" 

  The older men ignored the questioning junior Officer and stealthed into the room. 

"I don't know. My ethics are really messed up right now." To

  (i)Why aren't you guys here?(i) 

  "Come home, we'll go to Church." 

  "Well, that's good and I will, but" 

  "But what?" 

  "God and family first is true, but" 

  The pay phone booth actually rocked as more busloads of people swelled the environment. 

  Another phone picked up on the line.  A younger brother.  "Did you kill anyone yet?" 

  "What?! (i)Nooooooo(i).  But people are getting killed." 

  A quiet like the shadow of a wall blocking the sun on the phone. 

  Hands smushed on glass.  Palms and pointing.  A walking map and more pointing. 

  "I gottah go.  I love you all.  See you soon." 

  "Mine?" 

  "Yours."  A flood of people dressed for every season pushed past a knot of us.  Handed the video camera. 

  "Why's he gloating?" 

  A peek and emotional dig.  He was roostering.  "Not sure." 

  "Hot nuts!" He held out the little paperbag.  "And these," his other hand reached into a breast pocket. 

  "Thickets!" 

  "Do we go to a concert?" 

  "A lecture!" His smile swam from his heart and beamed white, white teeth beneath dark circle eyes. 

"We've been patching a rubber raft," the man declared.

  He pushed through a purposeful lingering around the tables with three thick contracts held close to his chest.  These were to be considered.  TBC was "the chopping block". 

  Someone complimented the man by saying (i)he cleans up well(i).  The man fished into his pocket for his wedding ring, resized and checkmarked picked up on the (i)Honey Do List(i).  Vipers, not exactly hissing. 

"We've" (i)cough, cough(i) "been here"

  (i)gasp(i) "be, be, be" 

  "Person passed out!!!!!" 

  Person behind in line hollah'd "FORE".  Thicker and thicker smoke and flamed gaseous chemicals making everything in the black and white viewfinder look tinted.  "Never been done before," and a smack on the back.  Then trampled. 

  A sigh.  Knowing "it doesn't get any tougher".  A suck on a wetted papertowel.  "Sorry I called you weak." 

  "Are you kidding me?  I mean, did you say sorry?" 

  A trembling nod. 

  "What you did that you owe me an apology for was like two Continents ago.  I'm (i)over it(i)."  A break down and hold. 

  Choking on environment and tears and words.  "Just tell me." 

  "Goo, goo, 

  "Good and bad both." 

  "It's, it's, it's

  "Here, use Mom's space pen." 

     (i)Infiltrated.  Taking over.  A peep from space, sats etc., shows us in spirals. (i) 

  "Okay.  On it.  Let me find a next commander and verify." 

  At first a while afterwards we thought, well, a lot of (i)speculation(i).  So, we all set out on a learning tour.  Because we'd hypothesized the enemy was just pinning us down in the Forest.  But we learned that the commiebots were all doing the same method of attack, also in cities! 

  "That's like..." 

  "Similar to..." 

  "Comparables, got it." Someone drew on a whiteboard what looked like "gameplans". 

  "Makes sense since back in the Opium Wars, what was in the magazines?!" 

  Snores. 

  "I'm the only one WHO STUDIED THIS SHIT??!!" A book whacked on a table. 

  "LOOK AT THIS!" 

"It took awhile," the woman listened to the woman say.

  

  "IT'S ANOTHER ONE!" A small towhead child with fine hair knots held the salamander-like organic thing in the air.  "Why does it only have two legs?" Asked a photographer. 

  "Isn't that the woman?" 

  "What woman?" 

  "The woman who had her moment of craziness on the trailer in the parade?" 

  "She was speaking for a lot of us.  How Israel was making us feel." 

  "She wasn't speaking." 

  "She was being symbolic.  But not lighting her self on fire." 

  Someone had said, (i)we're turning into our parents(i), but somebody else had said, (i)more like our grandparents(i).  "Remember those?" 

  "Either somebody is going to intervene or," an eternal team captain was fighting against his natural loud, "We're going to..." The sentence barely hung there before a woman said, not with sarcasm, but with the embattled show-voice like on Broadway, "She's going to have to be embalmed." 

  "The man is grieving." 

  "That's GROSS!" A woman said and asked to pick up one of the babies. 

"You heard the joke right?!" The kid asked.

  The man poured another snort of brandy.  "I heard it." 

  "What was the punchline? I had to pee." 

  "Guy gets to heaven and eats his can of tuna (i)with God(i)." 

  Against a backdrop of the "ball dropping" on a TV. 

  "Approximately eight.  People." 

  The whiteboard still bore the question:  (i)What is truth?(i). 

  "I did." 

  "What do they want?" 

  "They don't want war." 

  "We had to." 

  "They want (i)RomComs(i)." 

  "But the romance is gone." 

  "Maybe that's why." 

"Where are you?"

  "Well you're the one who called me, you should know." 

  "But it's a cell phone." 

  "It smells like a jungle." 

  "Are you saying (i)you don't know(i)?" 

  "I'll call you back." 

  Guys snoring all over the sofa.  Dark kitchen.  Sink water.  Glass hitting against faucet in a (i)scared ya(i).  The voice quiet but loud.  "So you're their woman now?!" 

  "Not sure about that.  Or anything really, after last night." 

  "What happened last night?" Lights flicked on.  Barefeet.  Smooth broadboard floor.  Face being looked at closely.  "I, uh, guess, um, it depends on who you ask." 

  "Well, I'm asking you.  And this is Greece by the way.  It smells like vegetation and air and Sea, not a jungle." 

  "Might smell like a jungle to me." 

  "I didn't ask you that." 

  Silence.  She finished pouring a glass of water.  Strong slender hand brushing spilled water into sink.  Staring.  "Did you want it back in the glass? I know my sons said you're (i)conservative(i)." 

  "I'm in an apolitical couple days." 

  "It didn't look like much." 

  "You saw us?" 

  "Sitting on the sofa all night." 

  "But it seemed like we weren't."  The smooth back of a hand to a forehead.  "Feverish?" 

  "Not really.  We've just done so much traveling together and other stuff and not really, like a break.  Like when you swim all day and are still swimming in bed at night." 

  "Everybody up!" The woman flicked on lights in the sitting room.  The guys came to.  "I like her," she announced.  Yawns.  Scratches.  "Wild dreams." 

  "Maybe because we were talking about the leopard." 

"Whoa." One of the three girl women said.

  (i)whoa(i) said another.  The third, "Big whoa". 

  "Mind blown?" Asked the guy. 

  Nods and one feeling the outside of her head. 

  "What (i)do you(i) think about that?" 

  The man cringed.  "Honestly I think you should all be women of the Bible." 

  "Well, that's not happening.  That was a long time ago." 

  "Yeah, they're not writing anything new in there." 

  "But," one thought hard, "I can't really believe this is all (i)narrative(i) now either." 

  "Should we cancel this?" A subsciption which stood or laid on the table like a bird that had smacked into a glass replica of sky. 

  "Not only that, but, doesn't it mean, like, I mean, everybody writes different right?!" Everyone nodded and eyed the mod Lit magazine.  "So wouldn't that mean there's a lot of versions of the narrative?" 

  One person slightly turned and held on to the back of a chair.  Another dug through shelves for a dictionary.  "Does it mean we're just (i)pretenders(i)?" 

  "Why are the bills still sitting on the table?" 

  The guy looked up over his reading glasses.  "Well, that's (i)their(i) narrative.  I don't feel I owe that much." 

  "Maybe it's like, like, um, like how we all went to war and (i)fought hard(i) but since then, um, some of us don't believe in war." 

  "Okay, I just gotta say, I meet Veterans everyday missing legs and other things, and (i)war is real(i)." 

  "Of course! Not saying it's not (i)real(i)." 

  "What are you saying?" 

  "Maybe.  I dunno.  This (i)is hard(i), especially out loud." 

  "We're not (i)the judges(i)." 

  "What happens in Vegas?" 

  "Like maybe that's what it means." A glance at the sequestered magazine. 

  "Like everybody has an (i)opinion(i)!" 

  "Everybody does." 

"What did your scab say?"

  "Why?" 

  "Well, that's probably what got published." 

  "From the mouth of babes." 

  "Where'd you all come from?" 

  "Derbyland." 

  "Paducah?" 

  "Paducah.  Must've been." 

  "Planeloads." 

  "Of those?" 

  "Disguised as us." 

  "At least (i)on paper(i)." 

"We have to be really careful about

  sharing words," was said amongst work groups.  "What did you say?" A writer/editor type asked as a wrecking ball thwacked the building upstairs.  Someone rolled up the blueprints. 

  "Why?" 

  "Because we're in multi-disciplinary, multi-cultural groups today." 

  "Why's that matter?" 

  "Timing, processes." 

  "Union fighting." 

  "Strike that please." 

  "Why?" 

  "Not allowed to say fighting." 

  "Like not allowed to say God in certain places?!" 

  "Uh huh.  Move your feet, lose your seat." 

  "Lose your seat, it's the freezer or the abyss." 

  Dust clouding the street air, coating thrift store outfits and hardhats.