Three days later

     a scientist who'd been spoon-feeding a malnourished spider monkey had finally accumulated enough left-over gas points from retail and fast-food mangers sent around to secure their chains explained, sounds er false.  Dee armadillos are equatorial creatures.  They are reawry wery boring.  Dey go round and round, sleep, eat, sleep, eat.  And when season change dey get all messed up.  This was news to an animal shelter who'd received no less than a dozen severely harmed armadillos.  One still on the shovel of a roadworker and labeled with fingerprints and a temporary "badge" number.

"That's seventeen people!!"

  The man said it again as he walked past 17 pair of feet, seated, hands in plastic twist ties.  Then he looked at the small electric car he'd been sent over in and scratched his head. 

     The young Detective called out, "I think you, or someone, should see this." 

     And then, the report read, Someone, not the ascared mule, grabbed some sort of whip found in a drug raid, and aimed, wrangle-style at the accused murderer.  The someone said, "WHAT'D YOU DO TO MY ARMADILLO?" and dropped him like a log by getting the whip around his legs.  "There's five more people," the man said aloud at the pile tied together with an extension cord. 

     "Why is my husband so-called under arrest?" A lady asked. 

  At first no one said anything.  Though some were still groaning in pain.  Then a different man got out of the electric car and said equally as loud, "Mr. S, I'd like you to meet KamKam."  The woman's jaw dropped and she drew in a breath, and a sort of snort of shock.  And she said, "That's not my name." 

     Patched through, the man who could not sit or stand and so had been put on a ladder sighed heavy as his wife said, glad you're alive.  You silly fool, Westerns are supposed to be filmed in the West.

      A field had to be designated place, though not announced sometimes as work days pushed through (i)shut down(i). So all involved in a place had opportunity to learn.  Seemingly quirky stuff like (i)don't smoke your Reporter's notebook(i).  "Why?" 

     (i)Well, because it's unhealthy(i).  "Why for real?" 

     Academic credentials had to be checked for okays to share info.  "You might get an answer, a better answer, if you ask that person over there." 

     The response might be something on a spectrum like, "Not a good time for that question." Or, "Excellent question." If you'd been put in a Journalism "pool" you might move forward in a "queue" (cue).  Old schoolers might consider the question common knowledge amongst tradespeople, or might not know exactly.  Can be funny, some of the answers.  The gist--- when Print Matter is a unique category, it's an insult to "newspaper".  And it could be someone else's something.  Even having to do with world-doings as opposed to private affairs.

     

    It wasn't a "staging ground" and it wasn't "triage" although the mounting wounded needed both.  If those of us who'd taken a stand on religion and nation were a marsh of cattails, the tide had come in high and smacked into anything jutting out.  Our "heros" were men and women thrust awake to vulnerabilities within "the system" and a dulled local.  The system and the local were getting overwhelmed by a modern age clashing with old fashioned.  Gen X stepped up as conscious bridge-workers at that time.  And we kept stepping up as the nation faced the facts of homeland "frontlines".

     "You people!  Really pissing me off this morning." The guide's knapsack contents were not completely back in place.  "Are you seriously pissed?" The guide made a neutral face to disguise emotions about something totally "personal life".  Threw the net at the kid.  Wondered out loud about schedule.  Grumbled (i)just try and keep up(i), "First days are harder than the rest."

     

     "Well, I don't like being messy about it Devi."  A brother sort of snickered but not a villain's snicker.  It was still too soon to leave after the unofficial end to the British car show.  Their Dad had been torn between "old peoples' home" and not retiring per say, but easing into a different role, same armchair.  "Really, I don't see what your issue is Brom.  I feed you." 

     "I'm off routine and shedule." 

     "Is he (i)scared(i) to come out of there?" The brother called out loud enough for the family to hear.

  "Don't shoot; that's my suggestion," the team leader called out while being video'd and camera'd.  The teams for the magazines had already been picked.  The videographer's filming was, unbeknownst, too close to action of a different sort than Nature.

   As it was explained to me after the fact of overlap, then liminal, when I was a student, based on admin mtngs and escalation of a wide array of issues (incl. pending vote-matters) there were phases of function.  As our nation moved towards "threat level"s, departments weighed in on standings of students, teachers, and staff and for only a brief time we were all in the, ex., Department of energy.  Then all agriculture, etc.  This so redundancy could be re-arranged, resources not wasted, and a compliant rank and file (even amongst creatives) could take shape whilst we maintained all our roles and ongoing work.

    Many of us were on Boards and investing in companies, so it was stressful to be avoiding Conflict of Interest.  But quality allies stepped up at every turn without aiding and abetting.  We all had to be careful about helping as "fugitives" was a category on par with keeping vigilanteism separate from legal terms like "manhunt".

    "I got rotated in."  The black woman in leftover pants from a group site clean-up effort slowly pushed out a breath containing (i)angry, but not at you(i).  While a forerunner from the Big Grizzlies (network people) had been hintimated to regarding a major issue, the locals had carefully preserved the sad truth's evidence.

     Wires had been cut.  Some co-opted as impromptu trip wires, actually connected to explosives.  A fire crew held up blackened hands.  A series of photographs recorded what had become troop movement.  Down to a person, the group had managed to make it out of underbrush without serious injury.

    "We put it in canisters Sir." 

     A convoy had made two crossings bypassing the scenic highways.  Two lingering campers had put their campfire's white ash in vegetable cans.  The metal was still warm as Ranger Tim knelt on one knee and dove into his "morning mesh", tentative planning, what had happened in the night, objectives: immediate and two-day.  He smiled at the campers, (i)good work(i) but they'd already turned to go.

 

   Rivers have tides too, at least ones with working dams do.  It's a way to think about the rising and falling waters along the Ocoee.

   When it came down to it, it wasn't a harsh transition.  Enough people maintained doing what they loved, like hiking and camping, while the filter of the American justice system weeded the garden of citizenry.  For many of us young people it was the first time we'd seen the whole thing functioning aside from just a normal day.  We got insights into the many parts that keep the USA a civilized nation.