They'd looked like

  people in sporty clothing.  Out ahead of even the most vampirical papirazzi and died-in-the-wool war correspondents.  "Let's just call it a day and hike back to the "Last Chance Texaco" and, I dunno, get a burrito." 

  Warriors came up out of the sand.  

  "You think the dust storm went this way and blew like, some people out this way?" 

  "Did someone say burritos?" 

  Quickly children.  A busload of children was hurried towards us.  

  "Start vahlking," a gun was pointed at "Secret Service" people who'd been stripped of their shoes.  One old timer communications person took a local U.S. newspaper out of his rain/trenchcoat.  "Maybe it has to do with the prison riots on this side and that side of this strip of sand." 

  "Really Jim, I could care less right now." Angry to have had personal firearm taken away and then needed, a man stopped walking, grabbed the newspaper, crumpled it up, and then mashed it into the quarter of an inch of sanddrift on the tar road. 

  "Okay, okay, keep walking at this pace.  Minimize talking." 

  Bulldozers and backhoes and chains and straps pulled at containers trapped in sand.  Grown wealthy men pitched silent movie fits as machine guns trailed the "path to stay on" beside them.  Figures in black swarmed.  Motorcycle'd people corral'd the down flight'd that got up off the ground.  Black Knights on horses grabbed heads with hair and dragged them.  Helicopters commandeered were divvied up like pirate's treasure.  Orders issued in multiple languages. 

  

  "How many?" A tanker climbed out and asked.  "See those Town water tanks moving behind us?" The person looked in binoculars.  "Thought it was a mirage." Those are just picked up and carried.  "By who?" 

  "Volunteers I guess.  That gas station still open?" 

  "It was stripped and set ablaze about forty minutes ago." 

"Downing needs more fluff."

  The editors of "the sun papers" maintained a "calm and cool" even whilst they were realizing the enormity of challenges inherent to geopolitics calving this and that way. 

  "And if that weren't nasty enough," someone with a Church fan representing "the pond" so not having to say which side of the Atlantic people had been working on was peppering the ire at both notions of republic and democracy.  "Fact is," some fell silent to hear, "A religious group thinks that by claiming a king of the mountain 'stance' that group can force the others to pay their debts." The typewriters clucked and changed through a working "brunch".  "Not to mention control the eastern seaboard ports!  The people hunting criminals are

  "Look at what this team did!" 

  People gathered around a table on a piece of flooring some eight inches above the commotion of pre-production.  "They actually took on the costs of staying with the popstars of disreputable orgs and the world's criminals with freedom to roam.  Look how many have been 'round the world more than once during this interim or whatever the big wigs are calling it." People marveled out loud.  Some fell silent and turned pale at the implications. 

  "It's what they had to do in Italy at that point in the war." A WWII Veteran said it matter of factly.  "There'da been no survivors had the Axis ran over that island.  So the Allies allied with the few that weren't cronies of Mussolini and, and..." 

  "Sorry to interrupt Pops," 

  "Daphne!  What are you doin' in our broom closet?" 

  "We've brought your spot of tea on the mail cart Sir." 

  "Have ya now?!" 

  "Can we stay?" 

"Is that the Pope's people?"

  One man rifled through a tabletop of current magazines and newspapers looking for his eyewear.  While several people kept eyes glued to a wire-frought Tellie.  "Not unless they're into worshipping some sort of "X" flag these days." 

  "Might be," a teacup clattered against a saucer. 

  A hand took the saucer away.  "World has gone crazy." 

  Keep filming!  These people are waking up to the 21st Century.

Little ledges sometimes led

  to inextricable.  

  "The leg was quite broken," a woman stepped from a gathering crowd of mostly men and seemed to reveal about the then-missing body. 

  "What she said," a squirrly man with matted hair and knobby hands fighting the urge the cover his face almost yelled.  A Bobby took his photograph for the record.  "What record?" An actor asked.  "Who is saying what."  

  The actor told to "improv" his way across the courtyard inquired of someone looking like a director-type if this was being taped.  A person near the tripod and videocamera pointed to the open tape deck.  "And yet it says recording," other men had rushed steps over the the thing just passed the chalk outline of dead body.  One determined.  Another looked for a wire.  No feed that I can see. 

"An ambitious project,"

  the man's voice sounded as if he was far away and monotone.  Repeating what a younger man was not saying as succinctly.  The younger people took in the view from the cliff.  Someone unrolled a whiteboard map of the USA.  "How about your New Year's resolutions?" A helicopter mom trying not to sound too New Jersey, threw out only the heel of the baguette.  "I mean, aren't those so-called goals?" She rubbed her hands together feeling guilty.  "Why do you feel that way?" The young man son asked.  "What way?" 

  "Whatever that's expressing," eyebrows raised to not point at the handwringing.  "I threw away a crust of bread."  The man went to the grocery bag and swiped out the crumb and ate it.  "Don't be a waster," had been passed down like Scripture in their tribe.  "We should find a village and settle down," the boyman swallowed as young girls filed out of a tentshelter.  "Oh really Montésque?  That sounds kind of funny coming from a man in tights under a kilt wanting to ride horses."  The mother took up the tongs and stood like a worthy servant to see what might be decided.  "Dining in or dining out mum?" 

  The barely adult in the Western world girls attacked the little food spread. 

  "Didn't say much," the mom reported to other crampy women in the deemed "unclean" bunch of women.  "This has been a shitty transition." One griped.  "Politically?" 

  "Naw, between Continents." 

  "To the Lands of Spring To Come," the most strikingly chiseled features man-warrior was on a big horse.  "For the maidens, I'm sure," a middle-aged woman yawled.  "Well, I'm NOT gay," the hansome man was mumbling in between photographic shots meant to portray iconic.  "That's too much pressure," a person holding the bridle of the horse conveyed of a saddle tightening by another person.  The horse's breath smelled of apples and hay.  "They'll be eating dry salty fish way up north," someone remarked.  Some people on foot turned south.  "Anyone allergic to seafood?" 

  "Does seaweed count?" 

  "Allergic to seaweed are ya?" 

  "Is it seafood?" 

  Someone on another horse smelled a clump of dried but not washed yet sold at a market.  "Smells like the Sea." 

Came the day.

  Ripshit. 

  Mad? 

  Ripshit mad. 

  Each artist took no more than three potato chips from the bag.  "Did you sleep?" A sip of the coffee.  An uh-huh nod and admission, "Sort of."  A photographer came down the Subway stairs and straight to the pile of rucksacks and dufflebags.  "I was 'the guard'," the woman said.  "Did it pay?" Someone asked.  "That I would not have to tell you." 

  "Why mad?" 

  "Apparently accreditation hung in the balance when some, and I quote, 'obnoxious motherfuckers' rallied to bulldoze the arguments about what is okay, and what is not with ART IS LIFE, LIFE IS ART.  I mean, I get hungry and all that, but it was a last straw." 

  "So she felt like the world's gone insane and those people are taking advantage."  She took the coffee. 

  "Not me." 

  "Of course not." The photographer had changed lenses and was offered the coffee as she came over.  "No tanks, I had tea." We milled about as the peak commuter hour waned.  "What's on the agenda for today?" A couple guys had joined us.  "Stillshots of movie sets." 

  "Broadway?" 

  "These are all over the place." 

  An office building.  Elevator to a top floor.  "The investors pulled out."  Elevator doors opening. 

  One guy.  Jumpsuit half off.  White tee shirt.  Introductions. 

  "So this is it?" 

  A whole water bottle drank in a sip of water.  "Not judging." 

  A four foot 2x4, 2x6 platform and gymnasium mat.  Had been practicing since, no stunt doubles. 

  "Give it a whirl." 

  The man stood and dove in perfectly slow motion.  The digital camera took 492 pics in the twenty-three second "scene".  

  I put the stopwatch back on top of the clipboard and handed it back.  The actor wanted to know, "Can I see?" 

  "Of course." 

  "Amazing."  Absolute quiet of a busy city outside of glass.  "The capacity." Another water.  "Amazing." 

  Back into the elevator.  "Can I ask a question?" 

  "Okay, shoot, but I like to think 

  "Not judging what? 

  "To myself in between 

  "I can't go with you to another. 

  "Weight.  Why not?" 

  "I've a temp job to get to." 

  Floors and floors of stories flicking by in numbers and lights. 

  "What is it?" 

  "Okay, supposed to have an elevator speech prepared, but I'll ask another question." 

  "He's shinny, why is he worried about his weight?" 

  "I'll ask him sometime." 

  "What's the job?" 

  "Medical coding." 

  A rooftop.  Cheek "kisses" just a brush up close of a hug.  "How's Texas suiting ya?" The man paused for a second to stop and smell the roses, then said something like, Texas is Texas.  

  A tiny herd of suits peered out at the roof.  "Time to eat," someone said gleefully.  "Why don't you two do lunch.  I brought mine," a walkie talkie announced, She's reaching into her pocket, and, pulling something out.  "Peanut butter and jelly." 

  "Now that's refreshing." 

 

  "What's the name of it?" 

  "Ocean's Eleven if they stick with that 

  Working Title 

  "I want you to see it when it comes out." 

  "Like I can afford to see a movie nowadays." 

  "Just rent it on one of these." A man shirked the discs from his hand like they were germs.  "What is it?" Others wanted to understand.  "A technology called Blu-Ray.  I think I will go to lunch.  Haven't eaten since dinner." 

  "Can you grab us a couple Reubens?" 

  "Can.  Will do." 

At the end of the world...

  Inevitably our travels would bring us to the "ends of the earth" and "the end of the world" as it had evolved given the factors of peoples and places. 

  In our "teenage" years we had more "older ones" to seek out and find.  For some of us, traveling buddies we'd "adopted", were becoming more like family than not-family.  But the further from mainstream travel, the more we were of a median age.  We were developing skills and wisdom and we didn't always have "answers". 

  Sometimes we'd just happen into finding ourselves part of "the humanity" on a coastal beach.  A knot of us would carry out routine...water, food, fire.  Other travelers might do the same.  A humanity offering a welcome to humanity. 

  Sometimes the beach campfires would sort themselves.  As often as not, there was an unspoken desire for "peace" or at least, no arguing.  Roaming creatives might spark song and dance.  Storytelling though happened even around the quiet fires.

Better, together, though not always by first choice;

  It was something to ponder as friends and family brushed up on lessons learned along the way and, "Where do I put the socks?" Someone asked a telephone receiver.  "I CAN'T SEE THE LUGGAGE SON." The younger man looked at the phone and recalled that he was on a phone.  After the father and son hung up he'd not wanted to let go of the phone.  "We feel close to home when we hear their voices," a just slightly older officer explained.  

  "Ready for the tour son?" The young man shoved the socks into a suitcase pocket; shut it, then opened it and put the socks in the other fold.  The slightly older stepped to the back of the man's head and peered at the point of indecision.  After the bag was zipped up again he said, "I would have put them in the other pocket." Hands paused on unzippering.  "No do overs in war son.  We'll get 'em next time." 

  The book Iwo Jima starts out with a quote from a Rabbi Chaplain's eulogy of 14 MARCH 1945. 

  "Here lie officers and men, Negroes and whites, rich men and poor--together.  Here are Protestants, Catholics, and Jews--together.  Here no man prefers another because of his faith or despises him because of his color....No prejudices.  No hatred.  Theirs is the highest and purest democracy." --Chaplain Roland B. Gittelsohn 

  He's also quoted over at https://www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/gittelsohn-iwo-jima-eulogy.

  As we struggle with how to think of ourselves let us not forget to consider the meaning in our chosen words.

The man named Max didn't blush.

  He'd brought a whole box of them. 

  They'd sat the woman into a pleather wingback chair on one.  "Oh dear." Someone straightened her special skirtkilt over "knobby knees on the old girl".  "Have I passed that much air?" Sharp as a tack, that's your Indian name m'am, trying to see the coming and going.  People bodily blocking the view.  Mothball late winter blazers.  "Why cahn't I?"  

  "It's whahT. ah happened," spittle on the "tee", "And you being the most educated doctor hopefully must, absolutely Must, explain the situation to huh."  A wince of non-smokers lips at the pinch of a tet-in-us shot.  "Am I bleeding like a stuck elephant?"  Not a tsk but a grunt and one little pat of a no, of course not. 

The future

  "I see it." A person quickly passed the binoculars.  Another person held them in front of the elder's face pointed in the direction of the sloping street where a set of headlights appeared like the sun coming up above the horizon.  The stone building facing a stone building wasn't stone inside.  It was square walled.  The mix of emotions among the bunch of people gathered to never say goodbye was weighty but like a giant feather too. 

  A decade in Belfast.  Sisters passing articles of clothing explaining the why of this one's special.  A stew pot cauldron not flinching to the crackling of wood in a fire.  You will hear of wars.  

  "Bobs for the rest of them," was determined by the eldest.  The slow and mostly quiet jostling and giggles re-enacting a jig at a pub dissipated only as fast as a fruitcake losing its alcohol.  A girl would go into a bathroom and lose her locks, get the hairs broomed off of her, then file into duty.  

  Big shears catching candlelight.  Bags of clothing, you've wrinkled them, the chastisement to a man's cork of a face trying to squash the sobbing.  The sobbing hellbent on making way from breast.

  Wider.  The order.  The pants replaced on an arm held perfectly still, solid, out like a coat rack.  "The next pair should be perfect." Lasses and lads grabbing the shoulder next and whispering into ears.  That way word reached the bedroom before official charge.  "Who would you like to hear it from?" Two older girls stepped forward, expressions masked, like hearing your measurements carried the dread of a death sentence.  "No more Fig Newtons for yah, Missy." 

  "Been shitting like a pigeon." 

  The male doctor blushed, cheeks a tapestry of rose and parchment color. 

  "Up witd yer bum," to the being health checked, "Is dis tah wone?" A flaming lock of auburn hair slipped out from the peggy's cap and hung beside the cottony face mask.  "A snug feeling tho' skinny gut," eyes on clipboard, "It's hard to write fast in this cold." 

  The real sun coming up. 

  Cough syrup for the per-tuss-in.

"Apococalipsoooo me."

  The man took a deep breath sample of street air and launched himself into a vertical tunnel of being "radiated". 

  "God only knows what kind of germs," a mother wanded her son with a skin refresher.  It was not the prototype so it didn't just crisp moles.  "Healing is a much slower process than we first thought anyway." 

  "That's keeping chin up." 

  "Keep on the sunnyside.  Isn't that what they sing?" 

  Despair is a sin, a little kid had led a football stadium of people from a midwest place to a city chanting such things.  That was just after a kind of basement temple had settled in Detroit.  Many, many days had passed before a favorite football player had gotten broken and Americans sorted acts with hatred as motivation from other kinds of living.  Some other little kids who'd survived the fighting and pollution caught up with his optimistic walk towards the future and one played drum and another a fife. 

  "So our Academic Institution plans should be geared for the 21st Century?" 

  "That's right." A human who'd been to the future in a way took her time tasting her sip of real coffee.  "She's been with us our whole lives," a peppy preppy snagged the cup of not boiled liquid and re-iterated affirmative.  "And we want to stick together for the rest of ours," family members who'd had deaths and illnesses the previous year were joining the toggle.  Making way across a broadened pathway of "campus".

  "Yes, yes shocking." 

  "Like into a sinkhole in some places." 

  "Yes, yes.  I really must get back up there to records.  Are you in or are you out?" 

  "So you're saying people can't go back and forth through the gates anymore?" 

  "I'm not exactly sure what I'm saying." 

  The man's wife came over.  "He has no place to go." 

  "Against consultation I shall have to tell you," appalled looks disguising will I be accused of coercion here, "I feel mighty compelled to tell you," John Wayne/Ronald Reagan speaking voice, "Yes?" 

  "What happened at Columbia University last night 

  "Did indeed break it all into programs again?" 

  "Then I'll start re-fiddling mine," the husband said. 

  "I would need to check with a Gladys." 

  The wind from the subways blew a sheet of newspaper across the lawn.  Getting darker earlier days would mean cozying up with books.  People looked at wristwatches and calculated travel times and sheduals.  Pecks on cheeks and I'm offs.