Found the storyboards 😁!

(i)Like a hurricane,

  and a tsunami, at the same time."  

  More Officers had arrived from Germany.  None showed feelings about a deaf, dumb, and blind "key witness group". 

  "And with the Ameree-cahns holding pwace in da Europa, Asia Minor 

  "would have been 

  "Ree-een-filtered!" 

We explained, "By the next time

  we'd gone to the little trailer house guarding the transformer, we thought we'd arrived with just our wounded Servicepeople." Someone swallowed hard.  Drymouth.  "But when we rattled through the 'extra keys' and got the wounded into the shelter, and then found the generator for some light," the Court transcriber kept typing and typing.  

  The witnesses would see each other in the hallways.  Offer to get something from the vending machine if they'd finished up.  An out-of-work-work dot.commer adapted one machine to boil water and make chicken noodle soup.

  "The Chinese Sir." A Senior American official relayed to the Judge not truly presiding, but hearing.  "Okay, your Honor, let me ask a question," said a Public Defendent.  "It was the Chinese setting up a studio inside?"

  Hopped a fence and caught a train to "Brick Town".  Someone put the glass of champagne back on the server's tray.

  "Hopped a train?" One gentleman asked. 

  "Caught a train?"  Another gentleman asked. 

  It's making too much noise, a lady was clearly trying to wiggle out of the fancywear by crossing the room.  An academic woman was close on heel.  "It has to do with postulates!" She said loudly of the prospective research.  "Great; I'll let the nerds know."  

  "It's Bean Town, not brick town."  

  "Is there a vending machine somewhere?" 

  "I wouldn't know." 

  "Thirsty?" 

  One blocked the other's raise and snap of a finger.  "Why are you here little one?" 

  "Okay, we're ready," the server with the champagne told his watch.  "Oh Lord," a male Academic in a graduation robe said out loud to no one in particular.  "Try and keep up," one young person said to everyone tossed a stick with digital camera on it.

  People crammed the stairwells.  "I'd rahtha be home watching my wife do jijitsu." Said a Professor, honestly.  

 

  Outside long lean legs in dress slacks crossed in front of the chained closed doors to the halls of Academia.  "It's a bottleneck Chief," a student said to two professors getting to the front of the line at the same time.  "I am not a chief, except to my wife, who is not here," one looked around over the tops of many heads.  "I am," said the other.  "Here from Oklahoma." He stuck out his hand for a handshake.

  Statistics, a young man blurted about who from which Department.  Someone waved him forward.  "What is the likelihood of us getting out this way?" The taller professor asked.  The young man pulled a precision measuring tool from his shirt pocket.  "I'll measure the chain."  

  A black lady's hand reached through the knot of body and snatched the tool.  "Can't have those now," she dropped it in her briefcase/purse.  The young man took off to more descending staircase.

  "Was that a statement of truth?" The professor from Oklahoma asked.  "No." Replied the woman.  "I just wanted it." She shrugged.  Then pulled Lock Down Drill manuals from her bag.  "It doesn't say what to do if they don't know what's real from," she fell silent and held up her hands.

  People dramatically breathed outside air once truly outside on a different sidewalk.  Some were hot and sweaty and seemed a bit panick'd.  

  "We're on the move Helen," a professor told his watch.  On both sides of the street people were single-filing close to the buildings.  Shop doors were open and closed.  One sign said NO STOPPING in a neon SAFETY color.

  Plucked from the streaming foot traffic.  Shown a monitor.  The stream of people moving somewhere.  A woman in a skirt suit oooooooo body slam, that's not good.  Typing on a computer keyboard.  The question, "Justification?" Within seconds a mostly dark gray screen got neon green words saying, "Someone shouting make way for the drones make way for the drones."

"Oh, I'm sure it stinks by now."

  "Well, these must be specialty nails."  Smooth as my finger traced a row of bumpy round hardware holding leather to wood.  

  "Hand Carved," a very tall austere-type man's voice boomed eloquently.  

  "Did you actually see them?" 

  "Oh yes.  Look at this wood.  Must be like our Pine." 

  "What are tawking about our pine, their pine, the two coasts are not different nations." 

  "Almost.  That's what my Dad thinks." 

  "Except when you think of it that way.  Yeah, yeah, might as well be is what my mother would say."  The furniture store man inched closer.  Stopping at a glass cabinet to fake read a newspaper.  

  "Don't look but he might be looking at us." 

  I looked as I said, "Okay, I won't look."  

  "Yellow pine," the man said.  He put down the paper and straightened a rocking chair in a cluster of chairs, each one representing its family of chairs that could make sets of four or six or eight or ten or even twelve.  Only the heads of the seats around a very rectangular and long  table had "arms".  "Some people call it Ponderosa Pine."

  "Oh do they now?  Come on," she tugged my sleeve.  "Let me know when you're ready girls." The man went back up front.  We went towards a side and the back.  "Step into my dark corner booth," she said.  And there was a breakfast nook table with bench seats attached.  "It's kind of like a picnic table." 

  "So you want me to write a song?"  

  "Not just me.  It's like our whole generation needs you." 

  "I'd find that hard to believe even if you weren't asking me for something.  But, flattery 

  "And we have no money 

  "Flattery often tweaks my psyche just right, but," she got up as I sat down.  She fished twelve dollars out of her pocket and put it in the middle of the little table.  "What's that?" She asked.  "Looks like money." 

  "Wanna do lunch?" 

  "Is the money for me?" 

  "Maybe." 

  "That would get me two more video tapes." 

  She sat back down and tried to push the table out from the bench a bit.  "You're not fat." 

  "This close makes me feel like I'm suffocating." 

  "Oh God, and I have cigarette breath." I fished chewing gum out of a pocket and offered her a piece.  "Sugar free?" 

  "Of course." 

  "Think we'll ever have homes for furniture like this?" 

  "I doubt it."  I let her look through my wallet while we sat there.  She could see my "credentials" for doing some of the public service work I was doing.  And I could not exactly say much about photos of loved ones. 

  "What did that woman mean?  About stinks?" 

  "TOP SECRET.  For real." Eyes widened as they passed over my face and above my head and landed on a street level little window.  "But I will say, the people who were trying to save as many people as they could over there listed those wounded as anything but people."  

  She buried her forehead in her palm for a minute.  Then said, "Life gives me headaches." 

"Maybe a few days!"

  The chance to get out of the smog.  

  "One of the oldest Spanish families in California." 

  "But why?  We're so close to ending war!" 

  The three foot waves were steady rhythm.  Curling and pounding, curling and pounding.  "We're both pensive.  Whatever that means." 

  "That's why you're sitting here alone together?" 

  "LOOK, I don't know the whys of everything.  Or even anything really."  One of the girls looked hurt for a split second, then smiled.  "I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't feel abandoned."  I stood up.  "You're leaving me?!"  She looked at the horizon of the ocean.  "Yup, sailing the high seas!" 

  "She means we got gigs.  Nothing romantic about it." Another girl rubbed the muscles on her arm.  "We lug our shit around from town to town and

  "Take it from me," said the less depressed du jour of the pair, "She's about to launch a career." She gave the "I'm proud of you" look to the girl.  "Thanks for the amplifier!"  The girl said to everyone.  "And.  It's been nice.  Talking to other people." 

  "That's it?!" 

  "What else?" 

  "How 'bout a group hug?"  One of us asked.

  "How's about not?!"  

  "A prayer?" 

  "How about a group hug as a prayer?!"

  "It's not very mature to hate anybody, let alone your children."  

  "Like you should talk.  Having a bunch of diplomats act like five and six year olds and eat bitty bites of food." 

  "Tea sandwiches.  And they weren't acting.  There's a part of them, a part of all of us

  "We're ALL God's children."  

  The oldest one wielded, a litte unsteady on her inch and a half heels, vintage 1950's.  "Not you," she hissed at the wounded veteran.

The man looked down

  at the clipboard.  On his utility belt was an assortment of tags and strings and colored stickers and markers.  "All inventoried Sir." The weapons expert military man looked out over the hangar.  "Good job son." 

  "This is the clipboard with the lists by vehicle." The military man didn't reach for it.  "See," said the other man,"Each sheet shows type of vehicle, items not nailed down inside the vehicle, and," 

  "Why yes, you're very organized.  You're not the usual person here though.  Are you?" 

  "Well, no Sir, you are correct in surmising so." 

  "I'm not surmising." 

  "Right." The man put down the clipboard and pulled another from a work bucket.  "And on this clipboard are the forms in triplicate showing which Department has claimed which assets." The military man crossed his arms.  "Anything else?" 

  "Oh yes.  Thanks for reminding me." 

  "I didn't remind you I asked you a question." 

  "Which reminded me, you know," he said as he was pulling out a receipt book, "If I may speak to your other question." 

  "Did I ask you another question?" 

  "Sort of.  See, I'm, I'm really," 

  "Yes?" 

  "Just one of dozens of what are being called 'essential workers' Sir, so," 

  "Yes?" 

  "If there were to be mistakes, see, I'm not sure who exactly that would fall on, Sir." 

  "I'm sure it's fine." 

  The man stacked the clipboards and receipt book and handed them towards the other man, then pulled them back and unstacked them and said, "Oh!  Almost forgot.  Here on page twenty-eight, see," he held it up like Vanna White presenting a letter, "There's this one UNCLAIMED item." 

  "And what would that be son?" 

  "Wahwell, it got listed as all these things," he turned the clipboard back to read it.  "Is it a weapon?" 

  "Why do you ask Sir?" 

  No reply.  Then the military man sort of mumbled, "I'm trying to assess why on earth I got called down here." 

  "Oh," the man covered a big yawn with the clipboard.  "Sorry.  I'm actually exhausted." 

  "Give me the paperwork.  And where is the unclaimed item?"  The man handed over the paperwork and picked up the bucket.  The military man studying his face for the answer.  "Over there," the man waved to a plastic drop clothed area.  The military man looked at the sheets on the clipboard, rolled back to pg. 28.

  "WMD???????!!!!!  GOOD GOD!!!!" 

  "That must be why Sir." 

  "Son, put the bucket down and step right over here with me."