"Look at what they gave us,"

  she announced. 

  "For what?" 

  "Did you aid and abet?" 

  "Give them money?" 

  "Eat any of it?" 

  "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?" 

  "The Chinese studio." 

"Bring it!"

  "Yah know, I don't even know if I can find the place again."  Three chairs blocking the door.  "And you're just a musician how do you suppose you're going to fix this?" 

  "First of all," a tall, skinny sofa table behind the chairs, "I'm not (i)just a musician(i).  I'm also an (i)activist(i)." 

  "Oh great!  I'm (i)sure(i) that'll help." 

  Bare feet on the chairs in the door crack.  "Who else is in there?" 

  "None of your BI." 

  "Give them this one." From a folder of hand drawn on papers.  

  "And if you can get back in, find this guy, and give him these." A business card and pages of story.  "Can I read it?" 

  "I wouldn't." 

  On the knee wall was the champagne bottle hacked at with a pocket knife, next to the bottle, missing the cork, but full. 

  Painter's tape covered all the names and buzzers.  A ball of yarn and clothespins hung out the window.  The hand drawn sign was attached with clothespin and pulley'd up. 

        THIS IS NOT A VIDEOGAME 

  A turn to leave. 

  A cab hailing whistle. 

  A head in a towel, the (i)wait, wait(i) finger held up. 

  A piece of paper coming down on the yarn, a half-eaten banana as a weight.  Blue ink. 

        NO SHIT 

  Another turn to leave.  Another whistle.  Another note. 

        Where is she?  

  A ripping off of tape.  (i)Buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzzx(i).  "Like I'd tell you." 

  "Like hell you won't if I let you in." 

  "You gonna rip my fingernails off?" 

  Door opening.  Not the towel headed person.  "You better make this quick.  We're grooming them." 

"I'll go with you!"

  Middle of the night. 

  "I would not." 

  "I'm sure we can sort this out." 

  "You're both fruit loops!" 

  "Whatever you've done, we can deal with.  I can get more jobs.  Let's go." 

  "Whoa.  I mean, this is a whole different level than being put in a cage for overdue library books." 

  "What (i)did you(i) do?" 

  "I told the truth." 

  "I wasn't in this Country at the time." 

  "I write books." 

  Everyone looked at the $37.48 between us on the table. 

"Why is the building's alarms going off?"

  "New facial recognition (i)doorman(i).  Did you get the champagne?" 

  The two people were speaking to each other on an intercom system, but could see each other.  She left the bottle of champagne on a knee wall and waved a (i)have a good time(i). 

  People inside the high rise kept talking through a scientific theory about heat domes. 

  The buzzer buzzed.  "Oh she must have decided to come up." 

  A glance out the window revealed a woman swatting the air around her hair.  Looking up.  A look of horror.  Then running as a drone dive bombed at the target. 

"Why on earth are y'all so,"

  the woman's voice almost echo'd in the hallowed hall and she sounded like she was whispering when she got close to the group.  A group of individuals.  Individuals sharing a foot long piece of duct tape cut into mouth-size pieces that signified, (i)I can't talk about that, not here, not now(i). 

  "Can you repeat the question?" 

  "Why is everyone on the planet so isolated from each other?" 

  "Yeah, like we aren't trillions of humans.  Or one nation under God." 

  "You first." 

  "I cannot.  I cannot speak to any of this." 

  "The lawyers got to you?" 

  One person shook head, (i)sadly, yes(i).  But somebody else said, "Because I am truly NOT partisan,  and my role in this big beautiful world and nation is to defend this Country." 

  "I cannot (i)betray(i) my Country." 

  "How would that happen?  Did it have to do with the request?" A head shake yes.  "But wouldn't it just be like educational to explain to a citizen how the renovations are all bunged up with Congress's health care and some trash can in a park in Montana?" 

  A weak (i)hmmmmmmm(i).

  "I suppose, if the citizen wasn't an investor, some explaining might could happen." 

"Your mother's on the phone."

  "Hi." 

  "This is your mother." 

  "So I've been told.  Thanks for having me.  Everybody okay?" 

  "Yeah, I'm letting you know something." 

  "Okay." 

  "I did some soul searching and feel renewed in my cause." 

  "Okay." 

  "I'm going to see the Pope!" 

A hand smooshed a

  face in a different direction.  Up close an ear heard, "I just think your ethics are blurring with my law." 

  "Away, AWAY!" A passing Magistrate's Aide hollered.  But the pile of people scrambling for the copy of the Constitution knocked out of someone's hand was grid-locked and writhing in a very most reserved way.  

  A skinny man walked up with a briefcase and set it down. 

  A tank-topped person also walked up, put hand on the gun in his waistband. 

  A little woman blew a whistle and everyone froze as authorities sorted out the pile and the chain of events. 

"Looks like the freaks found something to sign."

  Some Congressguys grouped up to fake falling into a table and knocking the proposal onto the floor.  Seeing this unfold in a crowded room, women stepped between the aggressive young men and the junior Congress person with a look of shock but ire on his face.  A senior Congress person came over and introduced himself. 

  

  "They are bullies.  I know their Greek fathers." 

  "Are you being philosophical?" 

  A chuckle.  "Frat boys." 

  "I get it Dad! You're independent-minded and stubborn and you don't want people to steal your ideas before you sell them your ideas.  I get it.  But for Christ's sake," woozy, had to sit down, "At least communicate where the fuhfront you're going.  We're all political targets too!" 

This was a crisis.

  It was manifesting in worldwide elections, economics, and between equally statured grown ups.  It was metaphored for many of us as cracking in ice. 

  The buzzword was "trust". 

"We'll have to make our own."

  A skateboarder wheel-ambled up, popped the board up with a foot, and laid it wheels-to-sky on top of some surfboards. 

  "What?" 

  "Magazine pages.  Think local." 

  "Cue cards.  Try not to be obscene." 

  "I've got an idea," a girl traveling in an RV with her parents said. 

  "(i)Whoa, whoa(i) Easy on the idea part of free-style time m'am."  A man with an arm on a shelf taped to his torso winked; "I'm the recorder for this session." 

  "Look, lemme get the storyboards to explain." 

  "What kind of (i)session(i)?" Some totally decked out hippie chicks literally peeled themselves from the inside of an old van's floor and seats and peered under and over and through sunglasses to involve themselves.  "Likeah Leary kind or a music kind or a thurpy kind." 

  "You cougars jam?" 

  "Oh we jam alright." One elbowed the teller.  "'Specially since we hooked up with the Pioneer Woman." 

  "Wait, what?" 

  "You all hooked up in there?" A young, black, professional historian started to back away from the van.