"I think it's cheesy when their eyes

  flash yellow like that." 

  "Okay. Cut, cut 

  (i)cut, cut, cut(i) 

  "I thought that was green." 

  "Are leopard eyes green or yellow?" 

  "Is this the Sundance?" 

  "This is the Kahn.  Can I help you?" 

  "Okay, on my count, one, two (i)LIFT(i)."

  "Look, I'd like to sit here and talk God with you all day, but," the man held up his wrist to check the time and the gigantic thing's face slid around to the underside of his arm.  "Honey, I've lost a lot of weight," he told the air.  

  "Has he come out of it, or to, or whatever?" The woman's curly hair was in a full-blown frizz.  "He's still," the skeletal thin man took the clipboard from her, ran his finger down a column of possible ailments to checkbox, and declared, "Unresponsive".  She sighed, "What am I going to tell the Congregation?" 

  "Oh is this one of those missionaries?" 

  "A Rabbi actually." 

  "Said it's going to be called 

  "Titled 

  "something like East...West.  But had to meet up with some other," everybody drew guns, "musicians". 

"What is your question?"

  Both hands trembling.  A yellowing handled boot pistol in the one with the cigarette.  The palm sized flip phone almost closed.  Shaky voice.  "Can I visit?" 

  "No mother.  Absolutely not.  I have exams." 

  She hung up. 

  "We had to Continent jump." 

  "Yah come in daht?" The man shook his head wearily and looked not comprehendingly at the puddlejumper. The little woman pilot belt buckling it to the spit of "runway". 

  "How is he?" 

  "Not entirely with us at the moment." 

  "What happened? Exactly." 

  "Was guarding the farm from raiders.  At least two nights awake.  Fell asleep.  Most of the groin is gone." 

  "Hyena?" 

  "We'll not know for sure until the results are returned." 

  A dark man in a tunic and safari hat banged an arm on the top of a rover.  "M'am, do come." More of an assertion than a request really. 

"They're dressing themselves." She

  spoke into a tiny recorder.  Pushed (i)pause(i) with a dirty and broken fingernailed thumb.  The sun had risen but only infused the jungle air with more tangle of ancient smells.  The weight of the smells like shudders on sounds.  Chopping, chopping, chopping. 

  "Are you fitting the pieces together?" 

  "What doesn't fit is that in the Old Testament that God retributes for His people, but Jesus gets killed." 

  A push of a button, "The sun's come up. They've kept the jet running.  Maybe they'll not have enough gas to get to where they're going." Click. 

  "Hell, presumably.  But what about us?" 

  The body of a woman with a square patch of missing skin around her mouth was left on the chopping table with fish separated from their tails. 

  "What is the meaning of this?" One stewardess asked. 

  "How dare you people," admonished a steward. 

  "Okay.  Now the people who are bloody need to go back to their original seats." The woman said it matter-of-factually without looking up from the diagrams.  Like a kindegarten teacher moderating a game of Mother May I. 

  "Can you explain this?" The stewardess stood in the aisle beside the woman who seemed to maybe be in charge.  The steward came behind her and rubbed her shoulders.  "Always be nice to the stewardess," he warned. 

  "Raid.  Wounded.  Enemy stole all the dissolving staples." 

  "Ew," the steward said.  

  "So they're just sitting around on our seats with open wounds?" 

  "Apparently.  And we couldn't get the med students out, so no one to make sure they aren't bleeding out." 

  "I'd sit still if I were you," the steward's eyes grew wide. 

He'd picked up the wine

  bottle where he'd found her. 

  "DID YOU USE MY WIFE LAST NIGHT?!?" He'd stalked up to the other man with the bottle cocked like a catapult.  Some women scattered into angles and hurriedly fished photographic equipment from various handbags. 

  "WHO ARE THEY?" He called to fact-gatherers. 

  "Like umpires in this time of suspension." 

  "TAKE MY PICTURE!" He roared. 

  "Bah, but it, it looks awfully threatening whatcher doin' there Suh." 

  "They won't do it." A man sadly folded a flip phone. 

  "What do you mean (i)won't(i)?" 

  "The organization won't let the Networks break in." 

  "Not even with (i)breaking(i)?" 

  People looked out of the plywood cubicles for Press and Media at the cars going around and around the track. 

  "Come on! Let's beat the storms getting there!" 

  Moon half covered in a jagged mountain of cloud.  The Bronco now creeping, now flying.  Big squares of highway. 

  "They're closing in on us." 

  (i)gulp(i) "Any soda left?" 

  "No pop honey, it's too much sugar (i)sugar(i)." 

  "You seem distracted." 

  She held up a hand, two fingers poking through a cut seam of skirt pocket. 

  "What's missing?" 

  "My silver bullet." 

  A black towncar pulled into the empty parking lot first.  Man got out.  Fancy cowboy boots, perfectly pressed dress pants, and two different kinds of flak jacket.  And a boxed cheese danish. 

  Hands to hair.  Pushing it around, it not re-morning-ing (i)ready for the day(i).  "Stay in the truck.  Don't unlock it." 

  "But I don't have the keys!" 

  She held them up, then attached them to a necklace beneath her shirt.  

  "We NEED to talk," the man came towards. 

  "I can't talk to anyone right now." She started walking towards a pile of metal roofing.  The man slammed the cheese danish on the hood of the truck.  Cussed.  Motioned and spoke slowly, (i)Open the door(i). 

  "I can't Mr. you're not my husband or Dad.  We're all property of you guys." 

  Pulling a folded up sheet of looseleaf out of a pocket and three or four mugshots out of another, he spoke slowly and lips articulated, "Stay there." 

  The woman was shaking arms and hands and looked to be almost dancing as she shook the loose combs from a head full of hair. 

  (i)THWAP!(i) the word MATCH between a name and a mug shot was smacked against the window and held there.  The man looked around all face and lips.  "EX.  I CHECKED." 

  "Now open the door honey." 

  "(i)No.(i)" 

  The man let the photo and name slide down the window.  He grabbed the cheese danish and slid himself down the side of the truck.  Struggled to open the box as a line of headlights flooded the scene. 

  Two knuckles rapping on the passenger side window.  Sudden stupor.  "You want a piece of danish? Course, I wouldn't being a single woman again." Motioning roll this window down some.  "No handcuffs on that one.  What do you want?" 

  "You ordering pizza? I guess I could eat a pineapple and ham." 

  "Can you tell me what you want to do?" 

  "Keep writing I guess." 

  "Was he a spy?" 

  A blurt of noise.  Trying to put spit back in the mouth.  "Just a good Jewish man.  Probably has to marry a sister-in-law or something or get back to the frontlines." 

  "Make the phone call." Phone and a smoke handed in.  Hand hitting the ceiling of the car as the Stealths put it in gear and marched past the parking lot's edge.  "Yes, those things still make me nervous." 

  "Dad!" 

  "Honey are you okay?" 

  "Yeah of cour, I mean, yeah, I am." 

  "Good.  For the best I think." 

  "Me too I guess.  I couldn't love anybody anymore.  I say that, then I meet the next amazing patriot, and the next." 

  "Don't marry 'em all." 

  "Naw.  Only doing that once." 

  "Your little sisters are saying (i)leave some for us(i). Oh, and you should know, we had it properly annulled." 

  "It's what he needs, so, guess I took one for the team.  Rah, rah." 

  "Okay, here's mom." 

  "I'm okay." 

  "I'm glad." 

  "Are you watching the news?" 

  "Huh? No.  The Macy's fireworks thing." 

  "Can you flip through the channels and find George?" 

  "George who?" 

  "Um, W, should be letting people know what's going on by now.  I think." 

  "You want us to call you back?" 

  "Naw.  I'm coming home for a visit." 

  "Kay.  Get here before we go on vacation." 

  "Right.  And if change of plans, I'll KIT." 

  "Love you monkey." 

  "Loving you.  Gotta go." 

  The starting up of helichoppers.  A hand giving back the truck keys.

"Those are from the Opera."

  To a shocked look, dragon nails on (i)gimmee, gimmee(i) fingers wiggling.  A look in the field glasses. 

  Grown ups draping themselves around children's feet and legs and midriffs. 

  "How can that be?" 

  "They recruit them from here too." 

 The tucci. 

     Money was scant.  Some artisans and tradespeople found each other as "hobos", took on "odd jobs", and learned new skill sets.  The tucci worked great to do brick and mortar. 

"Stay in shape," an envelope was

  circulating.  "For the family," a woman dug a five dollar bill out of a cigarette wallet.  

  "Make the chain longer.  Can you?" 

  "Yeah, but I need my tools." 

  "That way it will hang over my heart."  The tiny play-dough snake was painted in green and pink.  "It looks preppy." 

  "I don't get how someone can just call it all a (i)program(i).  To me that feels like calling the flag like, just a cattle brand, or 

  "They can't just delete or erase all that we've learned." 

  "Did you learn anything from hanging with us?" People scoffed and guffawed.  "No shit man, can we do it all again?" 

  Vats of corn were boiled and lay steaming on a canvas tarp.  "Was that the last tent?" 

  "Means everyone who wants to has a home to go to!" A woman smiled broadly revealing two missing teeth.  "Thought you were going to a Dentist." 

  "Was.  But the Dentist and his people moved to Jerusalem!" 

  "What's going on there?" 

  "There's some hope for diplomatic solution." 

  "Oh.  But the fighting?" 

  "Was told it's more seasonal, more routine now.  And you know what Andy said."  The barbeque chicken and pig was uncovered on tailgates.  "What he say?" 

  "There's always a hot war somewhere." 

  "Meaning?" 

  "I think, maybe, it's useless to just push for peace like total peace." 

  The sound of dog tags.  "So we stay in shape.  Let the think tanks re-program how the news frames all the ongoing shitpile." 

  "What are you doing next?" 

  "Probably cobbler, but I'll have to dig a shithole." 

  "No I mean," an electric guitar was strummed into a heavy metal rift. 

  A horn blaring and an ATV slowing and skidding had the crowd trying to take cover.  Everybody running into eachother.  A shade hatted, shirtless man with hand cupped was yelling from the ATV, (i)THEY GOT MARIE!!! THEY GOT MARIE!!!(i) 

  Some people grabbed up picnic blanket belongings and ran towards the ATV.  

  (i)WHERE?(i) 

  (i)IN A CAGE, IN A TRUCK, IN THE OTHER FIELD!(i)

"Where are we going with this?" The man

  held an ambiguous expression on his face.  The MPs stared forward.  An Observer kept eyes on arms chained to their belts. 

  "(i)THAT'S MY HUSBAND!!(i) A woman jumped up and down to see over the cross-armed and shielded Riot Police.  Other women locked hands, bent the launch platform towards the ground.  "She's preggers," one said.  She put bare feet onto the hands and was lifted to see. 

  "(i)That's my husband,(i)" a woman watching between hips and shield squinted and said. 

  "My wife's made sandwiches," the man told the enclosing circle of authorities.  The sweat beaded on the long scars on his back.  His bare hand grasped the chicken wing size shoulder of a shirtless little girl.  He shoved her firmly but gently.  "Go tell your Mama girl.  (i)Everybody's here now(i)." 

Sweat pouring, breathing stilled,

  nobody blinking.  The plane seemed to be floating, impossibly. 

  A whiteboard filled with acronyms and squiggly colored marker lines. 

  A short person, fanny-pack over abs of steel, arms crossed, glasses fogging. 

  Machines clicking, levers popping, radars blinking (i)now you see us, now you don't(i). 

  "What's she doing out there?" 

  "CAN Y'ALL HEAR ME?" 

  Nobody said anything. 

  "(i)Good.(i) I really wantcha to land my President on the top of my head!" 

  A stifled cough burst into a clogged-pipes chest fit. 

  "I flat-topped just for the occasion." 

  "Then we'll go (i)home(i)?" Someone asked like a ventriloquist. 

  "Let's get that Daddy home first.  Then we've got like six movies starting to film in town today." 

  "No shit," somebody yawned. 

  An announcement announced the taking charge.  First question: What's the Threat Level here? 

"Where are we?"

  Two uniformed drivers changed places.  An Officer stepped out of a backseat.  Sandy swivel of boots on street.  Regional commanders huddled on a street corner acknowledged. 

  "Did your coffee stay level when he drove?" The female driver asked the Officer.  A slight nod.  "Not sure I can top that," she said. 

  "Mind if I smoke?" A slight (i)no(i) to the "shirts" that had approached. 

  Another vehicle pulled in slow and almost silently.  An imposingly tall man got out and backed his butt against the fender.  The commanders came closer.  One asked, "What's the supposed (i)problem(i) on the wire chatter?" 

  The tall man shifted the weight on his knees sighed.  "Apparently COBRA has been compromised.  Infiltrated actually.  But the cultural attachè here has word from D.C. on this." 

  A woman in a trenchcoat got out of the passenger side of the vehicle.  Hands on the top of it.  "It's just a program," she recited the message from D.C. 

  "But it's not," someone said. 

  "But (i)it is(i)," someone else said. 

  "Of course it is," another someone said. 

Most of the dollar bills

  had been folded in some way.  Many had George Washington sporting a mushroom head. 

  "What do you want done with your dollar?" Someone called to someone standing on a light-up platform.  "Towards Spaghetti," came the answer as the person copied a list of songs played onto a slightly rearranged list. 

  One man smoothed the folds, another piled.  Two women with newspaper rubberbands on wrists counted and re-stacked the dollar bills. 

  "See the evil eye?!" 

  "Don't call George evil." 

  "Can if I want to." 

  "True but lame." 

  "That's the best part," a hand pointed to the phrase "In God We Trust".  Two people smiled at each other, relieved to have come to agreement about some stuff in the world. 

  "What's up with these other symbols?" Asked a foreign medical student. 

  People were quiet, implying (i)fuck if I know(i). 

  "I like to think of those as on a scale," one man ventured. 

  "Egyptian v American?" 

  "Fed v Executive branch actually." The man focused on unfolding the bills of money as people looked at him maybe wondering (i)who thinks about stuff like that(i).  "We'd all be slaves to a dollar bill for shared spaghetti if the Feds were the only ones in charge of the money.  Like (i)commies(i).  But with an Executive branch to uphold my individuality in this big mess, I get to eat steak!" People looked at him.  Then he looked around the table, eyed the most beautiful single woman, and asked her, "Would you like to join me?" 

  "Sure would.  But my boyfriends have other plans for me."