"It was right here."

  Desert all around. 

  "The bomb landed and we, we," she shook her head a little. 

  "Did you bump it?" 

  "No, I, we, I can't hear yet." 

  "We'd run along the barricade on the road until it bottlenecked.  People with rugs and goats.  We sort of spilled into the desert." 

  "There it is!" The car had been pulled and then pushed into a line of (i)leaving(i).  "I can get it open." A man in Afghani clothing and boots opened a hatchback.  Broke a tripod into two parts and used the single leg to pry open the door.  A sachel was retrieved.  And a light sweater. 

  "There's no place to go! Go home! The road is ruined!" The man shouted in three different languages to all the people just waiting.  He got quiet as we approached a pick up with surface-to-air rocket guns.  People put whatever they could on their heads and formed wavy lines of stragglers on the other side of the cement.  Until nightfall. 

"Are you gonna parachute out?"

  A hand squeeze.  "Not on this trip.  I've already lost my muscle mass." 

  "Maybe we will." Said a tall, muscled boy in a tight oxford shirt. 

  "Who are they?" 

  "We're all from the country," a ragged, short-haired girl said.  A guy leaned across three seats to shake hands.  "Come because we care about this Country." 

  "That's a common theme again." 

  "That's the good news.  But I read Sociology reports all night and there's still a lot about ourselves we don't all know." 

  A steward gave a "head's up" p2p...we were going to have to ditch our pillows. 

  "Like what?" 

  "Have you heard of rap music?" 

  "Sort of I guess." 

  "That's sort of influencing more music to speak truth to power." 

  "Not only power.  Or, it's about other stuff too.  Like, how we are failing to step into our own power." 

  A stewardess carted a steward towards the back of the jet.  "We'll be coming through for your reading materials." 

  "NO WAY!" Someone stood and declared.  "I agree," somebody else stood.  Others stood.  One guy shoved his down the ass of his pants. 

 

The TV crew threw it to an anchor, so

  the anchor could communicate with "above ground" general communications and LIVE NEWS. 

  "We're going from weather to sharks here on the West Coast.  Stand by." 

  An Aussie accent rose above the din of beachside cafe, "Did you say sharks?" 

  Women with microphones and mostly hair being shoved around by "breeze" stabbed at the air between the two men. 

  The anchor pursed lips together tighter as a sign language interpreter cussed and told the back up interpreter, (i)he's being close-lipped(i).  On video recorders in the round everything was happening like a silent movie. 

  "Hav-i-ee." An in-studio news crew answered a cue phone.  "An earful of voices," told an audience of locals.  "(i)SUPPOSED shark attacks.(i)" 

"I did. I ran the numbers.

  "Half the people are (i)garbled(i) and half the people are writing about them." 

  "God I love a DemocRACY." 

  "Gotta love it." 

  "I don't.  I don't have to (i)love(i) it.  I don't HAFTA love anything or anyone!" 

  "Bitters anyone?" 

  "Did you take my picture?" 

  "We're not even supposed to have that thing." 

  "Who changed the bike path?  Without my permission?" 

  "It just kinda happened." 

  "How (i)shorty(i)?" 

  "I thunk it was The People of The World Onsamble." 

  "And who gave the Junkies paper?" 

  "Did that start the bust?  Busting out.  The busting out of the Ice Castle?" 

  "And who is going to 'just float' out their and get those people?" 

  "Have I seen you on TV?" 

"Honey you can't be in here."

  "Okay, but don't say (i)can't(i) 'cuz then I'll want to." 

  "Okay, I'll say (i)shouldn't(i) but don't call me cuz." 

  "Why can't I?" 

  Before the woman in the flowy clothes could answer, a tall ebony-colored man in very shiney shoes stepped away from a box of rattles and looked down at the little women.  "Don't call us shorties," one said.  His voice was deep and rich but stuck in his chest.  "Because we're about to get (i)ethnic(i)." 

  "And you think we're 'too white'?" 

"Honey, why is

  everyone in the neighborhood jumping off a cliff?" 

  "I'm not jumping off a cliff," said the man in the blue suit, red tie, standing in the open doorway. 

  "And where is my mountain bike?" 

  The megaphone contraption was mounted on a soapbox.  It told the Sea, (i)because some STUPID parent OR PARENTS said, and I quote, NONE OF YOU WILL EVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING(i). 

Lady answers the phone,

  "End of the world; May I help you?" 

  "Ew, no.  I was told this was the Library of Congress phone number." 

  "Not in a total blackout.  Not tonight anyway.  Besides I'm at home and I've slipped into something more comfortable." 

  Guy covers the payphone mouthpiece with a hand palming an alcohol wipe.  "Lady, do you think this is your husband?" 

  (i)click(i) 

  "Call back, call back." 

  Fourth ring answered.  "Are you some kind of pervert or something?" 

  "Me?!  You're the one who told me you're in your nightie." 

  "Who is this?" 

  "One of the professor's students." 

  "Is he," a hesitation, "Teaching everyone well?" 

  "Oh yes.  But most of our group went off together and we got held up at the restaurant." 

  "If you need to know where he is, you'll have to call him because I don't know." 

  "Well, that's just great.  He threw his in a fish tank.  Do you know anything about a vigil?" 

  "His cousin Vergil?  What's that static?" 

  "A VIGIL I'M NOT SURE WHICH MINISTER." 

  The line went dead.

"She hasn't come out of there."

  "The transport blew up Sir." 

  Long legs crossed the makeshift "room" and arms and hands windmilled papers and photos and flattened life jackets sent as part of desert survival all over the space.  Hands found neck, neck and body to sandbag wall.  Feet off the ground.  No time to choke.  Faces livid purple.  A knee to the groin.  Running away. 

  "You're (i)fired(i)!!!!!!!!!" This broke the silent hours of the night like a screamer/missile. 

  "It was some sort of old school apparatus." 

  Face slumped, worn soft by the out-rage. 

  "One group told us it was to tow the ta, transport.  Like a donut on top.  A donut on a stick.  And a chain threaded through moved it, but it had some sort of radar in it, so, it, (i)yawn(i), jostled the front line on the screens the guys use.  Then they slammed it around.  TBIs.  We got some out before it blew.  Into bits.  Rough shape.  Casualties outnumber survivors today." 

  "We don't lose.  We don't give up.  And we don't lose.  Not ever."  The man had finished putting on a special jumpsuit.  "Is this the file?"  No answer.  "Take all of them.  The files.  They are coming.  (i)Go.(i)" 

"Our train was late."

  One explained to another.  A shirtless man with a deep gouge wrist to elbow sniffed the air.  

  "And then we realized they disattached the car with the supplies." A chunk of train tunnel smashed into the concrete floor and burst into powder. 

  "Why are all these people half naked?" 

  "We'll find out." 

  "Here, take these." Filter straws. 

  Fires and choking smoke.  Militants in head scarves.  Blood and guts from tramplings.  Shouting in speakers.  "What are they saying? The over and over part." 

  "Now you are nothing, and we are in control." 

  Heaps of military uniforms.  Mounds of purses and wallets.  Flags in oily grime. 

  "Take these," a man and woman giving stacks of credit cards to armored figures with machine guns. 

  "If.  If we survive until some Allies get here." 

  Bomblasts and crumbling ceiling added to the density of the thick air.  People passing babies and small children towards the rails, and down under the ledge of platform. 

  "Why can't they stop the terrorists?" 

  "We don't use that word." 

  "Right.  What is extreme in total war?" 

  "I wonder if it's like some other places in the world where no one can dislodge workers in career streams.  And the workers are all interchangeable." 

  "Well maybe that, and, one cannot legally accuse a criminal without a trial, without evidence." 

  "And, one cannot assume someone will repeat offend.  Or, pre-accuse someone of being violent.  They get freed and are re-taken in by some groups." 

  "Stretch your leg.  Reach that bottle of water.  I have vitamins." 

  "THIS PLACE IS NOT ON THEIR MAPS!!!!" 

  "FUCK." 

"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."