"Get your black flag out of the way."

  "Out of the way of what?" 

  "My view of Old Glory." 

  "The kids placed that flag in that parade at that precise location." 

  Silence.  Then, "When we get unhandcuffed from each other and out of this battle of the flags, would you..." the man's words fell into a mumble.  The woman's "Would I what?" Wouldn't come until months later.  After a re-mix that had schools and community centers sorting people by more realistic measures than self-check forms and beer party sign ups for (i)nobody was really sure(i). 

  The man kept talking at the monitor viewing the parade.  The monitor with no editing, no (i)bias(i).

  That made it not noticeable when somebody or something KO'd the handcuffed couple and carted the camera off as the parade stalled. 

All had checked back in.

  "And what did you see?" A woman asked in a militant tone. 

  "That, (i)that(i) is not the issue," a man who'd been arguing with his woman all day said loudly. 

  "I, gottah, pant, pant, gasp, tell you (i)something(i)." 

  "Get in." 

  "But it's full up." 

  Other cars rolled past. 

  The small sedan with the crumpled bumper stopped short and hard.  Everyone but the driver got out.  Tags on a chain were produced. 

  Other vehicles streamed down, by, out from one city to the next for every minute of every hour of every day and night after "the people" had been flagged-in to squares like a chessboard all over the place.

"Quite the venue," a promoter tried

  to sound calm and cool above the chopper's vibrations. 

  "It's already sold," a man said in everyone's earphones curtly. 

  Multiple concerts ongoing across the country.  An effort to aid in abiding by curfew. 

  Crowds a mosh of not yet re-mixed.  Freedom enough in an afternoon of entertainment. 

  "You're missing yours?" To sniffles still. 

  "Her what?" Asked an investigative, probing, someday maybe Chinese censor. 

  "Her other half." 

  Entertainers on a toystore-bought headset and walkie wondering gradually.  "What's your crowd chanting?" 

  All over the LA area some crowds chanted (i)whooooooos(i) and some crowds chanted (i)aaaaaaaaahs(i). 

"Armed guards."

  "What is this the sixties?" 

  "Is this about race?" 

  "Did you hear Maya's talk last week?" 

  "And this is all connected somehow?" 

  The auditorium lights flickered. 

  "Ooooooo. I can't wait.  Finish smoking!" 

  "I'm not too excited." 

  "Isn't she in your upline or whatever you girls call those heroic black women who came before you?" 

  "She may be if I sign with 

  "She's got no brains left." A big sister told. 

  The tremor of shock at that tidbit had different timing to each person's mind. 

  "Best advice?" 

  "Some owls said, (i)have pity(i), and that woman over there," hands stayed in dress pants pockets, but people followed eyes, 

  "She's (i)literary(i) not music." 

  "She openly suggested some of us (i)human beings(i) are already like Alzheimer's not-patients." 

  "Oh, so, makes sense why lil Miss Tude was talkin' 'bout (i)confrontation(i).  At which point I," a wheez in, "I," a long finger to under the nose, 

  "You left?!" 

  The sneeze didn't happen.  A nod.  "Got cold medicine, heart healthy kind, and went home." 

"Aw snap," the dry mouth said.

  "The song was a (i)drive up(i), not a (i)drive by(i)." The black man taken into the souped up towncar swallowed hard and the tears streamed suddenly, a torrent for our times. 

  "What does that mean?" An older woman police officer asked some youth who'd made it into that part of the city.  "It's why those people are running." 

  "They're not running." 

    "Oh dey running, making it look like they're not." 

  "Take up positions," the command came from nowhere and everywhere at once.  "That's bad," a young tatoo'd and pierced person said. 

  "She's right," a National Guardswoman said.  "They're all watching." 

  "Wait!" But the man and woman who'd resecured the "key to the City" had joined hands, (i)resolute(i), and were walking away. 

  "Is this because of WHITney?" A very perfumed and stiff-clothed man in a gangstah hat asked loud, but doubled over into a soggy hack of coughing fit.  The hat fell off his head and came to rest, openly begging, in front of the man's alligator boots. 

  "I don't see no snake comin' out it," an old, old whisp of a black doctor lady gave the binoculars back to her daughter-in-law.  The DIL re-hung them on her black tee shirted husband.  "Go get the hat son," his voice boomed quietly, respectfully. 

"How'dya git back?"

  "We walked." 

  "Mostly." 

  "Is this the 'fall line'?" 

  "What's a fall line? And what are you people doing on my property?" 

  "Now that's a long story." 

  "At least she called us people." 

  "We are." 

  "Mostly.  This one's a yeti." 

  The individuals in the little band of wanderers stood in the skinny tree line.  "You hear that?"  Everyone listened, called out sounds heard.  "Sounds like a cork screw." 

  "A cork screw?" 

  "Could be those bo weevels." 

  "Bo weevels?  Girl, the only cotton around here is in the yeti's underwear." 

  "And you know this how?" 

  "I'm not wearing any so the guy's maybe projecting." 

  "Well, people project ideations and fantasies.  Not sure about underwear wearing." 

  "Someone determine if this is what the dead guy, I mean, not active duty guy, meant on this treasure map about WNC / civilization." 

  "I hate it when they say any home is not civilization." 

  "But do you hate that this is home now?" 

  The woman closed her eyes and smelled the air and smiled.

"Just 'cuz you ain't alpha don't mean," the man hucked

  a sandbag into the chest of the person standing beside in the line of defense.  "You can't make a difference.  That's what my mother told me."  

  A young guy and an older guy walking nearby quietly exchanged money clipped bills.  "What should I do now Dad?"  The man shot a glance at the distance.  "Son, if we don't get this river dammed, we will lose the house." 

  The younger took off a nice shirt and folded it up small and stuffed it in a back pocket.  "We'll call him Yo-sem-itee," a guy in the line declared.  "Why?" Someone huffed out the question.  "On account of his tee shirt." 

  "YO Yosemite!  You, you there," guy pointed at the kid.  Kid looked at his tee shirt.  "Ya, yeah?" 

  "Go towards that truck and help fill." 

  "Yes Sir.  Thanks." 

"That's just sad."

  Another middle ager, torn ligaments. 

  "They still whacking themselves against that post?" Cut-off jeans downed a wine cooler and asked from behind the camper door. 

  "Don't be like that," an older young woman said of her sister.  The younger belched. 

  "I don't get it." 

  "Don't get much since ya became a stoner."  A girl outed an ex. 

  "We're done with school right?" 

  "Yah, the rest of us graduated a couple years ago." 

  "So what's everyone competing for?" 

"Actually that place closed."

  "Do you remember why?" 

  The car's rugs were more cow shit than fibers.  The fresh air blazed through the stink.  Surfing in reality writing. 

  The girl thought about it.  "Actually it was because of a toddler eating cigarette butts!  The older lady in that bunch ordered the 'tourist trap' shut down.  And the brother who's our age, well, he, I guess you could say (i)outed(i) that the Dad was always drunk on craft beer since they'd used that part of the farm for that." 

  "Where do you guys eat now?" 

  "At home! None of us could ever afford to eat there anyway." 

  Trees standing still had grown surprisingly taller. 

  "How was it out there?" 

  "Oh.  Well.  DC really is a snake pit, probably because it has to be paired with other places in the world.  And most of TV and a lot of radio is shark tankish.  Kind of wizard of oz because there's a lot of fighting over who gets to say what, and (i)influence(i).  A lot of the country is on drugs.  And even retail has become like prisons.  You're not missing much by taking this time to have a family." 

  "Oh.  We gottah pick up a calculator!  We can get lunch at the dollar store." 

  "Cool." 

 

"A man's got to be tough,

  but he doesn't have to be violent until he has to be as a matter of defense," a Chaplain explained. 

  The crowd was a mix of signing and support.  A lot of younger siblings hung back at a little distance, but were close enough to tackle anybody messing with anybody threatening to mess this up.  This sane and functioning Republic woven from shredded flags. 

  "Poor flags," commented a little girl dressed just like her mother and the mom's bestie.  Though the flags had survived getting to an open air chapel in the mountains, there had been real loss of human life in "the culture war".  (i)Drugs(i), a parent confided to a parent about the loss of their young person.  "I understand," was code for having also been affected by all that had been going on.