The woman fired the shotgun.  Into the air, the first time.  "My Goowood," the father said in a thick drawl.  "You taught me."  He just looked at her, then said, "You skinny as a rail." She turned the giggle into a little throat-clearing cough.  "Good to see you Daddy." She couldn't automatically slip out of go-mode so it also came out..."With yer head."

     The man and the women singers were both crying.  About six people had decided to just go.  "Movin' on," one said.  Keep the gun on the sloucher, she'd been warned.  Vines with thorns clung to his olive green pants.  Over jeans, had been assessed of the possible faker. 

     "That's one thing I hate," she wiped the cammo paint onto her forehead. 

     "How 'bout this?"  A man asked another man of proof as he slung the Voter Rolls onto a tailgate. 

     "And that's another," the woman's finger left a paint mark on the already dirty, partially burnt, mud-dried bulk of papers.  "Lying and stealing.  Don't people know about sin?" She legitimately asked as people with oil cloth torches started to make a ring of fire. 

     The small plane outta Cincinatti swung low, circled tight, wide, wider still, then dove.  "They cun't see yah good," an old whîte-haired woman reported of hearing them talk to themselves on the plane's commquip.  A pitchfork being used to roast marshmellows stabbed a fat farming boy in overalls in the butt.  "Oooowwwa." 

     "Git." 

     "Because we don't have a radio." 

     The olden boy squared to beak of his wool cap to his rotund face and squinted, thinking hard on can of weenies or baked beans.  Other cans were knived clean in half and cropping, empty-bellied, in tractor wheel ruts clear to the field.  Back up the path Daddy. 

     "Put a cup of this slush on the ear." 

     "Whathappenedtomy ear?" The usually stern-tempered, steady less it's date night, thin man was wince-screaming.  Over and over.  The antennae was clutch-forged in the hand all shades of red holding the side of his face to the wincing siren.  

     A panting dog brought the clothing to its master.  Lemme smell it, the woman said.  She held off the world at arm's length while she breathed just woods, then inhaled the smells of the white tee shirt.  Closed her eyes.  Mind decided, "It's the kid." 

     People crept close again.  "You'n sure?" 

     "We've got to get him to stop shooting for that plane 'll be able to land." 

     "And get the gun away from him.  Probably scared."  

     The plane's drone sound got loud then.  Yeeeehaw! Somebody on it's little deck hollered and kicked the keg out into the field.

     It bounced.  Got shot.  And rolled like a Chinese swirling firework spraying foam clear to Kingdom Come.

     "I mean, I would be, not scared exactly," the woman's voice was suddenly on the ground walkie talkies and an old truck radio.  "Not scared really," the woman talked to herself on the radios, "More like pissed off.  People wrecking a good day.  Throwing other peoples' heads around like it ain't nothin'." A man threw the walkie talkie close to the back of the boy with the machine gun.  The gun jumped a little and steered the boy's arms.  Bark and dirt poofed up in a little crescent moon shape of walkin' it back. 

     Whoa...whoa...god dammit....

     Sheeeeit.