"We're not paying your fucking tribute!"

  The father yelled.  A boy ran up as best he could being lamed by polio and whacked the man on the head with a shovel. 

  Another boy dragged the man to the pile of people who would wake up. 

  A phone rang.

  "Little girl.  Little girl.  Is your mother there?" 

  "Which half of her you monster?!" 

  As it had been happening everyday the "new" neighborhood didn't miss a beat of it's routine.  The only difference was that a view-blocking levee had been leveled so the prison guards could view all of the suburban area.

  The people in the pile awoke one by one to the sounds of the scissor bird singing.  They had been bathed, and dressed in pajamas by real nurses who'd returned from the fighting Overseas.  There were the smells of tea and coffee and toasting slices of raisin bread, homemade in a brick oven outside.