"It's MuskaDEEN."

  "No.  It's muska-DINE." 

  "COME ON!" 

  "What the sock is in my van?" The man held up big bags of powder and buckets for Cotton Candy.  A teenager hollered, "It has to get across the State Line!" 

  "Not in my sockin' van." The man threw a bag of the powder hard at the ground after lifting it in sunburned, hairy arms.  "We stayed up all night to make the perfect tequila mix," women dressed in long skirts jumped off logs and out of camping chairs.  "WE HAVE TO STAY IN BUSINESS." 

  "Get your own van!" The man threw a bag of the mix at the women.  The neonish green powder exploded and the dust coated skirts. 

  "Why are all these symbols around the campfire?" A teenage boy held up a block of wood and a chip of cinderblock.  "Don't throw those!" A woman ordered.  "It means you can go into any trade you choose to learn.  We interviewed all the teachers." 

  "Are you in a harem now?" 

  "YOUR FATHER AND I." 

  The storm of shut down swirling into surviving business.  A Christian Conference winding down but mostly unable to fly out, ditched hundreds of books by the side of the road.  "Oh, maybe we should read this one," the teenage girl had got in the van and started pitching the books out a window.  Victory in the Storm sailed by.  

  "Which way is north?" The man kicked a stack of buckets as he made way towards the dirt road.