"It's not for lack of trying."

  One person stood, rigid, arms crossed.  Others slumped on picnic table benches.  "The thing is in a rage!" 

  The silence wasn't smothering, more caressing. 

  "Think about it.  It makes sense." 

  "How so?  I can't think anymore." 

  "Well, people, some, became like the rebellious angels.  And they beefed up their weapons to destroy." 

  "I'm so tired of assholes." 

  "There's definite correlation between people changing the names of shit even though its the same old shit, and rebelling against God, against people trying to keep the peace." 

  "Did you read that one?" A slender, tiny hand pointed at MARX & SATAN.  "Cha.  You wanna?" 

  "Is it scary?" 

  "Well, yeah.  People lose the old-fashioned values.  Can't stand up to machine guns.  Not sure what people can do?" 

  "You think it will come here?" 

  "To say maybe, it's, is not upholding the Victory line of thought." 

  "I'll put all this in my head.  But I can't let it get me down." 

  Twenty-two years of war just under way.