"Just listen."

  "Everybody needs to stop blubbering.  That's number one." 

  People couldn't.  Wives and husbands smacked each other in the face.  Some couples followed suit on their individualized ways of helping each other focus, (i)right here, right now(i). 

  A person tapped into the Morse Code apparatus, "Our Editor has been shot in the knee with a poison dart." 

  Morse coded back was a question: Was it a tranquilizer? 

  The tests on the editor's body which had to be done by the editor using the one hand not paralyzed were not a match to any of the known "tranquilizers".  The apparatus coded back that the editor would be put on "the list".  The editor declined.  A taped-together walkie talkie informed everyone that the editor was not allowed to decline services. 

  "But then I met Melinda and I knew I was in love," the Cyborg explained to people missing limbs awaiting prosthetics.  Many had driven from several states away to wait and wait in a low profile, long hallway'd building rented by the CCP.  And it was many of these people who jumped off gurneys, benches, chairs, and in one case onto a Construction Site pole when what-looked-like "robo cops" entered the building with machine guns.  They formed two rows of threes as Asian men in underwear and not and shackled, were marched into the building.  

  The TV with the friendly cyborg changed into a static circle and that blew up into an angular faced black man.  The TV told, "These are defects.  Let them pass through to the Inner Chambers." The beings with the machine guns broke into in front, in behind, still at the door.  

  "Don't get sucked into the worm hole people," a white coat admonished the people sitting in the chairs seeming-to-be watching the television. 

  "Now everybody's pissed." 

  "I really could care less right now." The Team Lead stayed resolved.  Crunched more aspirin, gnawed on Beef Jerky, and drank black coffee.  "I need an update," he told the air.  "It's a wireless bubble," his good assistant explained.  The "bad assistant" had trashed his office, cut the lock on a file cabinet with a "finger nail", and stolen the Classified folders after a blanket "re-ghosting". 

  The update revealed all temps had left the building.  And both the Cultural people and the Military people were greatly annoyed.  Mostly because there wasn't enough time to keep abreast of (i)fluid situation(i), let alone hope to re-boot strategy. 

  The team lead tried to beep into a room.  The voice attempt was blocked.  He tried his swipe card.  That didn't work.  "They've already re-coded those."  

  "Kay.  This is a decision point.  And I need the team of teams to understand that there are currently instances of sistering programs.  That is being done so we can get a grip on what we don't know." 

  "Oh.  OH.  Can you leave this on.  She's a new chef the big wigs hired." 

  "No prob.  Here's the remote but it doesn't make the worm hole disappear." 

(p1)"The man came out of the building."

  (p2)"The man came out of the building." 

  (p3--the writer)"Got it." 

  (p2)"Did you find your mother?" 

  (unsub)"No.  Just this." Man started to hold up a three pound roll of bologna, person two: (i)Whoa, whoa(i). 

  (Team 1) "Okay, we're going to send in a Social Worker." 

  (Team 2)  "We wouldn't until the area is cleared of the ghost gun." 

  (T1) "Okay, where is it?" 

  (T2) "Believed to be in the bologny." 

  (P2) "There are robots heading down the back slope." 

  "Mrs. Potholder.  What are you doing behind the bookshelf?  Oh Lord." 

  "Put unresponsive but still breathing." 

"Who wrote that?"

  "Kurt Vonnegut for all I know, it's been a hundred lifetimes since I've been in school." 

  "Not the quote, the program." The person put in place to "co-exist" with the paid people blinked as if trying to wake from a dream.  "And, by the way, they are eliminating redundancies by the end of the week." 

  "So?" 

"I really don't know. You

  can prolly find out with your drones." 

  "Not sure either.  There was a routine campfire, everybody ate their one egg, and when I woke up this morning, just gone." 

  The camp counselors looked at each other, (i)truth(i)?  Truth. 

  For several days the salarieds wondered out loud.  Shock at the size and scale of the Forest.  The pounds and pounds of papered policy was undisturbed and left where it had been secretly (at great cost) delivered. 

  Shrugs and less snides by the few that had somehow kept their jobs. 

"Knock, knock, can we come in?"

  "They're the first guys!" 

  "Yeah, we're done discussing rape, breast cancer, lactating, and monthlies." 

  "Is this the writing workshop?" 

  "Yeah, the real life womyn's group is over." 

  "Be brave!  Cross the threshold." 

  "Hi." 

  "Whatcha studying this semester? Technically?" 

  "Writing.  Literary Journalism.  World Affairs.  And you?" 

  "Cyborgs." 

  "Why does the big tablet out there ask, (i)What is art?(i)" 

  "I think because it's a good question.  Plus the MFAIA had been in here.  And they are sort of torn and exploded on this whole life is art, art is life thing." 

  "And then mix in activism." 

  "That I don't do.  Getting up in the morning is as willfully active as I get." 

  "Did you go to the panel discussion?" 

  "The human rights thing?" 

"IT WASN'T OUR GOVERNMENT,"

  (p2)This is a group satellite chat, so be careful what you say.  Hi mom.  Here we are in the Space Age!  Yeah, yeah, it's beautiful here.  (i)chairs scraping across floors(i).  Aw, now everybody want to talk to mommy and daddy.  We're getting image.  Oh, you look nice.  Yep, dressed up for a kind of house meeting of wayfaring travelers STUCK HERE AT THE MOMENT because of the travel shut down.  (i)gun butt smashing nuts into another metal chair(i)  Nope, don't need any money wired, it's not hard to save money in times like this.  (i)a hand closing a lap top.  a gun placed between person and lap top.  a person getting up and dragging metal chair shackled to.(i) 

  "Put in pile." 

  "Scorned women.  You don't have to be that." 

  A kicking in of a door.  

  "You're right.  She doesn't." A drop kick.  Face punches.  Two not very big guys.  A pistol shooting out the door lever on another door.  "Get them up!" 

  "Women.  Always laying around in their underwear.  But what good fortune, so many."  The women struggling to get unpiled.  "OW!  This one bites." 

  A hallway.  Man with bloodied boxers, hands behind back following along.

  Laptop on lap, chair with shackled woman being carried.  Another room.  

  Hours go by. 

  Voices.  "We found them in there." Door being opened.  A man in a doctor's white coat and two women nurses with loose fitting street clothes over uniforms.  "Let's get them upstairs." 

  Days go by. 

  A familiar face.  But with bulky eyeglasses and a briefcase.  A note pressed to glass.  

          MY CLIENTS. 

  Let in. 

  "First question.  Where are their pants?" 

  Barely a glance at them sitting in chairs.  "Why they need pahnts?" 

  "Ok.  Next question.  Who are they?"

  An unenergetic shrug.  "Maybe you find out." 

  A wander towards.  A comparison of faces to paperwork.  "You there." No one looked up. "Why is your hair singed?" No answer. 

  "Right then.  I'll need to go to a store.  I'll be back." 

"It was right here."

  Desert all around. 

  "The bomb landed and we, we," she shook her head a little. 

  "Did you bump it?" 

  "No, I, we, I can't hear yet." 

  "We'd run along the barricade on the road until it bottlenecked.  People with rugs and goats.  We sort of spilled into the desert." 

  "There it is!" The car had been pulled and then pushed into a line of (i)leaving(i).  "I can get it open." A man in Afghani clothing and boots opened a hatchback.  Broke a tripod into two parts and used the single leg to pry open the door.  A sachel was retrieved.  And a light sweater. 

  "There's no place to go! Go home! The road is ruined!" The man shouted in three different languages to all the people just waiting.  He got quiet as we approached a pick up with surface-to-air rocket guns.  People put whatever they could on their heads and formed wavy lines of stragglers on the other side of the cement.  Until nightfall. 

  Weeks go by.  Just chaos. 

  "Nobody cry or let on." 

  "We had to bring Pearlman home." 

  "And they went through his shit." 

  "You mean, his body?" 

  A slight nod and a hand involuntarily to cover a mouthful of response turned into a forehead scratch.  "We had to look in his journals.  No one knows where half of your stupid, stupid age group of people are." 

  "(i)That(i) is what you two should focus on.  (i)NOW!(i)"  Forcing the breath to breathe and the words to come out.  Curving the wills into orders. 

  "It's not that easy to explain.  What we know is that," eyes scanning passers by, searching for a Higher Power to help explain this and everything else.  "That it's more like a Corporation at the moment." 

  "That must be why.  Some diplomatic people were sent with Private Security." 

  "There's like a bend." 

  "Waxing poetic?" 

  A slight nod of the silk head scarf had it slipping to reveal trembling lips.  "I'm told there was in World War II." 

  "She's not a historian." 

  "As the Allies occupied on top of other layers of occupation, there was a bend of forces," choosing words like choosing the most delicate scallops in a potful.  "We have to be careful not to use military words (i)except(i) when quoting them." 

  "I must bring them now." 

  "Where?" 

  "You all stay here.  To the embassy." 

  "This is as far as I can go." 

  Blown out buildings, graffiti'd barricades, no people.  "Don't get out until I read this and pay." 

  "Why does this say Assistant?" Nobody responded.  Paper money pulled from a billfold with different currencies.  "What does it say?" 

  "How much?" Figuring with a pencil and paper. 

  "Why would an ambassador-type meet with me out here?" 

  "This much.  American." 

  "I don't have American.  You can take this money or nothing." 

  "I tried to schedule the photo op for earlier at the embassy." 

  "Everybody get out." 

  One person did.  Which brought people out to a street corner. 

  "Get back in." 

  Doors locked. 

  "Roll down the windows and (i)get out(i)."  She took the bills but for an adequate pile out of the billfold.  Reached it to the driver.  While the driver was counting the money, also reached up and unlocked the doors.  Badly jumped out. People also in the backseat pushed and the person who went out the window's pant leg was stuck.  "PULL!"  (i)Rip.(i)  "I can tell my tooth is broken." 

  More people.  Signs for "World Peace".  Beer bottles with ripped up fabric sticking out.  A torch thrown just as another vehicle drove up.  "Get in!"  Hand closed in door being pulled shut.  "It won't close.  Move over!" 

  "We are six ON ONE SEAT!" 

  Car squealing tires in reverse, back and back to a cafè'd sidewalk.  "Time for an espresso?" 

  "Get out!  Everybody out." 

  "Who's got the camera?" 

  "Hold on." 

  "Don't." 

  "Are you the defiant one?" 

  "Are you fucking serious?" 

  "Let's just take the picture right here," an arm waving at the people seated but then evacuating the sidewalk. 

  "We lost the camera." 

  "How was Beirut?" 

  "None of us would know." 

  "We saw you come from that side." 

  "We DID NOT." 

  "Take the money inside and get black coffee.  Go." 

  "Some writers have done research into the Beirut business." 

  "Not us.  We're academics." 

  One man from the front seats grabbed a guy from behind, twisted his arm up like a chicken wing, shoved his face into a table that collapsed, so he yanked the arm broken and smashed his face into a sandy wall.  People came out of the cafè with half a dozen cups of coffee.  These were thrown at the thugs. 

  A .9mm pointed at one of the women and a steaming faced man saying, "You're next bitch.  Don't think that's not a fact." 

  Spitting. 

  Driving off. 

  A cook bringing out a tray of just cooling chocolate croissants.  "Just in time for sunset mademoiselle." 

  "Oui.  And more coffee." 

"Are you gonna parachute out?"

  A hand squeeze.  "Not on this trip.  I've already lost my muscle mass." 

  "Maybe we will." Said a tall, muscled boy in a tight oxford shirt. 

  "Who are they?" 

  "We're all from the country," a ragged, short-haired girl said.  A guy leaned across three seats to shake hands.  "Come because we care about this Country." 

  "That's a common theme again." 

  "That's the good news.  But I read Sociology reports all night and there's still a lot about ourselves we don't all know." 

  A steward gave a "head's up" p2p...we were going to have to ditch our pillows. 

  "Like what?" 

  "Have you heard of rap music?" 

  "Sort of I guess." 

  "That's sort of influencing more music to speak truth to power." 

  "Not only power.  Or, it's about other stuff too.  Like, how we are failing to step into our own power." 

  A stewardess carted a steward towards the back of the jet.  "We'll be coming through for your reading materials." 

  "NO WAY!" Someone stood and declared.  "I agree," somebody else stood.  Others stood.  One guy shoved his down the ass of his pants. 

 

The TV crew threw it to an anchor, so

  the anchor could communicate with "above ground" general communications and LIVE NEWS. 

  "We're going from weather to sharks here on the West Coast.  Stand by." 

  An Aussie accent rose above the din of beachside cafe, "Did you say sharks?" 

  Women with microphones and mostly hair being shoved around by "breeze" stabbed at the air between the two men. 

  The anchor pursed lips together tighter as a sign language interpreter cussed and told the back up interpreter, (i)he's being close-lipped(i).  On video recorders in the round everything was happening like a silent movie. 

  "Hav-i-ee." An in-studio news crew answered a cue phone.  "An earful of voices," told an audience of locals.  "(i)SUPPOSED shark attacks.(i)" 

"I did. I ran the numbers.

  "Half the people are (i)garbled(i) and half the people are writing about them." 

  "God I love a DemocRACY." 

  "Gotta love it." 

  "I don't.  I don't have to (i)love(i) it.  I don't HAFTA love anything or anyone!" 

  "Bitters anyone?" 

  "Did you take my picture?" 

  "We're not even supposed to have that thing." 

  "Who changed the bike path?  Without my permission?" 

  "It just kinda happened." 

  "How (i)shorty(i)?" 

  "I thunk it was The People of The World Onsamble." 

  "And who gave the Junkies paper?" 

  "Did that start the bust?  Busting out.  The busting out of the Ice Castle?" 

  "And who is going to 'just float' out their and get those people?" 

  "Have I seen you on TV?" 

"Honey you can't be in here."

  "Okay, but don't say (i)can't(i) 'cuz then I'll want to." 

  "Okay, I'll say (i)shouldn't(i) but don't call me cuz." 

  "Why can't I?" 

  Before the woman in the flowy clothes could answer, a tall ebony-colored man in very shiney shoes stepped away from a box of rattles and looked down at the little women.  "Don't call us shorties," one said.  His voice was deep and rich but stuck in his chest.  "Because we're about to get (i)ethnic(i)." 

  "And you think we're 'too white'?" 

"Honey, why is

  everyone in the neighborhood jumping off a cliff?" 

  "I'm not jumping off a cliff," said the man in the blue suit, red tie, standing in the open doorway. 

  "And where is my mountain bike?" 

  The megaphone contraption was mounted on a soapbox.  It told the Sea, (i)because some STUPID parent OR PARENTS said, and I quote, NONE OF YOU WILL EVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING(i). 

Lady answers the phone,

  "End of the world; May I help you?" 

  "Ew, no.  I was told this was the Library of Congress phone number." 

  "Not in a total blackout.  Not tonight anyway.  Besides I'm at home and I've slipped into something more comfortable." 

  Guy covers the payphone mouthpiece with a hand palming an alcohol wipe.  "Lady, do you think this is your husband?" 

  (i)click(i) 

  "Call back, call back." 

  Fourth ring answered.  "Are you some kind of pervert or something?" 

  "Me?!  You're the one who told me you're in your nightie." 

  "Who is this?" 

  "One of the professor's students." 

  "Is he," a hesitation, "Teaching everyone well?" 

  "Oh yes.  But most of our group went off together and we got held up at the restaurant." 

  "If you need to know where he is, you'll have to call him because I don't know." 

  "Well, that's just great.  He threw his in a fish tank.  Do you know anything about a vigil?" 

  "His cousin Vergil?  What's that static?" 

  "A VIGIL I'M NOT SURE WHICH MINISTER." 

  The line went dead.

"She hasn't come out of there."

  "The transport blew up Sir." 

  Long legs crossed the makeshift "room" and arms and hands windmilled papers and photos and flattened life jackets sent as part of desert survival all over the space.  Hands found neck, neck and body to sandbag wall.  Feet off the ground.  No time to choke.  Faces livid purple.  A knee to the groin.  Running away. 

  "You're (i)fired(i)!!!!!!!!!" This broke the silent hours of the night like a screamer/missile. 

  "It was some sort of old school apparatus." 

  Face slumped, worn soft by the out-rage. 

  "One group told us it was to tow the ta, transport.  Like a donut on top.  A donut on a stick.  And a chain threaded through moved it, but it had some sort of radar in it, so, it, (i)yawn(i), jostled the front line on the screens the guys use.  Then they slammed it around.  TBIs.  We got some out before it blew.  Into bits.  Rough shape.  Casualties outnumber survivors today." 

  "We don't lose.  We don't give up.  And we don't lose.  Not ever."  The man had finished putting on a special jumpsuit.  "Is this the file?"  No answer.  "Take all of them.  The files.  They are coming.  (i)Go.(i)" 

"Our train was late."

  One explained to another.  A shirtless man with a deep gouge wrist to elbow sniffed the air.  

  "And then we realized they disattached the car with the supplies." A chunk of train tunnel smashed into the concrete floor and burst into powder. 

  "Why are all these people half naked?" 

  "We'll find out." 

  "Here, take these." Filter straws. 

  Fires and choking smoke.  Militants in head scarves.  Blood and guts from tramplings.  Shouting in speakers.  "What are they saying? The over and over part." 

  "Now you are nothing, and we are in control." 

  Heaps of military uniforms.  Mounds of purses and wallets.  Flags in oily grime. 

  "Take these," a man and woman giving stacks of credit cards to armored figures with machine guns. 

  "If.  If we survive until some Allies get here." 

  Bomblasts and crumbling ceiling added to the density of the thick air.  People passing babies and small children towards the rails, and down under the ledge of platform. 

  "Why can't they stop the terrorists?" 

  "We don't use that word." 

  "Right.  What is extreme in total war?" 

  "I wonder if it's like some other places in the world where no one can dislodge workers in career streams.  And the workers are all interchangeable." 

  "Well maybe that, and, one cannot legally accuse a criminal without a trial, without evidence." 

  "And, one cannot assume someone will repeat offend.  Or, pre-accuse someone of being violent.  They get freed and are re-taken in by some groups." 

  "Stretch your leg.  Reach that bottle of water.  I have vitamins." 

  "THIS PLACE IS NOT ON THEIR MAPS!!!!" 

  "FUCK." 

"Look at what they gave us,"

  she announced. 

  "For what?" 

  "Did you aid and abet?" 

  "Give them money?" 

  "Eat any of it?" 

  "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?" 

  "The Chinese studio." 

"Bring it!"

  "Yah know, I don't even know if I can find the place again."  Three chairs blocking the door.  "And you're just a musician how do you suppose you're going to fix this?" 

  "First of all," a tall, skinny sofa table behind the chairs, "I'm not (i)just a musician(i).  I'm also an (i)activist(i)." 

  "Oh great!  I'm (i)sure(i) that'll help." 

  Bare feet on the chairs in the door crack.  "Who else is in there?" 

  "None of your BI." 

  "Give them this one." From a folder of hand drawn on papers.  

  "And if you can get back in, find this guy, and give him these." A business card and pages of story.  "Can I read it?" 

  "I wouldn't." 

  On the knee wall was the champagne bottle hacked at with a pocket knife, next to the bottle, missing the cork, but full. 

  Painter's tape covered all the names and buzzers.  A ball of yarn and clothespins hung out the window.  The hand drawn sign was attached with clothespin and pulley'd up. 

        THIS IS NOT A VIDEOGAME 

  A turn to leave. 

  A cab hailing whistle. 

  A head in a towel, the (i)wait, wait(i) finger held up. 

  A piece of paper coming down on the yarn, a half-eaten banana as a weight.  Blue ink. 

        NO SHIT 

  Another turn to leave.  Another whistle.  Another note. 

        Where is she?  

  A ripping off of tape.  (i)Buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzzx(i).  "Like I'd tell you." 

  "Like hell you won't if I let you in." 

  "You gonna rip my fingernails off?" 

  Door opening.  Not the towel headed person.  "You better make this quick.  We're grooming them." 

"I'll go with you!"

  Middle of the night. 

  "I would not." 

  "I'm sure we can sort this out." 

  "You're both fruit loops!" 

  "Whatever you've done, we can deal with.  I can get more jobs.  Let's go." 

  "Whoa.  I mean, this is a whole different level than being put in a cage for overdue library books." 

  "What (i)did you(i) do?" 

  "I told the truth." 

  "I wasn't in this Country at the time." 

  "I write books." 

  Everyone looked at the $37.48 between us on the table. 

"Why is the building's alarms going off?"

  "New facial recognition (i)doorman(i).  Did you get the champagne?" 

  The two people were speaking to each other on an intercom system, but could see each other.  She left the bottle of champagne on a knee wall and waved a (i)have a good time(i). 

  People inside the high rise kept talking through a scientific theory about heat domes. 

  The buzzer buzzed.  "Oh she must have decided to come up." 

  A glance out the window revealed a woman swatting the air around her hair.  Looking up.  A look of horror.  Then running as a drone dive bombed at the target. 

"Why on earth are y'all so,"

  the woman's voice almost echo'd in the hallowed hall and she sounded like she was whispering when she got close to the group.  A group of individuals.  Individuals sharing a foot long piece of duct tape cut into mouth-size pieces that signified, (i)I can't talk about that, not here, not now(i). 

  "Can you repeat the question?" 

  "Why is everyone on the planet so isolated from each other?" 

  "Yeah, like we aren't trillions of humans.  Or one nation under God." 

  "You first." 

  "I cannot.  I cannot speak to any of this." 

  "The lawyers got to you?" 

  One person shook head, (i)sadly, yes(i).  But somebody else said, "Because I am truly NOT partisan,  and my role in this big beautiful world and nation is to defend this Country." 

  "I cannot (i)betray(i) my Country." 

  "How would that happen?  Did it have to do with the request?" A head shake yes.  "But wouldn't it just be like educational to explain to a citizen how the renovations are all bunged up with Congress's health care and some trash can in a park in Montana?" 

  A weak (i)hmmmmmmm(i).

  "I suppose, if the citizen wasn't an investor, some explaining might could happen." 

"Your mother's on the phone."

  "Hi." 

  "This is your mother." 

  "So I've been told.  Thanks for having me.  Everybody okay?" 

  "Yeah, I'm letting you know something." 

  "Okay." 

  "I did some soul searching and feel renewed in my cause." 

  "Okay." 

  "I'm going to see the Pope!" 

A hand smooshed a

  face in a different direction.  Up close an ear heard, "I just think your ethics are blurring with my law." 

  "Away, AWAY!" A passing Magistrate's Aide hollered.  But the pile of people scrambling for the copy of the Constitution knocked out of someone's hand was grid-locked and writhing in a very most reserved way.  

  A skinny man walked up with a briefcase and set it down. 

  A tank-topped person also walked up, put hand on the gun in his waistband. 

  A little woman blew a whistle and everyone froze as authorities sorted out the pile and the chain of events. 

"Looks like the freaks found something to sign."

  Some Congressguys grouped up to fake falling into a table and knocking the proposal onto the floor.  Seeing this unfold in a crowded room, women stepped between the aggressive young men and the junior Congress person with a look of shock but ire on his face.  A senior Congress person came over and introduced himself. 

  

  "They are bullies.  I know their Greek fathers." 

  "Are you being philosophical?" 

  A chuckle.  "Frat boys." 

  "I get it Dad! You're independent-minded and stubborn and you don't want people to steal your ideas before you sell them your ideas.  I get it.  But for Christ's sake," woozy, had to sit down, "At least communicate where the fuhfront you're going.  We're all political targets too!" 

This was a crisis.

  It was manifesting in worldwide elections, economics, and between equally statured grown ups.  It was metaphored for many of us as cracking in ice. 

  The buzzword was "trust". 

"We'll have to make our own."

  A skateboarder wheel-ambled up, popped the board up with a foot, and laid it wheels-to-sky on top of some surfboards. 

  "What?" 

  "Magazine pages.  Think local." 

  "Cue cards.  Try not to be obscene." 

  "I've got an idea," a girl traveling in an RV with her parents said. 

  "(i)Whoa, whoa(i) Easy on the idea part of free-style time m'am."  A man with an arm on a shelf taped to his torso winked; "I'm the recorder for this session." 

  "Look, lemme get the storyboards to explain." 

  "What kind of (i)session(i)?" Some totally decked out hippie chicks literally peeled themselves from the inside of an old van's floor and seats and peered under and over and through sunglasses to involve themselves.  "Likeah Leary kind or a music kind or a thurpy kind." 

  "You cougars jam?" 

  "Oh we jam alright." One elbowed the teller.  "'Specially since we hooked up with the Pioneer Woman." 

  "Wait, what?" 

  "You all hooked up in there?" A young, black, professional historian started to back away from the van. 

"We're just telling stories,"

  a large crack in the hotel wall cracked even more. 

  "Someone should have that inspected." 

  "And getting reading recommendations." 

  "Off to bed children.  I'll fill you in in the morning." 

  "Somebody better fill that one before morning," a man looked at the shape of a small mortar in the cement floor behind the bar. 

"You can't write about that anymore,"

  people were told once they'd paid for their travel and boarded the planes.  Some people tried to get off of the planes sensing the absolute danger. 

  "Heard he slept with a Kpopper." 

  "He did not," his mother held up a little red flag.  A stewardess tried to unbuckle the flight attendant seat belt and found it magnetized or glued (i)clicked(i).  One still standing came out of the cockpit and locked the bathroom door lock quickly transferred to protect the pilots.  She put the key down in her bra. 

  A man visibly shaking stood and faced the people behind him.  "Who here has been writing for magazines?" Another man stood and clipped a badge that read, LAWYER, to his suitcoat outer pocket. 

  A woman on a gurney cried out in pain. 

  Another woman with a face so swollen, black and blue, and blood coming out of crevices, that people winced and oh'd and broke into whimpering said, "I just need you all to see me and then," people started to get up and move towards her mostly because she was near an open door and the plane had started down the runway, "Then I am taking two aspirin and resting."  She sat down and a friend-for-life put a grocery paper bag over her head. 

The footsteps coming down the basement palisade were

  soft. 

  Of the dozing people only two seemed to hear them.  The moustached man put a giant father hen hand out flat as if it were on a drum.  The hand signed out the game plan. 

  "Stuck in there?" Two sets of eyes behind a desk top as a spit shield asked of the man behind the even more giant bars. 

  "Is Ted in there?" One asked after answering a flip phone. 

  The man's hands raised to his face and subtley pulled at the moustache.  It didn't come off.  His voice boomed and was self-reflective at the same time.  "I can't say I need your help." 

  "Then don't," a speed dial (i)no(i). 

  "Yeah, we haven't seen anything." 

  "Have a good night." Together the pair backed down the hallway.

"My question is:

  "Why are you guys so mean?" 

  The question had come from a section of "audience" still dressed in work clothes, dress pants and skirts and dresses.  The meet-your-neighbor style Intro to the Outdoors day event had quickly moved from "There's the river," to a Q&A when two rafters had a bit of a mudfight.  "Are they trying to kill each other?" A child took a grown up's hand and asked.  The group "organically" veered away. 

"Come in, come in."

  "What are you doing back here?" 

  "Airport's not letting anything out." 

  "That's too many directors in the same room!" 

  "Not if we don't fight." 

  "Have you seen this one?" 

  "It's pretty funny." 

  "Night." 

"Dead batteries shurh."

  The Sea Pilot's face was burnt skin stretched over skull so this news was received with no facial expression.  Just a slight turn of the head. 

  "Vhat vould oooo thaid?" 

  The people who'd boarded the vessel had put themselves in a (i)best function(i) order and two young people started to put aloe and gauze on the pilot's face and hair-gone head.  It took maybe twenty seconds for the pilot's hands to raise and beat the air. 

  "I have the messages," a middle-aged mom patted a locked tummy pouch. 

  "We've not been allowed to report.  And these boat passengers haven't been able to report position." 

  "I'm shocked." A man said sarcastically. 

  "You should see what people donate as AID," a woman explained as the man put scissors in his mouth, sinched his waist elastic, cut the extra and put that in the beach bag to disembark the vessel with Commanders only passing through. 

  Real sailors boarded. 

  "The jist?" Someone asked someone. 

  "The media called 'it' a cork in a tinderbox and an analyst tried to explain without explaining what a 'straight' means (i)geographically(i)." 

  "Of course." 

  The last of the daylight disappeared. 

"Sir, may I ask

  A paparazzi used a paper megaphone to holler, "Let's just skip the mother may I's." The crowds surged forward. 

  "It's Mr. Graham right now.  What was your question Miss?" 

  Fellow Republicans filled in the spaces around the speaking men so they wouldn't get knocked over and "trampled".  

  The girl stood her ground in a sea of people slithering past barricades.  "What were you venting about Mr. Graham?" 

  "Honey, I am a man of feelings.  And it hurts me that half or more than half of my fellow Countrymenpeople think myself and this gentleman," he waved a crushedbone wrist and hand at the "generic" Mr. Paducah, "Are (i)racists(i)." 

  A firecracker popped somewhere. 

  People started scattering and running again. 

"Why are you

  wearing a fake moustache?  Duck!" 

  "Colonials must have been shorties." 

  "Hardly all women." 

  "Okay, look at this map in the emergency lighting." 

  "What are you having for lunch?" A Rosie-the-Robot filemover asked as it ran through the paces. 

  "Feels like we're in the future already." 

  "Look at this," the moustached man threw down a Directory page, (i)pissed(i). 

  "How is anyone else supposed to look at something you've thrown on the floor like a toddler?" 

  "Pick it up," the man said vaguely. 

  Some moved to and a Personal Trainer suggested, (i)I would not(i). 

  "Hell no!  I've been kicked enough on this visit." 

  "Yeah, I'm kinda over being a doormat." 

  "What's angered you?" 

  The man scooped up the page.  "See how easy it is." He put a perfectly manicured thumb nail under the name Greenspan and pointed with a pointing finger through all the dots over to the room number. 

"I am going to deem it vigilante activity the next time

  that happens," the owl told the people gathered near the alcove. 

  "What happened?" A Press track'd student asked a Judicial track'd student. 

  "Um.  Best I can say is that things got out of hand again." 

  "Any legal action on this?" 

  "Not yet because everything's been done anonymously." 

  "Are there people in there?" A Multicultural Advocate asked of a coat closet. 

  One person nodded.  Another said, (i)maybe(i). And a third stepped closer to listen.  As he did so several other people made all kinds of static noises.  "What are they doing?" An Explainer pointed to the closet and said, "They're in there with a Shrink to expel feelings.  And these are making white noise." 

  "Why are they expelling their feelings?" 

  "They want us all to be robots!" An Intern snapped. 

  "Burn out?  You know there are meditation classes for you all." 

  "Us all, like we're one intern." 

  "Let's ask."  (i)knock, knock, knock(i). 

  A mentor Senator opened the door. 

  "Time to talk Sir?" 

  "Is it that time already?" 

  "It's only 7:17, but I meant, do you have a moment to talk to the students?" 

  "About what?" 

  "Why you're in the closet Sir." 

  He looked at the door frame and said, "Oh, I suppose I am." Shut the door and thanked everyone for the opportunity to vent.  Then came out gently closing the door behind him. 

  A student expressively raised eyebrows and flash bulbed a camera with no film.  "Did I say you could take my picture?" 

  "We don't really have to have permission." 

  "Let me see if that's true." He looked in a work-in-progress policy book.  The part about photographing was highlighted in gray.  "I guess it's a gray zone right now." He walked to a backless bench and sat down.  The policy book beside him tabbed with different color'd sticky notes. 

"I can't afford to p, pah, pay for the

  pod." 

  In an orange jumpsuit the man spoke into a (i)recorder(i).  Pulled up from the seat in shackles.

  "What's in the pod?" One man asked another. 

  "I dunno." 

  "Maybe the equipment he stole," an agent was handed a file by an assistant. 

  "What's going on here?" 

  "Things went screwy." 

  "When?" 

  "When some of the cities went fully self-serve." 

  "On what?" 

  "Oh, you know, parking, cab rides, gambling, movie making, torture." 

  "Yeah, but public's still public, right?!" 

  "Depends on whom you aks." 

  "What's that supposed to mean?" 

  "That's the fifth person to walk in here with a loaded firearm.  Out and ready to use." 

  "Are you gonna kill yourself again?" 

  The lady picked up a desk phone, dialed, re-picked up the handgun and absent-mindedly waved it around as she explained for the third time that she understood things had changed but a schedule is a schedule." 

  A man smushed down the dial tone button and reached for the receiver, "Unless," he said, then started whispering in her ear.  The woman just about melted into his arms and let go of the gun as he slide his hand up her bare-skinned arm.  "I think that's the better way to spend the rest of our visit here in California." 

  The man put the gun in his baja shorts pocket and it fell on the floor.  He whispered to the woman again and bent to pick up the gun.  Put it in his waistband.  "A real seedy one." 

  (i)Cha, cha, cha,(i) the woman kicked up a leg as they left the room.

"That's like the eighth one they

  took in there," the young feminist pointed to a wall with a sofa table and fern on it.  The Tour Guide went through a number of possible scenarios in history from Colonial spies to Watergate, but calling the bluff of (i)how feminist; militant(i) decided this girl was weak enough.  "Ghosts," he said out loud.  "You obviously see ghosts.  Feeling okay? Need some water?" 

  "Take the blindfold offa me." 

  "I don't hafta." 

  "Do you have any gum?" 

  "Ours got laced." 

  "With what?" 

  "Syanide." 

  A muffled jostling.  "You do this one." 

  "I'm telling you right now, no one is (i)doing(i) me.  Not here.  Not now.  Not ever.  Do you know who my father is?!" 

  "Why? Are you a feminist?" 

  "No, I'm waiting for the right man." 

  (i)hmmmmmmm(i) a deeper voice said.  "This one has potential.  Hold her here.  (i)I'll be back(i)." 

  More jostling. 

  "I just think they should of sent someone more legit." 

  "Are you guys stuck in here?" 

  "WHY WOULD WE DO THAT? THAT WOULD BE TOTALLY STUPID.  GOD." 

 

"You can do it Kim!"

  "AND IN THIS CORNER 

  (i)finally(i) 

  "WORTHY OPPONENTS!!!!!!" 

  Backing out of a wooden closet door was an Ancient Forest sized human butt.  The Vegas hotel sheet covering most private anatomy. 

 

There was a final group holler of

  (i)HEAVE,(i) and then a hushing of people in the vicinity up top.  And then a scraping sound that may as well have been compared to men moving large blocks of rocks on either side of the Nile. 

  (i)Scraaaaaaaaaaaape, pause; scraaaaaaaaspe, pause(i).  More hushings and (i)shooshes(i).  Hands smacking the air around a pair of people honestly perplexed about the positioning of the Oympic rings on an inner-office memorandum.  Someone drew a safety gun and pointed it.  Lips rested into permanent frowns. 

  Stethoscopes to cement slab floors and callings over.  Gestures delineating (i)where and what(i).  Heart monitor machines fitted with packages of electronics.  And someone hopelessly trying to cut the printouts. 

  "Those are ours," one somebody said. 

  "Those are not?" Somebody else asked.  "Rhetorical." 

  Another somebody put the binoculars over the eyes of a man in a wheelchair. 

  "He's going in." 

  "Manhole number?" 

  "Not readily available." 

  "On my count then." 

"They're in the foyer Sir!"

  The man smoothed the lapels of the suitjacket he'd gone "home" to retrieve.  It was the one he'd meant to put on in the morning, not the one that smelled like Biscotti. 

  "What building are we in?" The man asked a black woman Capitol Police person.  AV people checked the mini-monitor of the next room.  On screen all of us behind the wall could not be seen.  Just the wall.  A Coordinator looked too.  "Is that pitcher crooked?" An Aide peered at room readiers and then at the monitor on a cart with covered, uneaten lunches.  The Aide pulled at the front corners of his blazer and the unseen, veritable steam rose through his chest, up into his head, pushed up his eyebrows and he took a breath.  "It is.  But I'm choosing not to demerit anyone at this time." 

  "Heard," said a uniformed. 

  An Honor Guard lifted a curtain from a plate glass view.  "The Lobby.  I know where we are now," Senator Graham said and took several envelopes from a breast pocket. 

  The horses stood perfectly still and magnificent in the center of the Lobby floor.  The riders unflinching. 

"They're coddling him."

  "Like you should talk." 

  "My opinion?" 

  The cafeteria plates rattled as the dishwasher trays hit bumper-to-bumper on the rollers. 

  "Hand me the sprayer." 

  "If you knew the amount of and kind of photographs people, just regular people, have of most of these DC people, doing unspeakable things, sins and such, you might understand why the men want to safeguard a guy like Graham." 

  "Three more carts hurry up." 

  A shirt hanging over an apron had a curiously lumpy bulge. 

"Armies from all over the world,"

  his hands drew an earth and a world stage and he poked a finger into the palm of his hand.  "Here.  Now." 

  "Are we being invaded?" 

  He brushed the question away.  His gold bracelet getting caught in his arm hairs.  "From all over the world?" A kid with a pie sized lollipop asked. 

  "All over the world." 

  "I better let the girls know so everybody stays safe.  Those types get a little rough.  And most are here today, gone tomorrow." 

  He hung up the phone and rehung the receiver.  "That's my point.  Hear me out.  They can stay like that here today, gone tomorrow, or," he drank the rest of the pineapple juice in a big can.  "Or," a lady poked her military husband.  "Or, we can sign 'em up to fight with the best Army in the world!" 

  "You're crazy." 

  "Standing army at that," the military man said almost with a snore.  The ice cubes in his glass wilting.  "It's damn hot here this time of year." His wife pulled his shirt down over a hernia belt, took his glass, went to the wet bar and got him a mineral water. 

  "It won't be.  Standing.  It won't be for long." 

  Boys in shirts and shorts stood in the doorway suddenly and told they were going "cruising".

"Well, okay then, who gave

  them the coconut rum cake?" 

  "The Congo Line," one kid said, smiled with missing teeth, and belched. 

  "HE DID!" A girl pointed then crossed her arms. 

  The grown up pushed the den door open farther. 

  A man on the sofa covered in girls. 

  "Tellie!  (i)How dare you(i)

  The man stood.  The girls on his lap falling to the floor, his hands saluting and rolling out a red carpet in the air, and then into his pants pocket for cigarettes and lighter. 

  "(i)Just drop in without notifying anyone(i)." 

  "I'm not dead, why would I send notification?!" 

  The lady swooshed a clinging child weighing on her skirt.  "But still," 

  "But still nothing.  I was all over the place.  On TV." 

  "On TV," the lady repeated, her mind swimming. 

  "She's fainted!  Get me the ice bucket." 

  The bunny girls fanned the lady with a Reader's Digest and TV Guide.

"She's refusing to let us surrender Sir."

  "Why?" 

  "You want the long, short, or redundant version long-legged mac daddy?" 

  The man much taller than the students put his fingers to his face and massaged pressure points.  "Your daughters picked the handle Sir." 

  "Just tell me when the students get to take the tour." 

  "Copy that." 

  A flurry of clipboard exchanging and comparisons between named groups and scheduling. 

  "How 'bout us?" A diva of pop music asked as she poked a head around a corner.  "Nope, not you guys either.  The Koreans are kicking our asses in your field, your genre." 

  "Where is everyone?" 

  "Right.  None of us public count as anybody." 

  "They're in the Situation Room." 

  "For how long?" 

  "Well, it would've been shorter, but the ceiling caved." 

  "Oh my God.  Did they all survive?" 

  "Like you care." 

  "I'm a seat sniffer." 

  "Nobody else on the planet would admit that." 

  "I can't unsee that." 

  "Here," one man passed his brown bag lunch to a woman in charge of the crossing guard whistle. 

"THAT IS NOT YOUR PROPERTY!"

  The woman had been flying for thirty-two hours and her voice had settled way down deep in her chest, but the thugs clearly heard her because they froze. 

  "Would you lower the rug please?" A lady cop asked a man in a jumpsuit operating a pulley and boom.  "Where's the rest of my stuff?" 

  The three men bobble-headed there eyes every which way but out the window.  The lady cop walked to the window, spied the jet evacuation ladder and the pile of belongings down below on the City street. 

  The woman put her foot on the lowered rug and dug through a purse for paperwork and ID.  Young people rushed into the room and started looking everywhere.  "Did you find her?" 

  "Find who? I'm busy right now." 

  Other law enforcement came into the apartment.  Thugs were handcuffed.  Newspaper photograph'd in the hallway. 

  "I found them, I should get the money." 

  "But I drove you." 

  The father gave them both a ten dollar bill and asked, "Where were they?" 

  "They fell asleep on a train." 

  "It was adorable." 

  "Where are they now?" 

  Footsteps up and down the subway stairs. 

  The thump, thump, thumping of more trains coming and going. 

  "I've seen that piano before." 

  "What piano? I've just been to the eye doctor." 

  "That one there next to the hole in the wall.  With the flowers growing out of it." 

  "They smell dead." 

  "Where did you see it?" 

  "In this magazine.  Here, this one," it was taken from a briefcase. 

  "She looks like Caribini when she wears her purse that way." 

  "She does not Stanley.  She's in schoolgirl mode." 

  "How does she seem to you?" 

  "Better.  And look!" Several other women were wearing their purses the same way. 

  "Why would that be there Harry?" 

  "No idea." 

  "Here," a woman gave the man her purse.  "Go get breakfast, you'll feel better." 

  "You want anything?" 

  She shook her head (i)no(i). 

  "Lucy, put it on your list." 

  "What mum?" 

  "The piano.  Why here.  And get more sleep." 

  "Yes mum." 

"Why are all those people running

  from that side of Town?" 

  Professionals played off not knowing.  A "water boy" unfolded a cheque-note that had been hurriedly stuffed into his towelapron. 

  "Helms is in town." 

"What's that offensive smell?"

  "The Press pool." 

  "Da Queers."  

  The two men looked at each other.  

  "Leezy!" 

  "Oh God, my father." 

 

"Did you forget?"

  "Is that your pimp?" 

  The woman looked at the two men.  Salad on fork frozen between plate and mouth. 

  A waitress dropped a tray of food. 

  The woman disappeared. 

  "She's in there with," a boney man looked at a list and pronounced, "Shoes." 

  "OF COURSE, with legs like that how could the guy not be a ballerina?" 

  "I don't think he's a ballerina." 

  "But you just said he was.  And that you saw him in a ballet in Virginia." 

  "I did!  But they don't call guys who do that ballerinas." 

  "So the guys a faggot who has a sissy job?" 

  "What do they call him?" 

  "In Russian?  I'm not sure.  And male dancer sounds, I don't know, weird or too strip club or something." 

  "Honey, that is not where you want to be." 

  "Tell me about it." 

  "Can you please leave." 

  "The room?" 

  "The City child.  Let's get lunch." The beautiful bald person flopped the wig back onto head, took heels in hand, went into the living room and "rescued" a party platter from a coffee table piled with "coffee table books".  "Are you the one that hangs with the North Korean guy?"  An eyeroll, penciled brows up and down.  "Kind of direct child.  Are you one of them?" 

  "Naw, I'm a Christian Republican.  Where are we going?" 

  "Rooftop.  Better view." 

"What was your first," the

  sexy-to-the-hilt person licked lips, and continued the interview, "memory of me?" 

  The silouhette said, "You don't know who I am." Other silouhette paintings snickered and coo'd. 

  "I can't get it up anymore," the man being interviewed groaned. 

  City streets, broad daylight.  "What was yours?" 

  "Aw, come on." 

  "I just thought we could warm up for the actual." 

  "You wanna walk all the way there?" 

  "It's seventeen blocks.  That's nothing." 

  "You don't have money for a cab, do you?" 

  Stilettos and mile long legs stepped over an oily puddle between the curb and the street without looking.  Put two fingers, both hands, into glossy lips bigger than Mick's, and whistled.  The shrill was so loud it might have cracked glass if the window after window in that neighborhood hadn't been bulletproof.  

  "Uptown.  Don't tawk to me 'til we get there dawling." 

  Grand Central. 

  "Sorry I'm late." 

  "Anything fun?" 

  "Three jobs.  No." 

  "You?" 

  "Sigh." 

  "Let's grab a sbarrow." 

  "I won't be able to poop until a week from tamorrow." 

  "Diner?" 

  "None left." 

  "I left you in charge of preservation of our City and there's no diners left?" 

  She tipped the billfold.  Out came just a receipt. 

  "Hotel room?" 

  "Dry cleaners." 

  "Stay with him." 

  "But he looks different." 

  "He'll look the same as now all the way there." 

  "There where?" 

  "D.C." (click)

  "As I was saying little one," Willie took the steaming cup of black coffee from a nice looking Country woman, "It was my writing time." 

  "The commute?" 

  Some of the latté foam stuck to his moustache.  Another band guy put his own finger up to his own lip and tried to catch Willie's eye. 

  "Fly on your lips or something?" 

  "Same shitty 'tude, different day I guess," the man said.  Stood and fished a letter from his pocket.  Put the letter and a guitar pick on the food tray on Willie's lap.  Other men stood.  "Did he just quit?" One asked.  "Happens everyday.  It's his ritual until he gets his sauce on." 

  Willie got up and took a window seat.  Neighborhood after neighborhood was passed through.  Then he cleared his throat and started talking again.  "My point is that I believe in you kids." 

  A National Guard with a machine gun pointed at the floor near a door held up a fist. 

  "Quiet!" A civilian suggested.

"I assure you, we were not having sex."

  The woman shook her head slow and 

  (i)Vhat mess dees is?(i) 

  "Okay.  Okay.  So we can't go back that way." 

  "She said it was perfectly quiet and still then 

  "A (i)whoosh(i)?" 

  "Whatdoesthisguyonlyaskquestions?" The pilot was in shock; all tremors and teeth chattering. 

  "Like a zipper.  Yes, that's what she said.  Like a jacket being unzipped and then everything exploded." 

  "Well, probably not everything." 

  A hand reached over to prevent the use of field radio. 

  "We'll ask my father.  He always knows what to do." 

  A man named Viktor barfed in a lunch bag. 

  "It's been twenty-nine hours." 

  "It doesn't matter if it's one thousand.  We're not going without them." 

  The rug on the floor creaked lumpy.  A shadowy figure emerged and put the rug back neat.  "Too neat?" A hoarse voice asked. 

  "They already made it to Greece." 

"THAT'S HIM!"

  A wizened man in Ghandi pants looked at the travel DVD player.  "He was," the man searched for the word by taking the thinking man pose, standing up.  One that never sits down like Buddha.  "Show me," a well-known journalist in the movies pulled him gently but firmly to a two foot clearing between people with their backs to each other.  She mimed filming.  He acted the man.  (i)The man had a sachel. 

  "Or a briefcase baby," 

  (i)He had swords pointed at him.  But, but the sachel was stuck to him(i) 

  "Oh, I know it was baby." 

  (i)Others, apes?  Another group maybe came with rocks and the man got on his knees and(i) 

  "We know baby.  We know why everybody in this old world prays.  Right baby?!" 

  (i)the man took a pen from, oh it was a fancy man with a suitcoat, took a pen from his pocket, his breast pocket, and motioned for a rock(i) 

  (i)ha, ha, ha(i) "She said breast." Guy covered his mouth.  "It was real loud in my ear."  The woman tyrned the filming toward him and he yawned and stood up straight. 

  She made the keep going, keep going hand sign to the man telling the story.  (i)The man motioned for a rock and peace, no TWO men wouldn't let go of the rock.  Man gave them his watch.  They put the rock down.  Man showed stuck to sachel, the other two picked up rock, and(i) 

  The crowds started backing up.  The woman went to the man, mimed putting the camera on the ground, and helped the man act what had happened.  Just as a Hasidic Jew fell backwards over the man telling the story, she stood up and flashed a compact with a mirror then started saying, "They picked the lock."  Over and over until a live TV crew skinnied through to her.

"YOU LET me out of

  THIS CAGE!!!!!!" Things seemed little and far away on the monitor. 

  "How many?" 

  "How many what?" 

  "Tribes?" 

  "Twelve originally." 

  "He's asking how many tribes the so-called peacemakers are entertaining?" 

  "It's not entertainment." 

  "That is correct.  None of this is amusing." 

  "Anything but." 

  "There were several that signed this!" A wet scrolled up piece of paper was pulled from a tight jeans pocket.  People donned reading glasses and followed the well-manicured hand that took the piece of paper with a pair of tweezers and put it on the group viewing table. 

"Honey, go get the Jordanian pilots."

  A younger generation's rep was like WTF.  "That's the last exchange we are doing," a middle ager didn't look at anyone and said.

Boxes and boxes of books.

  "What are you going to wear?" 

  The house had gone quiet compared to the daytime construction.  The man looked at the woman to answer the question but something in the fireplace caught his eye.  He absently repeated something toasted to at the Post confirmation gathering the day before...(i)a shakey peace(i). 

  "Here, here, a shakey peace is better than no peace at all," a glass was raised.  A small, rotund woman put her glass down on the little table for guest registry.  "Americans are all alike.  (i)Dreamers(i)." 

Ring, ring "Oh my God, the phone!"

  "Busy?" 

  "That's Lena.  (i)Click, just kidding.(i)" 

  "Horne or the other one?" 

  (i)a choke cough(i) "I tolya to finish drinking first.  And what is it? Here smell this." 

  "Hewo." 

  "Hi Love." 

  "We've got that shot you asked us to take that day." 

  (i)knock, knock, knock oh hold on if you can(i)

  "JAVIER!  SO GLAD YOU COULD COME!  HURRICANE COMING IN LIKE A FEW HOURS I KNOW CAN YOU HELP US? 

   Still there?" 

  (i)Gone.  Everybody's always gone so quick these days.(i) 

  "Not us.  (i)Maintenance(i) never ends." 

  "What's in 'the tunnel' m'am?" 

  Hands reached for the walkie talkie not on the seat beside her.  A tiny frown but botox'd lips barely registered the emotion on her face.  She rolled her eyes.  "Twanswate." 

  "What language lady?" 

  "Wemains." 

  "I can't say that word." 

  The cab driver looked up from a phone.  Tried to find somebody to read the amount of four hundred and seventy three dollars.  "American," he said. 

"Why are you dusting off Jesus?"

  The girl's heeled shoes crunched on the broken glass.  A piece of glass stuck in the nylons near her toes.  She leaned on a pew to dislodge the shard.  A man with a broom and dust pan tried to duck behind a statue of the Holy Family.  The woman said, "I know who you are." The man put the dust pan into a leather bag and exchanged the broom for a faux fur duster.  "Anyway, mind if I pray here?" 

  A man with his head hung low followed another girl into the little chapel.  "WHY ARE YOU DUSTING OFF JESUS?! I THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH ALL THEM." The man behind her held up arms and made like he'd like to strangle her.  "Have a seat," a woman came out from behind the Holy Family with the leather bag, zipped up, and said.  The girl turned to leave and ran into the man whose hands fit around her neck and he started to squeeze.  She tried to push through him and his thumbs pressed into that little depression on her neck.  Nuns burst into the chapel and eyed everyone and everything.  One went towards the man with the duster, one mimed to another, (i)intercession needed(i). 

  Two nuns stood on either side of the strangulation-in-process while others took to pews and knees.  

  Other men in shirts and ties, sleeves rolled up, sweat soaking armpits and backs entered the chapel.  Eyed situation.  Let briefcases dangle on handcuffs and ran through the motions of a "take down" without touching anyone or anything.  It started with one pointing in the strangling guys face and saying, "Hey, HEY!  THAT'S NOT OKAY!  NO MATTER WHAT THE PRETTY LITTLE LADY DID!" 

  The guy's thumbs pressed harder.  "HEY!  DUDE!  YOU HEAR ME?" 

  The guy started stuttering...(i)cah, cah, cah, 

  "Could you help me?" A nun asked. 

  "Cah, CUNTSHTOP SHTOP 

  "STOP? 

"Do you want the

  good news or the bad news first?" 

  The man looked with his eyes at the faces of people who'd gotten a couple hours of sleep.  "Lemme finish praying.  Then I'll answer." 

  "Put the sack of potatoes in one corner and the hard tack in the other."  A man said as a woman pulled down her drab fatigues and wiggled baby blue bloomers on her ass in front of him.  "Get it out of here before coffee or I'll smack it." 

  She started to pull pants up but poked her head through her legs and looked up at him.  "Not what I'm after.  But I'll take those permissions and run with a morning shift." 

  "That.  That permission and just you." 

  "I need a tet afore I can do anything." 

  "Okay, I'm done praying," the man threw a rust-stained golfbag towel at the man looking through a fanny pack for the right shot.  "Cover her up!" 

  The woman plucked the towel from the linoleum floor and said, "Thanks Mister," as she folded it in thirds and put it in her crotch.  "Hopefully, one of these days I'll be bleeding like a stuck pig agin." 

  "Okay, let us put this on your arm and you put the stethoscope over your heart and in your ears Mister." 

  "Bad news." 

  "Well, record his blood pressure as we tell him please." 

  (i)Pump, pump, pump,(i) "It's just air in there.  That's why I keep mine in my pillow." A little girl nodded. 

  "The bad news is that when we get there, out west, which we cannot do in daylight, we can't just go home, 

  "OW!  YOU POKED ME!" 

  "Wherever that is, which we aren't telling each other." 

  The man having blood pressure taken printed out a medical chart on photographic paper.  "Someone in Texas doesn't know what chemicals the circled stuff are about." 

  "His went up." 

  "Get in my sack and find an oj." 

  "The potatos or the jerky?" 

"You just called my beef pink slime

  on National TV.  Why should I help you?"  The man acted as if the roof had not just been peeled off.  Like the other man was not wedged between toilets shoved together by impact.  As if the bathroom was not now near the ticket counter. 

"Hold still baby, there's something

  kinda wrong with your ear." We'd been using a translating app anyway, so she kept her jaw clenched tight. 

  "Probably all of them."  

  "Like a sardine can." 

  "We were.  We were.  We were trying to get up the fare for the next leg of this odessy." 

  "It's gonna tip, nobody freak." 

  "Please don't roll.  Please don't roll." 

  "Can you squeeze my hand baby?" 

  A shove out of the way of a crouching person with a watch and feeling in hands by a pair of very long legs.  "Nobody cawls baby baby but me!" 

  "Are there two of him?" 

  "GO! SIT DOWN." 

  (i)Wilson, Wilson, come in Wilson(i) the dark cabin flickered, quickly, light...dark...light...dark

  "It took us four hours to get them down the stairs.  FOUR HOURS!" 

  "EACH ONE IS WIRED TO THE OTHER ONE!" 

  "Everybody STOP. 

  "WHEREVER YOU ARE

  The wooden cultural building seemed to take a gigantic gasp for air.  A shudder.  The billowing smoke was sucked back into the building with the missile.  And like the impossible train that could somehow, the newly installed elevator shaft puffed once, twice, 

  A quarterback-size soldier slid towards the stopped chain of people just as

  "Did you hear that?" 

  "How can you ask me that right 

  "When did it land? 

  "Now

  A screaming roused people.  Hands reached to muffle.  Hand bit.  "There's people up in there!  A person up in there!"  The young woman pointed at the overhead, her eyes rolled wildly, and she fainted.  "Help her baby," the tall man pushed the woman into the aisle.  Someone closer to the front started to open all the overheads. 

"Why'd cha git fired?" hiccup

  "May I approach your wife Sir?" Said one of the pacing men. 

  "I wouldn't try (i)that(i) from here Son." 

  "And (i)why not(i)?" Two people in the lounge asked at the same time. 

  "My wife's in the States where we live." 

  "The answer to the lady's question..." Everyone froze and only the sounds of an espresso machine being cleaned with it's own steam could be heard. 

  "Sir, we overshot the supposed Green Zone, Sir." 

  "Explain your version of that later.  Somebody else tell me why." 

  "Somebody painted it rainbow colors," (i)hiccup(i). 

  "There she is!" 

  The paparazzi all turned their heads at once. 

  An American group leader jumped from a window butt perch.  "Our athletes.  Our photographs." 

  The wait for the golfers was over waivers and spot contracts being signed. 

  Which turned into a longer wait.  "No answer." And a longer wait.  People were sitting in the chairs and on luggage when security arrived with sonar and xray equipment.  Various bags were sequestered in wagons.  The wagons were wheeled up platforms.  The platforms disconnected from the airport gates pulled by "little hefties" to spots close to, but not onto runways. 

  "What do you think the wait is about?" 

  "Gee, I wonder." 

  "Actually," a nerdy guy sitting cross-legged and listening to one headphone, "The delay may have more to do with an Icelandic Volcano than anything else." 

  "They have volcanos there?" 

  "Is the volcano Icelandic? I mean isn't that an ethnic slur?" 

  "On the volcano?" 

  "Is it anthropomorphic?" 

  The guy put the other headphone on. 

  "Hey.  (i)Hey(i)," another guy gently shook him awake.  The nerdy guy pulled at the strap of a shoe bag and started to move off.  The guy mimed (i)stay seated(i).  Others in the immediate area all looked at the guys.

"That's like the seventh one;

  Is there something going on?" The waitress's hands wrung out a bleach rag used for wiping down tables. 

  "Sir, the money got pooled!  It was a momentary decision as we were being attacked in the capitol." 

  "As did the typists." 

  "Really.  Attacked?" 

  The man took in the new information as the campaign buses started to load up again. 

  "Attacked how?" 

  "Well, that's just it.  Because the Press had been infiltrated, the attacking kept getting written off as domestic dispute and racism and cultural disagreement." 

  "One woman had a long knife plunged into her skull by a terrorist in full on ninja clothes and the supposed journalists just stood around and texted story." 

  The man couldn't hide his astounded look.  The waitress who'd been pouring glasses of water put the pitcher on the table, removed apron with cheques, and went outside to smoke.

"Quit it." The woman put

  the roll of cash into a panty hose foot cut from the rest of the pair.  "And quit yer whimpering Melvin." 

  A nondescript person yanked on the knot of pantyhose around Melvin's thigh.  A little girl put tiny hands over Melvin's mouth.  Someone threw a pair of sexy underwear to someone else and this was tied around Melvin's head after the little girl was shoved out of the way.  Tee shirts with bedazzled peace doves on them were ripped into strips.  "Cover their eyes," was ordered. 

"But look at all this diversity."

  "But look at all this diversity," a similar-looking man repeated what the first man to speak had said. 

  "Why did they even invite us?" Someone asked from the back of the seating which had been in circles and then re-organized into more of a triangle in front of a podium. 

  Well-dressed women blocked the aisles of the front seating.  Some people who'd been in the circular seating refused to re-sit.  Mostly people were not discussing out loud what was happening.  The changes were just unfolding. 

  Shorn hair like flood water on the bathroom floor.  Plastic and dry cleaning hangers hung over all the stall walls. 

  "Do you understand where you are going?" A short woman pushed the curls of a tall woman back from her face, pinned locks, carefully arranged a head scarf atop. 

  

Screams came from the room

  where the international journalists had been sent to pay their dues.  The first ones out the door were beaming almost-live images back inside to colleagues. 

  A pair of man's legs in dress pants. 

  The sidewalk. 

  A bush. 

  A woman's torso, one boob in the bra, one boob out. 

  A view of the mall, and what looked like body parts strewn across it.  

  The sound of boots in a rhythm in stairwells.  The now familiar yells, "NOBODY MOVE." 

  "Is this a prank?" 

  "Did I see those lips move?" 

  Carts of monitors and cords carried into the room like stretchers. 

  "As I was saying Mr. President, you're team is going to need good PR." 

  "But the party's always just done it's own.  We have good people." 

She stomped a foot and

  mimed being a deflating balloon.  "Where you been?" Asked out loud. 

  "I went right over there," cup and food lifted towards a little food cart.  "What is it?" 

  "Coffee, see, smell," waved under the nose.  "And some sort of calzoneslashcroissant." 

  "Does it have chocolat in it?" 

  "And look at this pretty paper it's wrapped in.  I so love traveling." 

  "Did you save the Pez?" 

  "Trump or Mussolini?  And I got a Yoda." 

  "Is it supposed to storm?" 

  "Why?" 

  "What's that noise?" 

  "Here, let's sit on the curb." 

And still the people stood there.

  "Hijacked?" A mom's eyebrows went up and her mouth made a surprised look of perfect composure. 

  "He meant redirected.  Not hijacked." 

  The historical commemoration bringing Veterans and contemporaries together was scheduled for 7pm.  All of the stuff and the older people were in a train sent to the coast as the reports of storm damage mounted and made way to (i)didn't even know(i). 

  "I found one!" A Town Hall worker jangled a mess of keys and freed a key to the storage closet near an old park fountain.  Someone rested a back pack on a slimey edge of the molding pool.  "I've got our silkie!" 

  Two people worked together to unknot a tarnishing turquoise and turning black flagpole's hoisting rope.  The bottom pulley snapped off the pole.  "Be careful!" One man said to the other. 

  The Savannah cemetery seemed to creak as more people arrived and walked past sinking headstones.  Spanish moss and spongy earth reclaiming. 

  "I got a yahoo!  Dad wrote and said he's on a big adventure.  What's the meaning of this?" 

"Who tole yoo to hit the cloak button?"

  The man had a horribly bloodied nose, pants down around his ankles, and was handcuffed to a chain that lurched him forward and then to a dead stop. 

  "I don't know anymore," he muttered.  Over and over the same question was asked. 

  "Just so you know, that's not free," one woman said.  Another snapped a digital photo.  A third stuck a number sticker on the drunken reveler/looters naked arm. 

  "Moulin Rouge Baby!" A drag queen dressed to the nines snapped a Vogue, leaned face way down and in for the photo op, and paid the three dollars for a bracelet.

  The Alice In Wonderland catepillar took a huge drag off the hookah.  Looked thoughtful, then asked into the microphone, "Then the question is, whoooo animated them?" 

  Security running towards the stage from the exits asked, "Is that Q?" 

  "Is that the Q?" 

  "Find out if that's the Q," a man ordered a robo dog with Zuckerberg's head. 

  Colored steam shot from nozzle heads on either side of the stage. 

  "LEAVE THE DOG! GO, GO, GO." 

  "The scopes are in the van." 

  "Couldn't you have gotten here sooner?" 

  "I could not.  I came in a sewer." 

  "Pull my pants up.  Pull my pants up." 

"I think it's cheesy when their eyes

  flash yellow like that." 

  "Okay. Cut, cut 

  (i)cut, cut, cut(i) 

  "I thought that was green." 

  "Are leopard eyes green or yellow?" 

  "Is this the Sundance?" 

  "This is the Kahn.  Can I help you?" 

  "Okay, on my count, one, two (i)LIFT(i)."

  "Look, I'd like to sit here and talk God with you all day, but," the man held up his wrist to check the time and the gigantic thing's face slid around to the underside of his arm.  "Honey, I've lost a lot of weight," he told the air.  

  "Has he come out of it, or to, or whatever?" The woman's curly hair was in a full-blown frizz.  "He's still," the skeletal thin man took the clipboard from her, ran his finger down a column of possible ailments to checkbox, and declared, "Unresponsive".  She sighed, "What am I going to tell the Congregation?" 

  "Oh is this one of those missionaries?" 

  "A Rabbi actually." 

  "Said it's going to be called 

  "Titled 

  "something like East...West.  But had to meet up with some other," everybody drew guns, "musicians". 

"What is your question?"

  Both hands trembling.  A yellowing handled boot pistol in the one with the cigarette.  The palm sized flip phone almost closed.  Shaky voice.  "Can I visit?" 

  "No mother.  Absolutely not.  I have exams." 

  She hung up. 

  "We had to Continent jump." 

  "Yah come in daht?" The man shook his head wearily and looked not comprehendingly at the puddlejumper. The little woman pilot belt buckling it to the spit of "runway". 

  "How is he?" 

  "Not entirely with us at the moment." 

  "What happened? Exactly." 

  "Was guarding the farm from raiders.  At least two nights awake.  Fell asleep.  Most of the groin is gone." 

  "Hyena?" 

  "We'll not know for sure until the results are returned." 

  A dark man in a tunic and safari hat banged an arm on the top of a rover.  "M'am, do come." More of an assertion than a request really. 

"They're dressing themselves." She

  spoke into a tiny recorder.  Pushed (i)pause(i) with a dirty and broken fingernailed thumb.  The sun had risen but only infused the jungle air with more tangle of ancient smells.  The weight of the smells like shudders on sounds.  Chopping, chopping, chopping. 

  "Are you fitting the pieces together?" 

  "What doesn't fit is that in the Old Testament that God retributes for His people, but Jesus gets killed." 

  A push of a button, "The sun's come up. They've kept the jet running.  Maybe they'll not have enough gas to get to where they're going." Click. 

  "Hell, presumably.  But what about us?" 

  The body of a woman with a square patch of missing skin around her mouth was left on the chopping table with fish separated from their tails. 

  "What is the meaning of this?" One stewardess asked. 

  "How dare you people," admonished a steward. 

  "Okay.  Now the people who are bloody need to go back to their original seats." The woman said it matter-of-factually without looking up from the diagrams.  Like a kindegarten teacher moderating a game of Mother May I. 

  "Can you explain this?" The stewardess stood in the aisle beside the woman who seemed to maybe be in charge.  The steward came behind her and rubbed her shoulders.  "Always be nice to the stewardess," he warned. 

  "Raid.  Wounded.  Enemy stole all the dissolving staples." 

  "Ew," the steward said.  

  "So they're just sitting around on our seats with open wounds?" 

  "Apparently.  And we couldn't get the med students out, so no one to make sure they aren't bleeding out." 

  "I'd sit still if I were you," the steward's eyes grew wide. 

He'd picked up the wine

  bottle where he'd found her. 

  "DID YOU USE MY WIFE LAST NIGHT?!?" He'd stalked up to the other man with the bottle cocked like a catapult.  Some women scattered into angles and hurriedly fished photographic equipment from various handbags. 

  "WHO ARE THEY?" He called to fact-gatherers. 

  "Like umpires in this time of suspension." 

  "TAKE MY PICTURE!" He roared. 

  "Bah, but it, it looks awfully threatening whatcher doin' there Suh." 

  "They won't do it." A man sadly folded a flip phone. 

  "What do you mean (i)won't(i)?" 

  "The organization won't let the Networks break in." 

  "Not even with (i)breaking(i)?" 

  People looked out of the plywood cubicles for Press and Media at the cars going around and around the track. 

  "Come on! Let's beat the storms getting there!" 

  Moon half covered in a jagged mountain of cloud.  The Bronco now creeping, now flying.  Big squares of highway. 

  "They're closing in on us." 

  (i)gulp(i) "Any soda left?" 

  "No pop honey, it's too much sugar (i)sugar(i)." 

  "You seem distracted." 

  She held up a hand, two fingers poking through a cut seam of skirt pocket. 

  "What's missing?" 

  "My silver bullet." 

  A black towncar pulled into the empty parking lot first.  Man got out.  Fancy cowboy boots, perfectly pressed dress pants, and two different kinds of flak jacket.  And a boxed cheese danish. 

  Hands to hair.  Pushing it around, it not re-morning-ing (i)ready for the day(i).  "Stay in the truck.  Don't unlock it." 

  "But I don't have the keys!" 

  She held them up, then attached them to a necklace beneath her shirt.  

  "We NEED to talk," the man came towards. 

  "I can't talk to anyone right now." She started walking towards a pile of metal roofing.  The man slammed the cheese danish on the hood of the truck.  Cussed.  Motioned and spoke slowly, (i)Open the door(i). 

  "I can't Mr. you're not my husband or Dad.  We're all property of you guys." 

  Pulling a folded up sheet of looseleaf out of a pocket and three or four mugshots out of another, he spoke slowly and lips articulated, "Stay there." 

  The woman was shaking arms and hands and looked to be almost dancing as she shook the loose combs from a head full of hair. 

  (i)THWAP!(i) the word MATCH between a name and a mug shot was smacked against the window and held there.  The man looked around all face and lips.  "EX.  I CHECKED." 

  "Now open the door honey." 

  "(i)No.(i)" 

  The man let the photo and name slide down the window.  He grabbed the cheese danish and slid himself down the side of the truck.  Struggled to open the box as a line of headlights flooded the scene. 

  Two knuckles rapping on the passenger side window.  Sudden stupor.  "You want a piece of danish? Course, I wouldn't being a single woman again." Motioning roll this window down some.  "No handcuffs on that one.  What do you want?" 

  "You ordering pizza? I guess I could eat a pineapple and ham." 

  "Can you tell me what you want to do?" 

  "Keep writing I guess." 

  "Was he a spy?" 

  A blurt of noise.  Trying to put spit back in the mouth.  "Just a good Jewish man.  Probably has to marry a sister-in-law or something or get back to the frontlines." 

  "Make the phone call." Phone and a smoke handed in.  Hand hitting the ceiling of the car as the Stealths put it in gear and marched past the parking lot's edge.  "Yes, those things still make me nervous." 

  "Dad!" 

  "Honey are you okay?" 

  "Yeah of cour, I mean, yeah, I am." 

  "Good.  For the best I think." 

  "Me too I guess.  I couldn't love anybody anymore.  I say that, then I meet the next amazing patriot, and the next." 

  "Don't marry 'em all." 

  "Naw.  Only doing that once." 

  "Your little sisters are saying (i)leave some for us(i). Oh, and you should know, we had it properly annulled." 

  "It's what he needs, so, guess I took one for the team.  Rah, rah." 

  "Okay, here's mom." 

  "I'm okay." 

  "I'm glad." 

  "Are you watching the news?" 

  "Huh? No.  The Macy's fireworks thing." 

  "Can you flip through the channels and find George?" 

  "George who?" 

  "Um, W, should be letting people know what's going on by now.  I think." 

  "You want us to call you back?" 

  "Naw.  I'm coming home for a visit." 

  "Kay.  Get here before we go on vacation." 

  "Right.  And if change of plans, I'll KIT." 

  "Love you monkey." 

  "Loving you.  Gotta go." 

  The starting up of helichoppers.  A hand giving back the truck keys.

"Those are from the Opera."

  To a shocked look, dragon nails on (i)gimmee, gimmee(i) fingers wiggling.  A look in the field glasses. 

  Grown ups draping themselves around children's feet and legs and midriffs. 

  "How can that be?" 

  "They recruit them from here too." 

 The tucci. 

     Money was scant.  Some artisans and tradespeople found each other as "hobos", took on "odd jobs", and learned new skill sets.  The tucci worked great to do brick and mortar. 

"Stay in shape," an envelope was

  circulating.  "For the family," a woman dug a five dollar bill out of a cigarette wallet.  

  "Make the chain longer.  Can you?" 

  "Yeah, but I need my tools." 

  "That way it will hang over my heart."  The tiny play-dough snake was painted in green and pink.  "It looks preppy." 

  "I don't get how someone can just call it all a (i)program(i).  To me that feels like calling the flag like, just a cattle brand, or 

  "They can't just delete or erase all that we've learned." 

  "Did you learn anything from hanging with us?" People scoffed and guffawed.  "No shit man, can we do it all again?" 

  Vats of corn were boiled and lay steaming on a canvas tarp.  "Was that the last tent?" 

  "Means everyone who wants to has a home to go to!" A woman smiled broadly revealing two missing teeth.  "Thought you were going to a Dentist." 

  "Was.  But the Dentist and his people moved to Jerusalem!" 

  "What's going on there?" 

  "There's some hope for diplomatic solution." 

  "Oh.  But the fighting?" 

  "Was told it's more seasonal, more routine now.  And you know what Andy said."  The barbeque chicken and pig was uncovered on tailgates.  "What he say?" 

  "There's always a hot war somewhere." 

  "Meaning?" 

  "I think, maybe, it's useless to just push for peace like total peace." 

  The sound of dog tags.  "So we stay in shape.  Let the think tanks re-program how the news frames all the ongoing shitpile." 

  "What are you doing next?" 

  "Probably cobbler, but I'll have to dig a shithole." 

  "No I mean," an electric guitar was strummed into a heavy metal rift. 

  A horn blaring and an ATV slowing and skidding had the crowd trying to take cover.  Everybody running into eachother.  A shade hatted, shirtless man with hand cupped was yelling from the ATV, (i)THEY GOT MARIE!!! THEY GOT MARIE!!!(i) 

  Some people grabbed up picnic blanket belongings and ran towards the ATV.  

  (i)WHERE?(i) 

  (i)IN A CAGE, IN A TRUCK, IN THE OTHER FIELD!(i)