"Fuckin' A," said a really young man with part

  of his face drooping.  

  "Did he..." 

  "We're not saying that word," a hand on a forearm pressed firmly.  "None of us has health insurance." 

  "How did the string of us wind up here?" 

  "Where is this?" 

  "Be quiet.  They're coming back." 

  More hands reached to still. 

  "And apparently, they consider this a real war and that they can kill journalists." 

  "No one's allowed to kill anybody in our country." 

  "Well, that's a theory." 

  Really old school sneakers and black shoes.  Three pairs of legs.  All black clothing. 

  "Which one of you insulted (i)my people(i)?" A female voice asked in the dimming light of the stalls and hay.  "Who are your people?" Someone asked back. 

  Hands gestured (i)don't answer(i) and (i)spread out(i). 

 

  "Want me to page my paper?" 

  "You guys have a statement or demands or something?" 

  A hand lifting a nonspeaking person by the hair off the floor. 

  "Last I knew none of these were legit." 

  Stifled hyperventilating.

  A horse crop smushed into a chest. 

  "You should know I've liberated your friend." 

  "Ma, mah, my friend?" Eyebrows up forcing eyes to stay open. 

  "We'll let you know more tomorrow." 

  "It's already tomorrow," said a guy with a badly split lip. 

  Total quiet but for some breathing.  

  A dim glint.  "Get over there," the glint indicating an opposing stall wall.  "Why?" 

  "You have a gun?" 

  "Oh my 

  "You glow in the dark." 

  "Gawd." 

  "I'm not that white, but okay, okay." 

  "When did this get so freaking serious?" 

  "Gee, mightah been when the black flags blocked the ice, or 

  "We were in Minnesota, so maybe 

  "Or when people were smuggling people between buses 

  "Could this be Nebraska?" 

  "Look, it wasn't a black flag! It was somebody's butt." 

  "Somebody's butt?" 

  "Somebody's (i)people(i) have been hanging those things from D.C. to Hawaii, and charging riot police with them and you expect me, all of us, to believe it was somebody's butt?" 

  "It was.  It was." 

  "How was that so?" 

  "My cameraman.  Too close to live fire." 

  "You were that close?" 

  "Too close.  Where the lines met and there was spillover, then somebody getting killed, so 

  "People got killed?" 

  "The guy turned the camera into somebody's butt like a fade-to-black.  We didn't want to contribute to that other stuff going on." 

  "Damb."