It was a long way until then.
"It's more like the end of that book," an eye glance in the direction of a knapsack's contents. "At least, right now, there, like a tide went out."
Physical bodies sitting on a train of a building's second floor. Might have been a split ranch mall, but had been some sort of palace. A diversity of writers and editors, videographers, documentarists, movie makers, visionaries and fact finders. Minds flying around to (i)make sense(i) of it, (i)war(i).
"How do you think I feel?! You've used me as a, a thumbtack!"
"Do you mean pushpin?"
"I mean," the woman looked around at the enormous walls of the place, "I mean to say that all my life I've (i)reported(i) these things, (i)NOT(i) established frontlines."
"At least there weren't flamethrowers."
"You keep out of it."
"How can I? It's literally all around us."
"Don't catch the fever! It's madness."
"Is she angry?"
"She has an actual deadline."
"What is it?"
"It's supposed to be a fish. I paid for a fresh catch du jour."
"Honey, nothing is fresh here this time of year." A man gently smacked the nightgowned woman on the duffer. "Oooooo, except the men."
The brown paper tied with a bakery string was put on a table. Carefully opened. Newspapers and a handgun.
People milling about made espresso and started reading the papers.
One from the States had eyeholes cut in the print. People carefully opened each newspaper. A column missing here, a column glued beside another column there.
"There must be one from every country here."
Another woman barefoot padded into the kitchen.
"She doesn't have her glasses on," someone narrated. "Get my purse," she ordered as she stuck a used tea bag in her mouth.
"It's not ON THE BOOT."
"Do you feel kidnapped?"
"Is there an island, uh, south of the boot?"
"Several."
"Keep looking."
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