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    The man chewed a nibble of jerky and looked through a stack of papers.  He tapped two fingers on a folded newspaper on top of a little stack of newspapers.  He stared at a graph.  He blew out a breath and did the tiniest of whistles.  "Not good numbers," he said.  Held a pen like a cigarette.  Got up, picked a sock up off the floor, sat back down.  Glanced at more papers.  Came to one with three columns.  "That's a lot of W's," he sort of raised his eyebrows.  "Can I see?"  More people had chosen (i)undecided(i) too.

     She came out of the bathroom totally put together.  But she didn't say anything.  "Ready?" She asked after she'd looked around the room and decided there wasn't anything she needed to do.  He put his papers into a briefcase.  "She got it for me.  Quite some time ago." 

     "I did." 

     "I think I know where we could start.  Gonna be a long day again." 

     One side of her mouth did a quick tug of expression at that.  But she said, "Whatever we need to do." 

     The sun showed a flat pile of carpet when the door was opened.  She stepped backward when a security person said, "Good morning."  He pushed her forward with the briefcase.  She waved him to (i)stop that(i) with her hand behind her back.  He almost giggled.  Then sighed.

     They'd decided to go to a campground first.  An easy start to (i)canvassing for votes(i).  Plus, they could get rid of me.  "Well, not get rid of." 

     "You said it."  She glanced at me in the rearview.  "It's fine.  I'm completely ditchable.  I'm sure you've heard." 

     The man looked at the map on top of his briefcase on his lap.  "I think we turn right up there." 

     The campground was like a ghost town.  Totally quiet and no smoke.  "Maybe we'll just go find pancakes," she said.  He was thinking and just said flatly, "Yeah." 

     "It's early," I said.  "Stop up here and I'll just get out." 

     "Just like that?!" 

     "My family's here." 

     "In this one?" 

     "Yeah." 

     "You making that up?" 

     "Nope." 

     "We'll come back." 

     "We have a lunch in..." He looked through the papers.  She put her hand over his shuffling.  "Let's get coffee and eat first." 

     "What time?"  Neither answered. 

     "I mean, if I knew, know, then I can rally the troops." 

     "We'll send someone.  To let you know." 

     "Cool.  Have a good breakfast." 

     "Will do." He put the briefcase in the backseat.  She said, "We might need the map."  I got out and started walking towards our site.

     My Dad was the only person awake.  He was sitting at a picnic table with a large box.  "What's in the box Dad?" First he looked around like there was no box.  "This box," I put a hand on his shoulder and pointed to the box. 

     "Something I got for everyone."  He looked at his shoes. 

     "Can I have mine now?" 

     "Why don't we wait 'til everyone gets up?"  

     "Okay, but can I look?" 

     "Can't you let me (i)do something(i)?" 

     "Okay, sorry."  I went to my tent.

     "I wuntah gone in deer." 

    "Canadian, eh?" 

    "How'd yah guess?" 

    "Whole damn town's tawkin' 'bout (i)those French Canadians(i)." 

    The man drained an ice-beer.  "Dey are?"  He crushed the can under a fringed moccasin boot.  "Hear daht Maggie?" 

    A woman with the same hair came out of a teepee.  "What now?" She hung a little broom on a leather string on a missing side mirror.  "We's all FAMEUSS now." 

    "Notting new."  She unrolled a fish out of a newspaper.  Two fingers gently put it in a fry pan.  Made the sign of the cross over it.  "I am, he's not."  

    "Blessed enough, t'ank you." 

    "What's going on in there?" 

    What had been decorated with red, white, and blues (i)happy, happy(i) "dam vacation" mood had changed around Fontana. 

    "Drinking.  Don't say I didn't warn you," the woman said. 

    "Not me.  But I can't save anybody else.  Learned that the hard way." 

    "A time or two, I bet." 

    "I don't gamble either." 

    The man poured oil in the pan and smelled the fish.  "I miss the ocean.  Want to go Maggie?" 

    "To the ocean?" She chuckled. 

    "Yah.  The ocean.  You can be a mermaid." 

    "After you drown me?" 

    I pulled open the door and left the sunshine outside.

     Came back out pretty quickly to smoke a cigarette with my coffee.  A little car dragging it's guts under it pulled up.  Guy gets out in a cloud of smoke.  "I know you," I say as I'm sucking in a drag.  "YOU?!?"  

     He started to walk back towards the car.  "Wait!"  He turned and sort of ran back.  He grabbed the sides of my arms and shook me.  "You (i)gotta help me(i)." I removed his hands from shaking my expensive coffee all over the ground by sticking my elbows out like doing the chicken dance.  "What's (i)wrong(i)?" He turned on heel and slumped against the pipe fencing.  He put his head in his hands.  And he said something.  He laughed and sucked in a breath and kind of cried but no tears.  "What did you say?" The door of the place was being held open for ladies and gentlemen in ironed jeans so it was loud.  Then in the quiet I asked again.  "What's wrong?  Did you do something?" 

     I got down close to where he'd slid into sitting.  He slowly, carefully bumped his head against the rail.  He burped a cloud of marajuana.  "Well, you did good to pull over!" I smiled.  "Are you drinking?"  I smiled bigger, "Noooo." 

     He pulled his legs up to his chest.  "I, I took a wrong turn," he muttered.  I looked at him for bruises or blood.  "I just can't remem...I have to get to Knoxville..." I plucked his keys from his hands.  He grabbed my shirt sleeves.  "If you write about me, call me the Little Black Guy."  I took his hands off my sleeves and placed them on his knees.  "I would never do that.  You know me." He started blubbering.  "But I don't want them to get in trouble." 

     "Did you hit anyone?" He shook his head (i)noooooo(i).  "Kill anyone otherwise?"

     "Nope."  He shook his head and for a second his eyeballs looked crossed.  Then he said, "I, I, this is (i)cray, cray(i), I have a trunk full of muppets." 

     "Did you say muppets?" 

     "Boy, you high as a kite." A tall, stocky man in chaps and bandanas and a leather jacket bulging over arm muscles as round as my thighs looked down at us and said.  The Little Black Guy sounded like a horse in a stall stung by a bee, all boots scrambling.  The tall guy picked him up by the back of his shirt while he unscrambled squirming in circles and tried to crawl away.  "You take my shit????" The tall man with the Little Black Guy in one hand roared the question.  Little guy yelped.  And was tossed off the porch.

     A gorgeous, also tall Indian woman stepped around the thrown guy.  "It's a start." A younger, and shorter girl with a Wild Turkey feather sticking up out of her hair bun helped the guy to his feet.  "I hate going places with these people," she said as she helped the guy brush the dirt off his jeans.  He held out gravel pitted palms.  And blushed.  "Give me the keys dear, I'll drive."  Another car honked at us to get out of the way.  

     (i)Get. Out of the way.(i)  The black woman inside the car rolled down her window a quarter of the way.  (i)Move(i).  "Oh, I know that lady."  The Little Black Guy thanked the Indian girl for all the attention and said more than once, "I'm aright. Thank you Miss." They moved towards the porch and I said, "Why don't you go inside and get a drink or something?" He spit combed his hair in his sideview mirror and smiled broad.  "Might as well get myself killed." And he went in. 

     "Can I come in?" I knocked on the lady's passenger window.  She was taking a small bottle of whiskey out of a paper sack.  I went round to her side when I realized there was a gigantic roll-on piece of luggage on the front seat beside her.  I knocked on the window she'd rolled back up.  "Can I come in?" Through the glass she said, "You'll have to sit in the back."  Took a swig, made a (i)this is horrible(i) face and said, "For a minute." 

     Inside the windows were already fogging.  "I can't tell you much." She swigged again then passed it to me.  "I can't be drinkin' these days.  I'm back on track with no clue why."  She held it there.  "What's it say it is?  It's wretched." I lit my lighter to see.  "Some kind of Grape, sour.  Sour Grape Mash or, hold it still." Her hand was trembling.  "It's gross." I took it and held my hand out for the cap.  Capped it and put it up on the suitcase. 

     "You seen Anderson?" 

     "I seen him leave." 

     "You from the South?" 

     "No.  I'm a damn Yankee." 

     "Then quit talking like them.  Gives me a headache." She turned the car key a little and punched set-keys.  (i)Don't Stop Believing(i) made her gruff a sick-of-it-sigh.  The news was in (i)repeat(i) again.  A man and a woman came out of the place.  The woman in a new black leather jacket and the man stopped walking and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of tight jeans' pocket.  She left White Snake on the radio but turned down low.  "You like Rock?" The woman realized the man had stopped walking and turned high heels peeking out of perfect-fitting jeans around to bump into his shoulder.  "I don't have to stay." 

     "Not really, but it's refreshing to the (i)getting stale(i) around here." The man also lit a cigarette for the woman.  She let him put it in her lips.  "That's why I lit one for you.  I hate lipstick on my butts." She took the cigarette out in a dainty puff, long nails, ash, and put it on the end of her nose, the filter end.  "Better?"  He just looked at her.  Then he asked, "What's the next song about?"

      She turned the radio up a little.  I felt my mind shake the scene.  "Is this going to be the Big One?" 

      "The war?" 

      "Yeah." 

      "They all are if you're the people fighting it." 

      "Not like we have a choice really.  We've all found that out."  She grabbed the bottle but didn't open it.  "They'll send some back.  From Germany.  That's where Anderson went." 

      "It's all happening so fast." 

      "It does." She turned the radio off.  The woman came close to the car.  "You don't own me." The man grinned.  "Kinda, sortah." He went after her and reached out for her arm.  She pushed his reach away.  Stood at a passenger door of a sports car.  He got in his side, started to back up.  She just stood there.  Then he pulled forward and popped her door open from inside. 

      "It'll be weird when you all leave." 

      She turned in the seat.  "You're staying?" 

      Fingers running down the foggy wet windows made me jump a little.  They tapped and ran down again.  A face got close to the glass.  (i)Roll the window down(i) the lips said in the clear streaks.  I opened the door and got out.  The Little Guy acted like I'd smashed his face.  "Whaddya do that for?!  I'm (i)telling(i).  And by the way, there's not a drop of alcohol in there." 

      "I know." 

      The black lady rolled down her window and held out the bottle of sour grape.  I pushed it back at her.  "He's on his way to Knoxville." 

      "It's good music though, so I might stay."  Hand beckoned for the bottle.  Mine got between and halted the pass.  "I can see she cares for you." He put out an arm like an usher.  "Going back in?"  I blew out a breath.  "Blew all my money on gas.  What else is new?" 

      "You can sit with us.  Somebody's bound to get fries." 

      "Us who? Exactly." 

      "Somebody's mother is coming to see if somebody is ready to go." 

      "Go where?  Somebody who?"  

      "You'll see." 

      

     

    

    The laughter was almost maniacal.  Would've been if it wasn't coming out of a ten year old boy who looked like a mini Anderson.  "Hush," a leathery skinned man with wild hair and a halloween bone earring warned.  The boy's laughter turned into a smile, white and bright, and sporting some grown up teeth.  "I'm just one of the sherpas," the man said and made a grizzly face at the kid.  This he twisted into a swirling mass of pizza dough-like skin and expression, and landed on incomprehension.  "I never know what they want for snack.  I think I can pick based on mood and then they throw me a curve ball and I don't know what mood they're in."  As the oldest of six, I understood.  "Why don't you just ask?" I asked.  "Because (i)look(i)," he parted Rhododendron and there were a dozen children around a sofa table filled with tea sandwiches and bags of pretzels and chips.  Raisins, cut up canteloupe, and antlers screwed down to the middle of the table.  Little juice pouches and mini water bottles hung on the antlers. 

     "Is that table tipping over?" I asked as the man unparted the bushes.  "It's on a slant.  Everything in there is." 

"She smacked him!"

     "On AIR?????"  The runner told the (i)daily gossip(i) and swerved to avoid the counselor on a bicycle.  "They're gonna lose it." A short-haired, kinda quiet person looked really serious.  A husband took on the serious look and scribbled something into a notebook.  "What are you writing?" The wife wanted to know.

     (i)Dammit!(i) "This is why my father encouraged against this." The girl's hair was frazzled.  One sock was pulled up like a soccer player's and the other crumpled in an elastic-blown (i)totally(i).  Some of us went to the top of the driveway of the campsite. 

     "Just so you know," a not tall person announced, "We're not leaving.  And we're not (i)all gay(i) and most of us (i)are not, I repeat NOT(i), using." The counselor looked up from putting the bike chain back on the gear with a greasy stick.  "Is someone talking to me?" She asked and acted like she didn't see five of us standing there.  "Come on, let's get back in there."  She backarmed an almost twin on the barrel chest.  

     "I thought I recognized that (i)dammit(i)," I said not leaving.  "Oh.  It's you." She plucked at the excess grease on the chain.  "You know...it would be better if you weren't here." My face dropped. And my mind tried to think of why.  "That, that came out wrong." 

     "It did?"

     "What I meant was," she whacked at her hip, "This session is for (i)the couples(i)." Her hip let out a high pitched noise.  She fwapped it.  Smiled without really looking at me and said, "Yes."  She patted her hip as the noise quieted.  "What's up with your hip?" She poked at the chain.  Te stick got a glob stuck on it.  "I'm testing a new kind of hearing aid for someone."  She flung the glob of grease at a tree.  It stuck.  "Well, for some people, not just (i)someone(i)." 

     "Yeah?! But why do I have to leave (i)for real(i)?" 

     "Well, it's for the couples." 

     No reaction. 

     "And Anderson (i)suggested(i) you go talk to the person camping in A6." 

     "Who's Anderson?" 

     She dropped her face down like she was looking over reading glasses right at me.  "You don't know?!" No reaction. "Or, maybe, are you faking not to know?" 

     "I don't (i)fake(i) anything."  No reaction.  "Especially not like on that stupid commercial."  

     She got off the bike.  She'd tied a bow in the elastic of her shorts.  She grabbed the chain and dragged it back onto the gear.  Wiped her hand on the shorts.  "My father tied the bow," she tried to blink away a mosquito or something.  "Wanted me to look nice." She pawed at her face where the gnat was bothering her.  I tried not to laugh at the grease marks.  "I wasn't sure if I could make it all this way on this piece of shit bicycle.  Or, you know," she made air quotes, "'a bunch of ruffians'" give a fuck about therapy."  

     "Well, I'll tell you this." I sighed.  Not wanting to leave, I dragged out the synopsis after I said, "All these people up in here have a lot of love." 

     "Drugs?" 

     "NO!  Thank God.  Except some recovery pot and one's on antibiotics." 

     "What happened to that one?" 

     "Long, long story, but pretty much (i)caught in the crossfire of hate(i).  But," I eyed her reaction.  "But," she'd heard.  "But a bunch of us, not just here, are working on that topic.  Now, who's Anderson?" 

     "Ellen's friend." 

     "One of Ellen's 10,000 (i)friends(i)?" 

     "Cha." 

     "You know, because of the stupid politics, she's only got 5000 now." She didn't say anything.  "But, I 

     "I don't like to talk about politics and war."  She parked the bike leaning against my truck.  "You what? Faked that you're a fan?" 

     "No." My face flashed an (i)I oughta kick you(i). "I stuck up for her.  Said publically, 'She's not EVIL.' That was at the campground where they found a dead body." 

     "Sounds exciting.  I'm late." She brushed passed me and might as well have closed a door to the campsite.

"Why are all y'all so nasty?"

      It had been a week of court-separated couples (i)bonding(i).  Frozen in place had started to thaw.  Frozen by fear, frozen by reality, frozen from using the same old tactics to (i)weaponize(i) relationship.  "I'm going out of my mind," I revealed to a friend of a friend.  "Not being in a relationship." 

     "Don't look at me like that, I can't get into one right now.  Tactical training is literally around the corner." My eyes looked at the floor and I mumbled, (i)I wasn't(i). 

     Up at the camp we hadn't gotten to any art or writing yet because everyone had taken a defensive position.  For some of the women this meant (i)being boss(i).  And led to rounds of "you're not the boss of me."  And (i)acting out(i) to (i)demonstrate(i) just that.

     And, (i)scattering(i).  A mountain biker screeched to a halt in the dirt.  "I seen the judge." 

     "What's she up to these days?" Someone half in and half out of the bushes asked. 

     "She's fishing, so then'll be headed this way." 

     A young woman who'd taken tons of children's laundry out of backpacks and had been de-wrinkling and folding the clothes started hucking the neat piles into a heap in the center of the blanket she was sitting on.  "The judge fishes?" 

     "Ours does.  White peoples' just hang people in the woods." 

     "That is not true," a young white woman said.  No one said anything.  She turned to the biker.  "Clarence, you've been all over the place on your little dirt bike.  You seen people hanging?" 

     Clarence was etching a pattern in the dirt with his foot beside other tire treads.  "It is not a dirt bike." 

     "Well, what is it then?" 

     "It is a (i)mountain(i) bike." 

     "It's beautiful." She said and started towards it.  "Did you fix the pedal?" Clarence looked more deeply at his foot.  "You remember that?" She stood about two feet away from the bike.  "Quite the crash from the sounds of it," she said.  He looked at her and smiled.  "I survived." Then he laughed a little and used his other foot to twirl the repaired pedal.  She watched him turn it around and around smooth.  "I got hurt too," the bushes spoke.  Clarence stopped turning the pedal.  "On a bike?" He asked.

     "My friend got hit in the face with a two by four on (i)his(i) bike. 'Cuz they wanted the camera thingie.  I got stabbed with a stake."  

     "Really?!  Can I see?" 

     "Well, it's mostly bandaged up by now, God, that was like ten days ago, but I'll let you peek.". Clarence carefully got off his bike and wheeled it forward then lifted the front tire and parked it on a root leaning against a tree.  He went into the bushes.  He came back out.  "Gross." He said but grinned 'cuz he got to see it.

     Groaning and grunting sounds came from the road.  (i)Dammit(i).  "Is that the judge?" Someone poised with a bag of food asked.  Clarence's face made a sudden (i)Ooooooo(i) expression and he put his hands out like a surfer.  Then he ran and parted more bushes to check.  He ran back.  "No," he told.  "That's that girl everybody's calling a there-pist." 

     "Why? Is she pissed?" 

     "Maybe so.  I better (i)get gone(i)." Clarence yanked his bike and put it under him and left in one smooth move. 

     

     "No, that guy had a bruise across his eyes like a 2x4." 

     "It was a 2x4," the bushes spoke. 

     "How do you know?  Did you finish up takng the drops?" A tall, dark-haired woman went and looked over the bushes.  "Dammit!" She said.  "I need a medic over here." 

     "A bloody mess," one father told another father. 

     More authorities arrived for what was supposed to be a breakfast where people talk about liaison-ing.  It had seemed like a quiet throughout the mountains after a chaotic season.  Neither was really true. 

     A Himalayan boy knocked over a canping chair standing and getting ready to run.  "That's a chief," he chin jutted and put his hands in his armpits.  "NOT TODAY," the man roared, "Just a POP to the PICS." 

     "Are you looking for me?" 

     "Did you impregnate my daughter?" 

     "Ew, no way.  Or maybe I should answer (i)yes, with an alien baby(i)." 

     "On your knees, hands up and out in front of your person." 

     One young mother pulled two children towards her as the other (i)whole mess of children(i) scattered.  "Is there no end to this misery?" A man in fatigues and a black tee-shirt slung his weapon around onto his back and hand-gestured the others with him to also (i)vahmoose(i) and "Don't let them get away." He smiled and there was a tooth missing in a movie star perfect face.  He stopped smiling when he saw a couple people not on knees with hands out.

     He'd come across the (i)Pissed Off Parents(i) in another range of mountains.  Over macaronis and a can of nacho cheese sauce they'd fessed up.  They were (i)afraid of their own children(i).  He was going to talk to Mr. Shwartza-negger about that and a few other things.  (i)It's good to consult with a variety of people(i).  The parents were tired.  Most had bags under their eyes and sore feet.  But they shared their food with the stranger.  After finishing her seven bites one woman sang a song of thanksgiving.

     Now, here they were: confronting.

     "It's just practice for them," the even-in-the-woods-wearing-suits people came to the campground to tell us.  "Okay," my Dad said.  Then he snarled and added, "I'm telling you right now, I haven't made my mind up yet."  He crossed his arms.  Sherry looked at him long and hard.  Then she said, "Yeah, we're still (i)undecided(i)." 

     "What should I do?" An MP asked his Supervisor.  The Supervisor shrugged.  Mama asked, "May I see that?" The MP just stared at her, then blinked once, and asked back, "The clipboard?" She (i)Mmmmm-hmmmm'd(i) like we heard a poet hum the absence of  (i)Suh(i) and (i)M'am(i).  "I just want to see what you people are writing down about us now." The MP said "No," but faced it her way to read.  Two columns: "W's" and "Others".  "May I make a suggestion?" She asked.  "You may."  She explained (i)It looks like you've got two columns there.(i). The MP (i)Mmmmmm-hmmmmm'd(i).  "Maybe," Sherry said, "You could add a third!"  She smiled.

     "A third?" The MP asked. 

     "Sherry, what are you doing?  We should get this place cleaned up." Dad called over. 

     "Why would I do that?" 

     "Not everybody feels the same about everything." The MP looked at the clipboard still facing her.  Just breathing and then, "There's no room."  Mama fished her astronaut pen from pocket.  She pointed it at the clipboard.  The MP moved it back and away.  "What would the third column say?" She put the pen to her chin and thought.  "Undecided," she decided.  "Because he said so?"  The MP asked mama.  "Yes, Sir, and because we feel like we're being forced to side with people we're not a hundred percent sure about." The MP thought.

     "It's just a political thing with all these people," he said as he faced the clipboard back at her.  She aired a line as the question, "Okay?" He couldn't really answer and looked down the little road.  Sherry's hand was shaking a little as she held a corner of it, drew a line next to the other columns, and labeled it "Undecided".  She put two checkmarks.

     "Fried is even better," a wife said of the piece of jerky her husband was nibbling on for two days.  "Want me to make pancakes?" He didn't answer.  "We usually have toast at home." 

     "She means she usually buys me pancakes at IHOP."  She so subtley huffed a sigh and a (i)that's true(i) I looked at her twice.  

     She re-folded a striped shirt with no collar and put it in a little suitcase.  "They said we'd probably feel bad and we do," he said.

     "Did you guys drink creek water?" 

     "Hey, there's nothing wrong with the creek water," a security person said through the open door.  No one said anything.  He said, "(i)On the Tennessee side(i)".  Another security person laughed then got up close to the joker and said, "Them thar's fightin' words in these parts." 

     "Whaddaya gonna do about it?" 

     "Settle down," a suit walked by and said. 

     "Write you up on a clipboard.  I hear that's pretty effective 'round here." The security person sort of mumbled.  A tiny voice on a wire said, "Wait. What?  Can you say that again?!" 

     "Do I have to?" The security person said real loud. 

     The suit walked back by. 

     "He's got something on his mind.  I can tell."  The wife said of her husband.  He was looking into the distance.

     The night before a small voice was outside a new tent for my mom and dad, "Srerry.  (i)Srerry(i)."  The zipper opened and Mom stuck her head out, "Is someone calling me?"  A thin woman in tight pants and heels bent down towards the head sticking out.  "I sink hee needs you." 

     "My husband?!  Is he out there with you??!!" She pulled the tent flap closed and made sure it was Daddy sound asleep in the sleeping bag and not the towel trick.  The towel trick was going around. 

     Sherry came back out of the tent wrapping a borrowed bathrobe around her even though she had her flannel pajamas on.  "Who needs me?" 

     "The Donald." 

     "Why me? Are you sure??" 

     "My husband, he's," she broke into a sob. 

     "Is he hurt?" 

     "He's hurt." 

     "Oh my God.  I'll wake Ed up." 

     "No, no, no." She reached for Mom's arm like it was a perch and she a bird.  Her well-manicured hands just barely landing there.  "He's (i)down(i)." 

     "We'll call an ambulance!  I know some health people here.  They've been helping me." 

     She shook her head (i)nooooo(i) and said, "In here," she pointed to her heart, "And, in here," she pointed to her head.  Sherry looked at her.  "Why me?  What can I do?"  The women looked at each other in the dark.  She started to walk away but Mom said, "Wait." And went back into the tent.

     Daddy followed Mom out of the tent.  Shorts hastily pulled on over his boxers and shoes on the wrong feet.  "How can we help?" 

     She moved closer again.  "Can you say The Prayer?" 

     "The prayer?" Sherry asked. 

     "I saw you with the necklace, saying The Prayer." 

     "Where did you see me?" 

     "By the water." 

     "Actually there's two prayers on this," he fished a Rosary out of his pocket.  "It's a Rosary." 

     "Rosse-airy." 

     "We'll say them right now.  It's the Our Father which I'm sure you know. And the Hail Mary." 

     "The Hail Mary!  Mary prayer, yes." 

     They showed the beads and the meaning.  One Our Father, ten Hail Mary's." 

     "Ten?!  That's a lot of prayers.  We need this." 

     "We'll say three.  Right now.  And Sherry'll write down the words for you." 

     They started a Rosary for the nation and for all the people trying to help.  "Especially the Donald," she prayed.

      "Grab the shovel." She propped up the sagging part of the tarp over the tent.  A towel and sweatshirts to mop up the tent floor.  "It is what it is."  

     Nobody's life was turning out to be a fairy tale.  As far as we could tell (i)people make plans, plans fall apart(i).  Some people were nonplussed by this.  Others were ground-halted and all (i)broken dream(i) about it. 

     The boyfriend worked quietly.  Hoodie draped over his head and shoulders.  Stripping the bark off sink-pipe thick branches.  "Why are you saving us?" The whiney male/female voice called from the bushes.  The couple did not answer.

     At lunchtime they each shared half a ham and Swiss sandwich.  The boyfriend wrapped his half in a paper towel.  "See if he's hungry when he wakes up." 

     "Is he asleep?" 

     "Should've said (i)comes to(i) I guess." 

     She found a stick the length of the shovel and replaced the pitch in the tarp with it.  He put the shovel back in their truck.  "Wasn't sure if we were going to have to bury another body," she said to him.  "You've been burying them?" He lifted his head from fogged-in and asked.  "In a manner of speaking."  They got in the truck but the guy hopped back out and gave me chips and a water.  "Hang on to your lid." 

     "Why?" 

     He looked into the distance. 

     Way up on a ridge a man was walking.  He'd told a friend of a friend (i)before sunset(i).  The friend of a friend paced the tiny parking lot of the trailhead.  "So what was it again?" 

     "I found a man." 

     "Good for you.  Mazel toff.  May you live long and prosper and all that good stuff." 

     "No." 

     "No, you don't want to prosper? Or, oh, are you on that trip? Let's just all be poor and sponge off each other." 

     "A real man." 

     "Like I'm not.  You know I've seen places in the world where people just (i)suck, suck, suck(i) off each other until the sponge is," he imitated a shrinking, drying up sponge, concluding in a gasping for air and choking to death finalè.

     "This one's different." 

     "You all say that about anything fresh." 

     "He doesn't know where he is." 

     "Did you tie him up?  Leave him somewhere?" He grabbed the birdwatching binoculars from my dashboard.  Pounded his mitten'd hands together and peered at the ridge.

     It was a few days before the couple came back.  This time they brought a gallon of freshwater.  "Don't drink the creek water," My hand slap-covered my mouth and I said, "Oh my God." She just looked at me.  "I was going to say, don't drink the creek water just after a hard rain."  I uncovered my mouth.  "Why?" She slightly shook her head but refrained from a (i)duh(i).  Explained, "There's run off.  From the ground." I blinked trying to compute (i)run off(i).  She looked at the sky, my eyes followed her looking.  "Rain comes down.  Hits the ground.  Water always goes to the lowest point.  Takes all the garbage surface dirt with it.  To the creek." 

     "Got it.  You're smart."

     "Not really." 

     The bushes spoke.  "Smart is as smart does.  What have you done for me lately?" 

     "Has he eaten anything?" 

     "What am I his minder?" 

     She bit the inside of a lip and sighed.  "Want him removed?" 

     I shook my head like trying to shake a dream.  "No. I mean, I didn't place a complaint or anything.  I just found him.  And he just stays in there." 

     "Well lemme know if there's any trouble," she said and started to ealk away.  "How would I find you?" I asked almost bumping into the boyfriend.  "Just let someone know." She closed the truck door when she got in.  I said to the boyfriend, "She's smart."  He said, "She doesn't think so or doesn't want to be or something."  We each looked at the ground.  I could picture run off.  "Just the same," I said, "You better protect her smarts." He grinned a little.  "Why's that?" 

     "A lot of people our age are already getting Traumatic Brain Injuries." 

     "Really?" The man turned towards the truck.