Gladyce: sorry, honey, can't help it.
Doryce: no need to explain yourself to random normies, G. we'll take our talents elsewhere. come to a Doubletree party they said, ESPN does it all the time. but not a lemon in sight. that was the second time.
Gladyce: oh it's more than that. babes babes everywhere and not a one to drink. where to?
Doryce: millions. that should be the de facto standard response to any question the universe poses to us. from now on. millions.
Gladyce: that's fine.
the pair walk like on Jordan 32s. they eventually reach the dark side of the moon-based planet, Washington, D.C.
Gladyce: get out your reading materials.
Doryce: fraid i didn't pack any maps to fold. i did pack manuals, the binding spell. gonna use it on Bama. i wish i could use it on myself.
Gladyce: it's not a good idea. can you imagine you with all that power? you would never stop masturbating. more than you do now regularly on time. every hour on the hour. your vagina would be a weathered washboard.
Doryce: and what beautiful music it makes. i love the Dutch caps on those women. oh, hello, dearies!
the two spot the three superstars from the rally. the march has reached its destination and coalesced around a bonfire in the middle of the Washington Monument. Emma, Cameron, and Jaclyn wear retro plaid and throwback heels aas they huddle together in the twinkling night sky.
Emma: it's so quiet now. peaceful. the anger of the day has pushed the clouds away, and we are left to look at a blue deep and contemplative. the air is thick with purpose, guiding along our caravan.
Doryce: our blue is midnight black.
Cameron: what did you do with your share of the Ellen money?
Emma: little travel-size Connect Four, anniversary gift. it was right there on that lawn Lincoln watching we made love in the grass. splendorous. you held my bald head and i held your head rapidly losing hair from all the stress. we wrapped ourselves in that used plaid multisquared big blanket over there like a burrito.
Cameron: that relieved. and reduced the revolution.
Jaclyn: that was literally one hour ago. remember, i get him on weekends. all your revolutionary talk gets me hot. and this bonfire. got any food, granma? trail mix or Shreddies or something?
Doryce: loves, let's see what i have inside my bulletproof backpack. i'm not one for food at my age, extremely small stomach, mushy teeth, huge bladder. i never did eat a lot.
Gladyce: *scoffing* not even in her youth.
Doryce: *coughing* *for real*
Doryce: that one's not old. a firefly flew up my trachea. oh, i do have these individually-wrapped brioche buns rolls, travel size, from St. Pierre. knock yourselves out. French food is meant to be shared.
Emma: ma'am, what is true love?
Doryce: i'm glad you confided in the expert.
Jaclyn: the other one is sleeping.
Doryce: it's like me and Bama. i muttered the spell while we were whisper-talking, you probably thought me strange and senile and i was just about to tip over and die. he should be coming soon, i hope you meet him.
Bama senses a strange sensation, that's not coming from his shorts this time. it comes from out of his head. he jumps out his dorm window and into a lake. he makes it to the shore without a drop on him.
Bama: nice to meet you. i was a kid once.
Doryce: give mother a hug. my boy, you are sporting a crocodile-tooth rubber necklace! and the Jedi mullet!
the kids laugh.
Bama: strangest dream i ever had. except it wasn't a dream. i was preparing some powder in my kitchenette feature in my dorm room.
Doryce: dormrooms shouldn't have kitchens, that's just weird. warming plates. heating plates if you're rich. kettles for ramen. no dorm dinettes. no dinette sets. you shouldn't be able to cut cucumbers in your dorm room.
Bama: it happened to me again in math class. which is held in the gym so i thought it was the rope. but the ropes in my hair got itchy. this does not happen to men of a certain age. i swam the entire length of the ocean in ten minutes to get to you, to reach you, that's how much i love you.
the kids holla.
Bama: did not take any shortcuts on land. love is not about shortcuts. the waves pummeled my penis but i made it in two pieces. of my swimsuit. here, the kids can have this. it's what remains of my plastic canister of Grape Kool-Aid. they're of age. that stuff is Hell Dust, horrible concoction. it spills everywhere, stains everything it touches, the spiders gravitate to the spots of sweet stickiness, fills the dishwasher in my dormroom with purple slime.
the kids giggle.
Doryce: and it tastes like melted lollipop bubblegum. and you can never find the scoop in those canisters. you start to believe after it's half-empty that there is in fact no scoop in there. you finally get to the buried scoop on your last drop. it's like me on the day of grocery shopping, i always find an unopened bag of lime chips in the cupboard ten minutes before.
the kids pity-laugh.
Bama: you should have seen me! i was storming back there! the water was emptying out in a monstrous wave just behind me! didn't think i'd make it. like it was being funneled through, cycled through to somewhere else.
Doryce: that's recycled. it's being redirected for a greater purpose, neighbor child. trust your elders.
nearby next door, after the row, Strzok and Page spot, locate, and decide on a cottage. to converse and confide Comey.
they notice on their way over a Superman cape in the naked silver fluted trash can outside by the steaming diner. the cape bulges over the lip of the can.