Project Tapestry
Copyright 2000 e. blakemore
(to the windowsill)

December 14, 1980 (c)

On the bus again; it finally rolls to a stop on the far side of the bay. We all get out of the bus, climbing through the emergency exit at the rear. The spot where we stop looks like a place my schoolbus used to stop in the foothills of the Colorado mountains. Everyone on the bus — nearly everyone — speaks and understands Chinese.

One of these odd relay races is proceeding down the hill toward us. There is a building like the 76 Club — a honky-tonk, shit-kicker sort of country bar — but it is really either a cannery or an import warehouse. It is on the shore.

The relay race comes at us and the racers are continually making running deals, negotiating trades of all sorts, as they run down the hill. The rule is that the runners must continually dicker to one another in order to finish the race, and do so without bringing up the wrong sort of information.

Eventually, after the runners have talked to us they proceed toward the warehouse on the shore.

(utter nonsense)