In a car, driving along the dilapidated, crumbling roads of imaginary Cleveland. Every guard rail disintegrates before you can take the turn. There is no off ramp. High over a brick factory courtyard, the vehicle cruises in to land softly in the rubble. Gray sky all around. Freeway running to the side. Broken railings and holes and broken windows visible in the buildings. We sit with other parents in the rubble. I'm wearing socks with no shoes and the socks are very dirty. The other moms next to us are talking nonchalantly about recent events. They are weary yet friendly. The boys go to play with other children in the halls of the school. A rock band sets up to play to the assembly. There are bricks and rocks and rubble everywhere. The kids are missing for some time. I go to tour the band room. It is a 2-story room, set up like a music store with shiny band instruments hanging from the walls, pieces of drums. No students are present, only faculty. The band is finished. I go out to the courtyard to find the kids. They are hidden in some bushes by a tangled anarchist camp. A 10-year-old kid plays with a pair of log-shoes, rapidly slapping them up and down like a stationary penguin. We are all together with the boys and get into a car piled high with garbage and drive out of the rubble.
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