Vesta off Bolivia

Date: 4/14/2019

It is the end of the world and there's no water in any toilets so everybody is shitting on the ground. There are dried poops rolling around everywhere, like tumble weeds. Some people are pooping in dry toilets, taken off the pipes and moved closer into their bedrooms, and I wonder how we will clean them out and put them back on pipes, if the water ever comes back. My husband, G, is driving me to a union meeting at the College. We are riding a Vesta, which is a narrow, sideways skateboard-like platform on two wheels with a long T handle bar coming up in the middle, at the front, that you hold onto. To go faster, you tip the handle forward and to slow or stop, you pull it back towards you. G is very comfortable riding it so I just hang onto my side lightly and let him drive. We are very fast on the highway and I am afraid that I might tip forward and fall off, but I don't. G drops me off at a house near Willowdale, where DaveA, another union officer, is going to take me to the meeting. G pulls up on the driveway around a derelict car, beside Dave's 50's bungalo, and I can see him through the window, in a corner on the floor beside the couch with the TV on, under his heavy black coat. He's in one of his moods. G leaves and I knock on the door. Dave doesn't want to drive two on his Vesta that he also bought from CA. Says it is too dangerous. He does anyway but it is a shaky ride and we have to step off many times to regain balance. He curses and complains all the way. I say nothing There are dried poops rolling everywhere around the college grounds. Inside, people are sitting on dry toilets and reclining on marble benches around ten or more mini-colosseum pits built into the marble floors,. Like Roman-esque symposium meetings. I can see a group of excited young people climbing up and around a pit 30 metres from us, but can't hear what they are laughing about. Still, it feels good to see their spirit. At another, further away, more heavy, dignified, old men walk alone towards their pits wearing decorative straw togas and carrying long staffs. At our pit, we are discussing the Waters of Bolivia, which have been moving ever closer, now at the old Buffalo Border. On the way out, I see DA in a passionate embrace in a dark cloak room, with Nikki from Y&R, who is evil upper mgmt. I am sad that he has gone to the Dark Side but know he can no longer be saved. He meets me by the back door and again complains about the safety of the Vesta. I tell him it is easy for me to take a bus home. He is going to drive with Nikki in her car. Back home, I suggest to G that when the end is imminent, we ride the Vesta together at full speed off the edge of Bolivia into the warm Bolivian Sea. I picture the wide, slow-motion arc of our fall from the cliff edge to the dark blue waves, sea gulls calling, against an Indigo sky with hazy white moon, like the kids on their flying bicycle in ET.