How does one arrive at such a destination? Is it science or was it supernatural?
I hoisted myself over the door of the Caddy, fought off the fear in the pit of my stomach, opened the gate, and bounded towards the door.
“Mother! Mother!” a boy’s voice cried out involuntarily as I crossed the threshold.
No one answered. But a man emerged from the half bathroom under the stairs.
“Do you live here?” I asked. “No”, he said, “I’m the plumber”.
“Is this Main Street? With a wave of his arm he indicated the sliding door separating the entrance from the living space. “Yup”, he said, “it’s in there”.
The studio was empty, the floor and stage strewn with placards and confetti. The cameras, left unattended, recorded nothing; the consoles controlling banks of screens sat unmanned. The room had no roof, but rather a giant dome such as found in capitol buildings. In the open lid sat a great balloon. For ballast, it carried millions upon millions of smaller balloons; with strings attached, such as little children might delight in. The only sound was a quiet hiss as the hot air machine filled the giant craft with propellant.
Suddenly, craft lifted away. A deluge of red white and blue engulfed me, the snapping and popping of the balloons beat me down onto the stage. As this torrent swirled around me, the ship returned to the heavens. When the bursting ended, everything had disappeared.
Once again, I was alone in the desert. The sands swirled about in a wan dawn. My Volkswagen was covered by the dust. All that remained, by the side of the highway, were four characters. They were faint and being covered in time by the shifting sands. I rushed towards them, hoping to find a message, an explanation, that would reveal to me the sublimity of “Main Street vs. Wall Street”
2012.
All it said was, 2012.
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