American Occupation
A man lives with his wife in a modest building. The buildings in the neighborhood are built of red brick, concrete and stucco. It is like an abandoned commercial district, converted to living quarters.
There is a large bridge here. It is only two lanes, maybe four. One day, (for a reason unknown to me) foreign troops seize the bridge. They establish a post at the bottom of the bridge. One lane remains open. Near the top, they park a tank. The tank has a curvy turret.

A white car attempts to ignore the control station at the bridge base and drives around it. The guards open fire with a machine gun. The car rolls to a stop.
Next, I see one of the foreign men. He is not in military clothing. But, attached to his arm is what looks like the barrel of a Gatling gun. He has on his back a pack. Suddenly, he lifts off with the pack. He rises above the rooftops.

His friends laugh at him. Teasing, they are asking if he will crash when he comes down. This is new equipment for them. Only one man has this, and he is inexperienced. However, he successfully floats down the street at an elevation of about fifteen or twenty feet above the road. He checks the alleys for three blocks up, then returns. His cohorts watch somewhat seriously during this operation- the flyer is checking for potential American oppositions.
Part 2
The bridge occupiers are packing up their gear. Vehicles freely cross the bridge in both directions.

The local man is watching the soldiers play futbol. He is listening to their language. Miri! one man yells as he kicks back a ball fired at the goal by an opponent.
One of the men has come over to talk with the mans wife. He tells her that he is Dutch. The husband walks over and looks at the man. Like the other soldiers, he wears civilian clothes. He has dark hair, brown eyes and a rich almond-colored skin. The man listens to the soldier talk for a moment. Then he says, You are not Dutch. You are not even European.

The soldier looks at the man. He doesnt move, but his jaw slackens and his eyes narrow. The soldier stares hard at the local man for a moment, then walks away without comment. After a few minutes, the soldiers unit leader arrives.

The local man has gone to the common latrine area. This is like an old military barracks latrine, or the restroom at a multiplex cinema. The unit leader sees the man as he approaches a latrine. Go ahead, he says, gesturing with his head toward the urinal.

No thanks. What do you want? says the local. In condescending tones, the unit leader tells them how his men have trained for subjugating the people.
We are taught, he says, to beat you like this He moves his arm as if striking the upper arm. Then, bending slightly, he swings toward the local mans thigh, then arm, then thigh. He repeats the strikes about three times. The local man is not comfortable. There does not seem to be any other power to which the man can turn.

Part 3
The local man is meeting with his father. He tells him that he and his wife want to leave America. I want you to come with us, dad, he says.

Where will you go? asks the father.

I dont know. Maybe India.

India!? answers the older man. I see he wears an orange-brown leather jacket. It is light material, a stylish jacket from the 70s.

I am not going, states the father. Saying nothing, he tells his father goodbye.

Just then, three tall Latino men walk past. They look at the fathers car- a long black luxury car with an excellent polish. The three give a polite greeting. Passing, the men talk in low tones, then turn back.

The local man is already walking down the street away from his father. One of the three Latinos walks after him. The other two approach the father.
When the son gets to his fathers car, he finds his father shot dead. Lying in pool of blood, he is in the field, fifteen feet from the car. Someone nearby with a rifle sees the murder and shoots the two Latino murderers. The son thanks the shooter.
Part 4
The local man is at a wedding. This is still America. There is a group of Americans, black and Hispanic, standing near a paddy-wagon. Here, there are also some Eastern European police. (They look like some Romanians, but the uniforms are Dutch police.)