On the road leading out of the city, in the city with all the world in a uproar, in a nation caught somewhere between chaos and liberation, (erring one the side of chaos at this point)buried beneath pounds of grainy, smelly, dry, sandy pebbles, too heavy to give freedom, but too light to blanket the cold, lies a man asleep. The world could be crumbling around him, and in fact it would seem that it is, but this man does not stir. The sand, guided by the muse to settle on this man's legs in such a picturesque, gentle manner has half covered his body with a dense coat nearer to the earth and a thin layer covering the top of his legs.

Finally he stirs because of the shaking from a soldier. He is a soldier himself, a foreigner on hand to aid in the deconstruction of an era concluded to be fit for no civilization or society. His dress matches his surroundings: all shades of tan and brown which is made all the tanner by the very dirt with which he is attempting blend. It covers his face, his clothes, and most of all his feet. These are all fairly appropriate places for dirt, given the circumstances. He could do with out the grimy crunching sound of sand when he bites into his MRE at chow time. Not the satisfying crunching of potato chips or the breading on fried chicken, but crunching that will not satisfying in the least. All the crunch without the satisfaction of actually crushing the item that has infiltrated the teeth and mouth and tastebuds. He cannot quite remember a time in this unfamiliar territory that he has eaten food without the accompaniment of the dirt.

The shaking will not cease.

SOLDIER 2
Get up man, what's wrong with you? You've got sand all over you.

SOLDIER 1
Do I?

SOLDIER 2
Yes, and don't you hear that siren?

SOLDIER 1
Oh, yeah.

SOLDIER 2
Dude that means that we gotta be on alert. Are you listening to the radio?

SOLDIER 1
Turned it off.

SOLDIER 2
Are you crazy? What if there is something going down. It could be coming our way.

SOLDIER 1
I would know it if it were.

The second Soldier gives the soldier on the ground a look and then walks away. The look was half pity, half disgust and all jealousy.