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t (58 of 93) [10/18/2004 5:01:39 PM]
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Jerry%20Davis%20-%20Random%20Acts.tx
t grab me by the arm and pull me toward a black car. The students, still
chanting, grab my other arm and pull me in the opposite direction.
"Fascists! Fascists! Fascists!"
One of the bigger male students, wearing a green army jacket, his face totally
hidden by long brown hair and a patchy beard, leaps on the back of the fascist
who has a hold of me. The man lets go so he can swing at the kid, but Tom
grabs his arm and holds it back. The kid yells
"RUN!" right in my face. I turn and look back at Tom, who is bashing faces
with his fists, and one of the "fascists" breaks from the students and comes
after me. He trips over an outstretched leg and falls face first into the
sidewalk, but I don't hang around to see if he's hurt. I
take the kid's advice and run.
I run down an alley which turns to the left and leads me out onto
Telegraph Avenue, with all its shops and bookstores; they pass in a blur as I
pound the sidewalk and watch the street for a break in the traffic.
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Everything is a bit blurry as I run, and dashing across the street I
suddenly feel dizzy, and I get a uncomfortable feeling in my spine, like it's
making a serpentine movement. I trip over the curb on the other side and fall
onto the sidewalk. Scrambling, I get back to my feet and continue down the
road, feeling more and more dizzy. By the time I reach the next intersection
I'm disoriented, I have no idea which way I was running. I glance back to see
if I'm still being chased, but my vision is still so blurry I can barely make
anything out.
I turn the corner and continue jogging down the sidewalk, stumbling lamely and
blundering into pedestrians, and I cross another street and jog into a large
grassy park. No, I think, this isn't a park, this is the campus. There is no
park over here, not this close to Telegraph. I
must be going the wrong way, so I turn left again and jog down that street. I
don't recognize the area at all, and I still can't read the street signs.
After another block I can see a big patch of blurry green ahead, and some
large buildings. The campus! I've circled right back to it.
Ducking into an empty doorway, I peek back and forth for any obvious signs of
pursuit. Seeing nothing, I crowd back close to the wall and shut my eyes,
waiting for the dizziness to go away. My spine still seems to be making
erratic "S" movements that cause my arms and fingers to tingle, and before it
settles I realize what's going on. "Oh no," I
say out loud, my voice sounding fretful and whiny even to my own ears.
After a few minutes it dies down, and my dizziness goes away. I
open my eyes and look around. The images of the low, flat-roofed buildings
surrounding me are in sharp focus, but they're totally unfamiliar. I know
Berkeley very well, but I've never been here before.
The windows are all round, and the cars passing on the street are long, low,
and have big mag tires.
I step out onto the sidewalk, thinking Now what? What happens next?
There's still no sign of the men in the black suits, so I turn and walk toward
the campus. On the campus grounds I stop short. The buildings are all
different, and to the East there's a big silvery dome. It's a wondrous sight,
but it's also more than a bit upsetting. I thought I was lost before! This, I
tell myself, this is lost.
There's no sign of Tom or the group of students. Feeling bleak and hopeless, I
wander across the campus to see if my apartment building is still where it is
supposed to be. When I reach the other side of the campus, I find neither the
Euclid nor the Escher building; there is, instead, a grocery store. It looks
like a 24-hour place, and the sign says "Windemello Plux!" I wander inside,
wondering if the English language has changed beyond my ability to understand
it.
The young man behind the register is tall, thin, and white. His neck is very
long, making him look freakish. The uniform he's dressed in is white with
vertical red stripes, and he has a hat that reminds me of a beanie minus the
propeller. He looks at me with pale blue eyes as I
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Jerry%20Davis%20-%20Random%20Acts.tx
t (59 of 93) [10/18/2004 5:01:39 PM]
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Jerry%20Davis%20-%20Random%20Acts.tx
t wander around the aisles, staring at the unfamiliar name brands.
There's "Amgood" canned corn, peas, soups, chili, meats --- just about
everything. The labels read, "Buy Amgood, because we am good!"
There's also Yumyum Cola, Bay Beer, Lackfam Frozen Dinners, Laddie
Bread, Mother Russia toiletries, and "Gig!" deodorant. Nothing at all is
familiar. No Coca-Cola, no Budweizer --- no Rainbow Bread.
"Are you having a problem with finding things?" the man with the long neck
asks.
Yes, my apartment building is gone. Of course I don't say this.
"What's the best beer you carry?"
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"Bay is best," he says, sounding like he's been programmed by a thousand
commercials.
Feeling relieved that at least the language is familiar, I pull a bottle out
of the cold section and take it up to the register. I take my wallet out, open
it up, and find it stuffed with blue dollar bills.
Weird. One of them buys the beer and I get change in little rectangular
ingots. They're silver, with ornate engravings stamped into them.
Flipping through the wallet, I find a bizarre-looking drivers license with my
picture on it, and an address in San Francisco. Swigging on the beer --- which
is good, I'm amazed --- I wander back outside, wondering if I have a car. If I
do, I doubt I would recognize it.
Down what used to be Hearst Avenue, where the underground BART
station used to be, is an above-ground BART station. The signs don't read
"BART," though, they read "WC Freerider." As I sit in the station on a bench,
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