At the foot of a foreign hill, at a picnic table, we were taken prisoner.
Our souls had been loafing on the dried mudflats on the other side of the river. We had noticed them several times before. Without warning, they became police.
We were bound and blindfolded and manipulated. They were cutting out our pockets, we surmised. They threw our empty bodies into the muddy water to be carried far away from them.
Far downriver, we climbed ashore. We drove home. Eventually, we returned to the apparently profitable work of living our lives.