A bit of glowing never put a hippie off. They knew a thing or two about effluents, and what they couldn’t recycle was nobody’s business.
They loved to get their hands dirty, and as the glow of the Rubik’s Cube glared through the tent wall, they, unlike the other women, had a good idea what to do next.
“We need to lift the statue,” said the cook.
No one said anything.
“Dig underneath.”
“I’m not digging under the likes of that,” said the lead sportswoman.
The others nodded.
“You can shove that up your arse.”
“Unearth . . .” said the cook.
“Unearth? All that glowing stuff? Why not hang a noose around our necks?”
“We need to collect, analyze, and test,” said the cook.
“And film,” said the Alterationist.
“Redirect . . .” said the cook.
“Or upcycle,” said the Alterationist.
“You ca
