Duncan stared in confusion at the vacant lot, then double-checked his GPS and the order receipt. The address was correct, but there was no house. When he looked up again, half a dozen young girls were staring at him from the sidewalk. Nervously, Duncan rolled down his window.
“You got pizza?” the smallest shouted.
“Uh, yeah.” A brown-skinned girl in an oversize flannel marched forward and held out her arms. Duncan blinked then handed over the stack of boxes from his passenger seat. “Are you . . . girl scouts or something?”
“We’re anarchists!” the little one announced.
“Oh, right,” she replied, “We’re secret anarchists!”
“Aren’t you all a little young to be anarchists?”
The girls exchanged knowing glances. “We are the women of the future,” flannel girl said.
Another continued, “If we are to be free women tomorrow, we have to dismantle oppressive power structures today.”
“Alright,” Duncan said, “then which of you revolutionaries can pay me?”
One of the girls shoved a plastic bag through the car window. Inside Duncan found a collection of markers and pens, three barbies, and a flashlight.
“Sorry,” flannel answered, “we don’t believe in currency.” And before Duncan could protest, the girls had scattered.