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� � � e x � � � � * � � ? % ] ( � � � � � � � � Out by the ____________, just south of a dirty little town called ______, Walter Cannon woke up in a wet bed. Midday sun was pouring in through the aged barnboard slats; the moisture could have been sweat. But the burning smell gave it away; it was urine. Walter groaned. Pussy jumped six feet down from a cranny in the corner above the bed, landing on Walter�s chest. Walter oofed. Pussy purred, rubbing her black fur all up and down against Walter�s stubbly face. Then she contoured her body against Walter�s ribcage, and lay there purring.
�Aw, get up, baby,� Walter said, �I don�t think you want to lie there just now.�
She did not get up until he did. The tired bed plunked and pinged as he rolled out of it. His feet padded across the gruelingly swept barnboard (patched in places with fresh plywood) floor. Now that she knew he was up for the day, Pussy began to wander around the shack, coming and going along with the grasshoppers and june-bugs through the half-open door.
Not until Walter was standing naked, looking out the shack�s lone window at the white-hot puffs of cloud, thinking for the umpteenth time and the first time that day, I don�t have a job!, did he remember a part of last night�s dream that had scared the piss out of him. But he couldn�t remember all of the dream, only one flash, a word image, so he kept saying that part over and over, feeling like a crazy prophet in a bad movie with no plot.
�Technologies overlap.� Technologies overlap.��
He downed a cup of hobo coffee, winced, and spat out the grinds. Pussy pounced dramatically in, hazy in the sunlight that angled through the doorway. She looked all bushy, covered with grass. She loves it here, Walter thought, and the thought cheered him.
�C�mere, kiddo,� he called. �I�m a show you how to make bread with no water and no heat.�
But she was already gone, dashing back out the door like a streak of soot that hung in the air, then vanished.
An irridescent teal fly with big blue eyes looped in the window, sounding like a tiny weed-eater. It circled Walter a few times, then hovered near his jet-black pubic hair.
�What, are you looking for something?� Walter asked. �You too?� He waved the bug away, and it disappeared. �Let�s see. What�s on my schedule today?�
Nothing was, of course. Shortly Walter decided to go down to the creek to pick stinging nettle leaves for a salad. He almost remembered to put on a pair of shorts first.
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