From: curiousgene@gmail.com   
      
   He pulled up the scarf to protect his ears, and looked at the lights,   
   not too distant. The Spring chill always made him think of Ireland,   
   which made him want to find a bar.   
      
   There was a blossoming, a sudden renewal in the dark corners, and it   
   had been a shock to see the people who still found time to tend the   
   places that had once meant so much. Lots of talking. Stories to tell.   
   Meatspace intervened. Jimmy died, the job had more and more work to   
   do, and it seemed like less people to do it. The kids clamoring for   
   attention. Fighting to balance the worlds. Just a trickle charge, a   
   dribble of data, barely enough to stay relevant, consumed in those   
   bare moments when not fixing someone else's machines or driving to   
   another in an endless string of places with broken machines to fix.   
      
   Lights on at the rancho. Poly's probably making tea.   
      
   I can't yet. Soon, though.   
      
      
   --   
   Gene Sullivan  ::  curiousgene@gmail.com  ::  http://curiousgene.com   
   Anytime you want to stop saying "3270" is fine with me.   
                                   -- David P. Murphy   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)