With the hunter's sharpknife he trimmed away first the collar, then the sleeves. Only thestrange material of the buttons and design now marked him out...as avisitor to this world, that and the odd bag he still carried.It seemed an age until once again eight knots sat upon the cord aroundhis waist. They both knew what that now meant. That night he sat anddrank the last of the water he had carried this far. The sensation itproduced was becoming familiar to him, and he felt oddly wistful thathe. Was too early to arise on a Saturdaymorning. He pulled a pillow over his eyes and driftedback to sleep.Across town, the extremely fit fifty-three old RickTodd scanned the newspaper as he drank black coffeefrom a mug that read “World’s Best Granddad” and ate aprepackaged blueberry muffin. He stretched and folderthe periodical as he decided to head into the officeto knock out some of the work that had been piling upin his office. He made no effort to alert hisslumbering partner. More

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