," Art said, wishing he had Audie's gift for changing the subject. "Sounds
great. But. Well, you know. Gotta catch up with friends here in Toronto. It's
been a while, you know. Well." The image of sharing a smoke-filled dome with
Alphie's naked, cross-legged, sweat-slimed paunch had seared itself across his
waking mind.

"No? Geez. Too bad. I'd really hoped that we could reconnect, you and me and
Alphie. We really should spend some more time together, keep connected, you
know?"

"Well," Art said. "Sure. Yes." Relations or no, Audie and Alphie were basically
strangers to him, and it was beyond him why Audie thought they should be
spending time together, but there it was. *Reconnect, keep connected.* Hippies.
"We should. Next time I'm in Canada, for sure, we'll get together, I'll come to
Ottawa. Maybe Christmas. Skating on the canal, OK?"

"Very good," Audie said. "I'll pencil you in for Christmas week. Here, I'll send
you the wish lists for Alphie and Enoch and me, so you'll know what to get."

Xmas wishlists in July. Organized hippies! What planet did his cousins grow up
on, anyway?

"Thanks, Audie. I'll put together a wishlist and pass it along to you soon, OK?"
His bladder nagged at him. "I gotta run now, all right?"

"Great. Listen, Art, it's been, well, great to talk to you again. It really
makes me feel whole to connect with you. Don't be a stranger, all right?"

"Yeah, OK! Nice to talk to you, too. Bye!"

"Safe travels and wishes fulfilled," Audie said.

"You too!"

25.

Now I've got a comm, I hardly know what to do with it. Call Gran? Call Audie?
Call Fede? Login to an EST chat and see who's up to what?

How about the Jersey clients?

There's an idea. Give them everything, all the notes I built for Fede and his
damned patent application, sign over the exclusive rights to the patent for one
dollar and services rendered (i.e., getting me a decent lawyer and springing me
from this damned hole).

My last lawyer was a dickhead. He met me at the courtroom fifteen minutes before
the hearing, in a private room whose fixtures had the sticky filthiness of a
bus-station toilet. "Art, yes, hello, I'm Allan Mendelson, your attorney. How
are you?

He was well over 6'6", but weighed no more than 120 lbs and hunched over his
skinny ribs while he talked, dry-washing his hands. His suit looked like the
kind of thing you'd see on a Piccadilly Station homeless person, clean enough
and well-enough fitting, but with a