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The Project Gutenberg EBook of 2 B R 0 2 B, by Kurt Vonnegut This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: 2 B R 0 2 B Author: Kurt Vonnegut Release Date: May 3, 2007 [EBook #21279] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 2 B R 0 2 B *** Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Geetu Melwani and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net 2_B_R_0_2_B By Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Transcriber note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If, January 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Got a problem? Just pick up the phone. It solved them all--and all the same way! 2 B R 0 2 B by KURT VONNEGUT, JR. Everything was perfectly swell. There were no prisons, no slums, no insane asylums, no cripples, no poverty, no wars. All diseases were conquered. So was old age. Death, barring accidents, was an adventure for volunteers. The population of the United States was stabilized at forty-million souls. One bright morning in the Chicago Lying-in Hospital, a man named Edward K. Wehling, Jr., waited for his wife to give birth. He was the only man waiting. Not many people were born a day any more. Wehling was fifty-six, a mere stripling in a population whose average age was one hundred and twenty-nine. X-rays had revealed that his wife was going to have triplets. The children would be his first. Young Wehling was hunched in his chair, his head in his hand. He was so rumpled, so still and colorless as to be virtually invisible. His camouflage was perfect, since the waiting room had a disorderly and demoralized air, too. Chairs and ashtrays had been moved away from the walls. The floor was paved with spattered dropcloths. The room was being redecorated. It was being redecorated as a memorial to a man who had volunteered to die. A sardonic old man, about two hundred years old, sat on a stepladder, painting a mural he did not like. Back in the days when people aged visibly, his age would have been guessed at thirty-five or so. Aging had touched him that muc
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