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Poem	The new ergonomics were delivered just before lunchtime so we ignored them. Without revealing the particulars let me just say that lunch was most satisfying. Jack and Roberta went with the corned beef for a change. Jack believes in alien abduction and Roberta does not, although she has had several lost weekends lately and one or two unexplained scars on her buttocks. I thought I recognized someone from my childhood at a table across the room, the same teeth, the same hair, but when he stood-up, I wasn't sure, Squid with a red tie? Impossible. I finished my quiche lorraine and returned my thoughts to Jack's new jag: "Well, I guess anything's possible. People disappear all the time, and most of them have no explanation when and if they return. Look at Tony's daughter and she's never been the same." Jack was looking as if he'd bet on the right horse now. "And these new ergonomics, who really designed them? Does anybody know? Do they tell us anything? A name, an address? Hell no." Squid was paying his bill in a standard-issue blue blazer. He looked across the room at me several times. He looked tired, like he wanted to sleep for a long time in a barn somewhere, in Kansas. I wanted to sleep there, too.
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