A wonder working power in the precious...

...credible as they seem are not the results of mass stereo...

You may wish to adjust the dial.

You're currently tuned to the wrong station. I'm Now that the dust is settled, now that the parliamentary hearings are done, and Cress and I and all the others cleared of any wrongdoing,

now that we're all able to walk around like ordinary people, I sometimes let myself think it's over.

And maybe that's for the best, because I don't know what was going on in any of their heads,

and I don't know if they deserve the praise or blame for anything that happened,

or for any of the people that they did or did not kill.

All I know is what happened in my own head, and I still see the after-images at night,

blooms of fire, green and blue on the black screen inside my head.

I'd been in the pen for two years when Max Menard got transferred back to my range.

Handsome guy, light-skinned Haitian Quebecer with blue eyes.

Max was everybody's friend.

Even the white nationalists liked him in a grudging sort of way.

But struck me as odd to see him again.

People didn't usually get transferred back in.

My cellmate Farooz was a political prisoner, a red.

He'd been in a lot longer than me.

People in the range treated him with almost as much respect as the lifers.

See that? He told me the afternoon Max got shown back in. That's a setup. Max sat down across from me at lunch a few days later.

Hey, hey, long time, no see. It was what we all said to each other every day as a joke.

The fact that it actually had been about eight months, almost made it funny.

...