ABSTRACT
'Sorry I'm late,' Wayne Cooperville said. 'Ah, you've ordered your food already. I've been shopping. My daughter wants some sort of American Indian object with copious pink feathers. Now, I ask you. And she needs, absolutely has to have a statue of a dancing Shiva for her altar. My daughter. I understand adolescent rebellion, but have I failed so completely to instil in her a love of reason? She gets it from her mother, along with that sense of otherness. My first wife was so grounded.'
