She had somewhat of a leopard look from the multitude of small, light brown, circular electrode patches which covered her exposed skin. “W,” she said plaintively, “I have a message for you.”
After double-checking that no one was lurking in the bushes and that there were no drones flying overhead, I opened the door and said, “Come inside, Loraine.”
Loraine was a free-lance journalist that had crossed paths with me a couple of times in the past. Indian sex and they wore masks,” she replied, “I was kneeling in front of a video camera.”
“It looks like I need to check my private telephone for a text,” I said slowly, “and my supposedly hidden email account for additional instructions.” I waited for her to acknowledge that she had heard what I had said and then asked, “Do you need food… It might put a couple of O’s up on your scoreboard for the day.”
“What have I got to lose?” she said, and then answered her own question, “That’s right…
