The letter ended with a brief but firm postscript that the museum in question wanted to avoid any notoriety that might come with the publication of th...s journal. Furthermore, with their delivery of the package to its rightful owner, the firm's obligation to any involved party was now ended.The letter raised far more questions than it answered. Who wrote the diary and when? Who donated it to the museum and how were they related to me? What museum would not want an original document from probably. No, hearth had come to be the one concrete she could put any faith in. The rest was too abstract. Meanwhile, the boy of her dreams dreamt up combinations of purity and sex with Denise in the dirtiest corners of Texaco gas stations across America, graffitied stalls offering nothing but serrated wit, timeless advice… and, of course, the ambiance. Denise sighed for a happy family of robins, who were in perfect health. That they hadn’t already high-tailed it south, three weeks ago, didn’t even. Has he been to the V.A.?”“Could he stay in my apartment?”“I don’t know. I’ll come over when I get to complex and we can talk.”“Okay, then!”“Bye, Clarence!”“Okay, Bernadette! Don’t forget to stop by!”“I won’t! Bye bye!”Bernadette hung up and brought her black 2013 Mercedes-Benz S-Class sedan to a stop outside of the cafe. She went inside and ordered a cream cheese muffin and a large black coffee. She ate inside the shop.Over at the complex, one of the residents was in the office laughing with. Are you the answer?" Scott said."We are."His mind went blank. What was he supposed to do now?"We appreciate your – flexibility," the man thing said. "Others of your kind would not be so – predisposed – to our existence." Why am I here?"Jobe butted Scott's hand, demanding attention."We are," the thing said, "as you surmise, alien to this world. We do not perceive existence as you do. This interface will allow us to communicate."Scott scratched Jobe's head."Are you responsible for what I am?".