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I enter numbers into spreadsheets. This is my job. I am thirty-four years old. I work at a data processing center in rural Kansas. I live in a trailer outside Wichita. I drive a ten-year-old Ford. I eat cereal for dinner most nights.I am not a genius. I never was. I went to community college, dropped out, got a job entering numbers into spreadsheets, and have been doing it ever since. I am, by any reasonable measure, an unremarkable man. The Sequence arrived on a Tuesday in November. It was transmitted from an unknown source in the direction of the constellation Lyra. The Very Large Array in New Mexico received it,...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 56 Views 0 previzualizare
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I've been doing this job fifteen years. Fifteen years of watching rich people travel through time and come back with stories they'll tell at dinner parties. I don't judge them. I get paid to watch them. That's the deal.The name's Tom Calloway. I live in a apartment in Harlem, drive a '58 Ford that needs a new carburetor, and on weekends I sit in Central Park and watch the leaves fall. It's not much of a life, but it's honest. The client that day was a fat man named Harrington. Sixty years old, maybe more, with a face like a pudding that had been left out too long. He wore a suit that cost more than my annual...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 28 Views 0 previzualizare
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The celebration dinner was everything Sebastian Crawford had dreamed of and everything he had known, from the moment he sat at the head of the table, would not be enough.The dining room of the Crawford mansion sat atop the hill overlooking Manchester, all marble floors and crystal chandeliers and oil paintings of men who had made their fortunes in wool and now made their fortunes in cotton. Seven long tables had been pushed together to accommodate the forty guests—mill owners, bankers, two members of Parliament, and a lord whose title was older than the factory...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 20 Views 0 previzualizare
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The coyote was eating kindling in the woodpile. Dale Hargrove watched her from the doorway of his trailer, a piece of dried ham in his hand that he had been saving for dinner. She looked up at him. He looked at her. She went back to eating.He threw her the ham. She took it. Didn't run. Dale went back inside and sat on the couch and listened to the wood stove make a sound like a dying animal and thought about the mine that had closed ten years ago and the lungs that were filling with dust and the children who lived in Columbus and Louisville and sent money sometimes but not enough and didn't call at all. --- She came back the next...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 7 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Dinner and the ReceiptThe restaurant was on High Street, the kind of place where the menus had pictures and the water came in glasses with condensation running down the sides. Richard Webster ordered for both of them. He ordered a nice meal—grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, a side of mashed potatoes. He did this without asking Marcus what he wanted, because Richard had always decided things for other people, and...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 44 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Dinner at East 78th StreetThe teapot was not supposed to be on the table. Daniel had been clear about that: "It's a merger dinner, Grace. Western service. Crystal glasses, linen napkins, the works. No—" But Grace had already placed it there, centered on the white tablecloth like a challenge, and Daniel had looked at it, looked at her, and decided that arguing at seven o'clock on the night of the most important dinner of...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 18 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Dinner at East 78th StreetThe teapot was not supposed to be on the table. Daniel had been clear about that: "It's a merger dinner, Grace. Western service. Crystal glasses, linen napkins, the works. No—" But Grace had already placed it there, centered on the white tablecloth like a challenge, and Daniel had looked at it, looked at her, and decided that arguing at seven o'clock on the night of the most important dinner of...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 32 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Dinner at East 78th StreetThe teapot was not supposed to be on the table. Daniel had been clear about that: "It's a merger dinner, Grace. Western service. Crystal glasses, linen napkins, the works. No—" But Grace had already placed it there, centered on the white tablecloth like a challenge, and Daniel had looked at it, looked at her, and decided that arguing at seven o'clock on the night of the most important dinner of...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 31 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Dinner at East 78th StreetThe teapot was not supposed to be on the table. Daniel had been clear about that: "It's a merger dinner, Grace. Western service. Crystal glasses, linen napkins, the works. No—" But Grace had already placed it there, centered on the white tablecloth like a challenge, and Daniel had looked at it, looked at her, and decided that arguing at seven o'clock on the night of the most important dinner of...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 14 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Dinner at East 78th StreetThe teapot was not supposed to be on the table. Daniel had been clear about that: "It's a merger dinner, Grace. Western service. Crystal glasses, linen napkins, the works. No—" But Grace had already placed it there, centered on the white tablecloth like a challenge, and Daniel had looked at it, looked at her, and decided that arguing at seven o'clock on the night of the most important dinner of...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 42 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Dinner at Little ItalyAct I: The Early Bird Rita Marchetti was making arrabbiata sauce when the key turned in the front door. She knew it was Sal because only Sal used that key with that particular combination of force and frustration—the kind of key-turn that said: the world has disappointed me again, and I am here to complain about it to the walls. "Rita!" Sal's voice filled the kitchen the way his body filled...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 26 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Wistful DinnerThe invitation arrived on a Tuesday, which Arthur felt was the most insulting day of the week — too ordinary for grief, too mundane for ceremony. It was printed on thick cream card, the sort of paper that had survived the war while everything else had not. The words were embossed: "You are cordially invited to a dinner in honour of those who came home." Those who came home. Arthur's fingers...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 18 Views 0 previzualizare
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