"Senator," Doctor Paulson was almost as old as Jones. "We have always maintained your rare blood type. I've been a doctor half your adult life."

"I appreciate your confidentiality concerning my blood type," the last thing Senator Jones wanted was to be identified as some sort of privileged blue blood.

"AB negative," Doctor Paulson when young worked in a military hospital. O was the common blood. But for a rare guy like Jones, transplants needed to fit certain criteria.

"All I want to do is stay alive as long as possible and live out my retirement"

"In a poor part of the city we found a potential candidate for your medical procedures. At the same time you received the heart..."

"The sex pervert was a swimmer. Never drank, smoked, or overate," Senator Jones interrupted.

"...yes, I understand that," Doctor Paulson continued. "I have to tell you, at the same time we found a 45 year old derelict in the poor part of town. He was in a charity hospital, and he had AB negative blood."

"Get his name on file," said the Senator. "Maybe I'll need him later for some reason."

"He is on file," Doctor Paulson held a manila folder and stepped to open the door to exit the examination room. "Greene. John Greene, brief army career, menial jobs, never married. Age 45. But he saw his hospital file. He saw your name and highlighted yellow about AB negative blood. John Greene is smart. He knew the blood was rare and valuable."

Johnny gave up his name and changed to Q for show business. Now he was on his way to the Masters of Opulence talent agency. Travis felt alright about Q leaving to go find his guitar. Travis never went that way. However, he saw the MOO bus twice a day. It drove to the rich part of town empty and returned at noon with "the ten Elvises" as they were called.

“I should be going with you,” Travis waved at his t-shirt. Q lacked musical talent equal to that of Travis. However, Travis inherited this house on the outskirts of the city. The farm produced enough. Travis, now elderly, never desired to be noteworthy or famous. He was happy just to live. Now, Robertson would be on TV momentarily to make a speech so Travis went inside.

Q felt optimistic, the beautiful fragrance of a three foot tall wheat field aerated the narrow road. No vehicles or people were apparent. Now, Q noticed the hard, dirt road showed treads of vehicles which periodically drove this direction south of the city. Still, he could not see the Masters of Opulence enterprise. It needed to be large, Q thought.

“Goodbye, Travis,” Q could mail a postcard from the good part of town.

Travis descended to the basement where he had neglected to show Q several features. Travis owned extensive historical items and maintained a valuable exhibit downstairs. However, there existed a weapons room and something called a fallout shelter from before the war. Twenty or thirty people could survive an insurrection in the basement. Now, Travis turned on the screen. Robertson seemed like the only one making sense these days.

“Hello viewers,” Robertson disliked not being able to see the technicians controlling the camera and computer relays. “You know I love you all. Always support and vote for me. I will be your Senator one day, and we all know it. But a problem has come up I must address. Our wonderful Masters of Opulence talent agency has been compromised.”

Travis wondered if Robertson was ill. Robertson glanced nervously around. No doubt, Senator Jones had spies here.

“Q, he is called. I want him found today. This man disregarded the wonderful opportunity, the privilege of becoming rich and famous. He was granted a seat on the daily MOO bus. An honor. His guitar made it to the MOO facility south of the city.”

Travis disliked this tirade. Something was wrong with Robertson. And Q continued on the dirt road through the wheat fields expecting to see the MOO facility. Maybe, he thought, he would become privileged and meet top leaders like Robertson. Maybe.