A dusty road led out of town in an isolated pasture. The terrain was flat. Q smelled
fragrance from wheat fields a distance away. No traffic or people existed on this road. However, one wooden house with a
shaded porch attracted Q's attention. There was an old man, and Q wondered about such an advanced age for a citizen. The
man sat on the porch. "There is an extra chair," he said.
"My name is Travis."
"Thanks, I could rest for a moment."
"Where are you going?"
"Masters of Opulence. I'm a guitar player.
Q is my name."
"Q," commented Travis. "That is unusual."
"I'm unusual," answered Q. "How old are you? It is odd for someone to
own a house outside of the city, Travis."
"I'm fifty three. However, a person does not just walk up to the Masters
of Opulence talent bureau. You need to be accepted from your home computer to ride the bus. To succeed, you should go back
to the city, go home, and apply."
"I was on the bus," responded Q. "I'm already accepted. I need to get there as fast as possible."
"The
bus passed by an hour ago," said Travis. "This road leads to the Masters of Opulence."
"Fifty three years old. I've never heard of
such a thing."
"I have worked years on my poetry. The smell of the fields enhances me. I'm the best," Travis held a note pad
and a pencil.
"Poetry? Why not enter it into the computer, and you could apply to Masters of Opulence."
"No. I do not crave that. Maybe after I'm dead
someone will appreciate my poems," Travis did not like this conversation. His wife died years ago, but his child had ridden
the MOO bus and never appeared on television or became famous. Travis thought he somehow misunderstood how the system worked.
He did not want anything to do with this Q. "What is that shirt you are wearing?"
