"Patterns in the light?"
"Yes. Patterns in everything," says Xenthor-3 as he licks his paws clean.
Harriet impatiently stares off into the distance. In her mind, she has two things. First, when can she get back to her home-ec meetings at the school and the second, when can she have another cigarette.
After the buzz she attains from bleaching the kitchen, she runs into the the bathroom to get an ultra whiff of "Tylex Improved."
"That's not all," she says straight into the invisible camera that follows her around every where she goes remembering the layout of the Barbie dream house that her life has become. "I just love the buzz from that microwave." The dream of having as many shoes as her torpedo-laden heroine, has come true.
"Corn dogs? Coming up soon. Buzz..." her arms dance in the air as if she's being culture-jammed right out of her favorite tribal dance that used to inspire such thoughts as patterns for clay pots, different way to encode information on the sheets that she weaves so that her daughter's daughter's daughter's daughter's^40 daughter could eventually decipher it and turn on an old dirty name named Babbage into developing a bigger and bigger machine. "Oh, baby, how many thousand instructions per day?"