Don't tell me what to do!

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That simple message burned itself into my skullmeat, pushing pushing me to more extreme levels of discomfort. I couldn't help the way I felt about being a fan of science fiction. Raisins held no interest for those of us who chose to make the Big Journey. The sand in my shoes was floating to the surface of my awareness. "Irritating", I thought, and stopped under a Wandering Jewfro tree to kick them off and shake the grit from stubborn, moist socks. White socks. Less trouble when dealing with the Chinese. They don't go for all that pretension.

Still thinking about the message, I reflected on the reflector that captured the information that currently danced and scurried in my forehead. It was made of weasels and Teflon, svelte and functional in it's appearance and guaranteed to blow your mind.