It all worked very easily. Elodie dragged her fingertips across the rubber buttons on the remote. It all worked smoothly, the system having been perfected and reperfected over decades and much like how one eventually figured out the immaculate way to fix the cogs of a clock, someone had figured out how to perfect this. The remote.

Natalie wasn't the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but she was a freakishly talented masseuse. Her massages could reduce the most tightly wound person to an almost coma-like state of relaxation. Which is where I was right now. Flat on my back, lying naked on a massage table. Natalie's strong yet supple hands kneaded the last iota of tension out of my head and neck.

Natalie whispered in my right ear, almost apologetically, "All done. Time to get up. Easy, though. Don't move too fast."

Sam parked her car, took the keys out of the ignition, and walked up to the water machine.

The machine was meant for filling large water bottles. Sam deposited a few coins, and was about to press the button for one gallon. Then, she was struck by an idea.

She looked down at her flat stomach. It was very visible, as she had made sure to wear a loose top and stretch pants. As she rubbed it eagerly, she thought about what she was about to do.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and Mother Nature had served up a typical late November storm, a storm that made up for what it lacked in force with sheer persistence. It'd kept up a steady rhythm on the roof of the tent all of yesterday and looked to be continuing through today. I'd finished today's newspaper hours ago, down to the crossword puzzle. The only stations we could get on the old radio were fading in and out of static, making listening an exercise in frustration, something neither of us needed more of.