"'68," the U.P. man said faintly. "It didn't happen in '68, not '67."
The A.P. man smashed a fist into the palm of his hand and swore. "God-damn," he said. "Some day I'd like to—" He broke off and was bitterly silent.
The U.P. man must have been a little dislocated with shock and quite drunk to talk the way he did. "Me too," he said. "Like to tell the story. Maybe it was '67 not '68. I'm not sure now. Can't write it down so the details get lost and then after a while it didn't happen at all. Revolution'd be good deal. But it takes people t' make revolution. People. With eyes 'n ears. 'N memories. We make things not-happen an' we make people not-see an' not-hear...." He slumped back against the corridor wall, nursing his burned hand. The others were watching him, very scared.
Then the A.
