Visions of Apartment-Sized Cows

The effects of Texas linger. I begin to conjure up visions of small cows. Cows small enough to come into the apartment via their own cow door. They will graze in the fuzzier regions of the brown carpeting, ruminating, mooing softly, swishing their tiny tails. Fronds fallen from my houseplants will nourish them.

By day, the herd will read physics books, write compilers, amuse each other by performing Shakespearean vignettes, start usenet newsgroups, and watch Ricki Lake. They will document their Time To Market processes and heed the siren song of Total Quality Management; their numbers will swell, but cautiously, sustainably.

By night, I will tread among the sleeping animals with care. No inadvertant cow-tipping when I awaken thirsty in the middle of the night. No accidental stampedes.

It is odd what we bring back with us from our travels.


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