August 2002: Night Meeting

           Beforegoingupintothebluehills,TomasGomezstoppedforgasolineatthelonelystation.

           "Kindofaloneouthere,aren’tyou,Pop?"saidTomas.

           Theoldmanwipedoffthewindshieldofthesmalltruck."Notbad."

           "HowdoyoulikeMars,Pop?"

           "Fine.Alwayssomethingnew.ImadeupmymindwhenIcameherelastyearIwouldn’texpectnothing,norasknothing,norbesurprisedatnothing.We’vegottoforgetEarthandhowthingswere.We’vegottolookatwhatwe’reinhere,andhowdifferentitis.Igetahellofalotoffunoutofjusttheweatherhere.It’sMartianweather.Hotashelldaytimes,coldashellnights.Igetabigkickoutofthedifferentflowersanddifferentrain.IcametoMarstoretireandIwantedtoretireinaplacewhereeverythingisdifferent.Anoldmanneedstohavethingsdifferent.Youngpeopledon’twanttotalktohim,otheroldpeopleborehelloutofhim.SoIthoughtthebestthingformeisaplacesodifferentthatallyougottodoisopenyoureyesandyou’reentertained.Igotthisgasstation.Ifbusinesspicksuptoomuch,I’llmoveonbacktosomeotheroldhighwaythat’snotsobusy,whereIcanearnjustenoughtoliveonandstillhavetimetofeelthedifferentthingshere."

           "Yougottherightidea,Pop,"saidTomas,hisbrownhandsidlyonthewheel.Hewasfeelinggood.Hehadbeenworkinginoneofthenewcoloniesfortendaysstraightandnowhehadtwodaysoffandwasonhiswaytoaparty.

           "I’mnotsurprisedatanythinganymore,"saidtheoldman.