Of the various things I don’t fully understand about my life, one is why I pay what I do for a cup of coffee.
I was covered in blood, but it wasn’t mine, so it was okay. Not only was it not my blood, but it was all animal blood. If the worst casualty of the night was six chickens and a goat, I could live with it, and so could everyone else. I’d raised seven corpses in one night. It was a record even for me.
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.