She slurped the drink down in one gulp and demanded another. I gave her what she asked for and retired to my room. Eventually the noise died down, and...there was a knock on the door of my room. My mother, barely understandable, slurred: "Cathy's drunk, will you take her home?" I shook my head in feigned disgust and grabbed my keys. I had to half-carry Aunt Cathy to the car and pour her into her seat.As I drove the four blocks to her house, I couldn't help noticing her legs. They were long, lean. She’d put countless petaflops (this is figurative-she had, of course, counted them) into solving the problem. She’d done the research. She’d scanned the conversation carefully, waiting, but her kairos had eluded her once again. Perhaps it was a human thing-some secret intuition-bearing structure her lab monkeys hadn’t manage to ferret out of their many medical cadavers. Maybe it really was an intractable metaphysical problem-a soul or something that she lacked the voodoo to steal. She dropped. More

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