Strange Perceptions by Chuck Heintzelman Page B

left Thursday 2:13pm"
    “Mr. Gardner, this is the Department of Licensing Automated Renewal System again. Perhaps you are unaware that driving with an expired license is a class two misdemeanor with maximum jail time of six months. Our Breeze-E Pass records show you passing two different toll booths today. Please contact your local Department of Licensing office at 555-4149 immediately. Have a nice day.”
    "Next message left Thursday 8:53pm"
    “Hey Al, it’s Jimbo! Get your butt over to O’Hanley’s. We’re arguing over one of your theories. The one about fluoride. Does it dumb us down or make us docile like sheep? I can’t remember. Get over here and I’ll buy you a cold one. I know it’s a Thursday night but, hey, it’s not like you have to be at work tomorrow, is it?”
    "End of new messages."

    "You have one new message and six saved messages.
    "First new message."
    “Mr. Gardner, this is the Department of Licensing Automated Renewal System again. We are worried about you. You have ignored our repeated attempts to contact you. We have generated a comprehensive behavioral analysis as mandated by the United States Health Care Freedom Act and have discovered several disturbing items. Your recent bank activity shows not only tobacco purchases, but an inordinate amount of alcohol purchases. This combined with your refusal to schedule your annual physical shows a blatant disregard for your health. Your lack of employment may indicate depression. Your public library record indicates possible subversive tendencies. These facts have raised a red flag. In order to protect both you and those around you we have issued a warrant for your immediate arrest. Have a nice day.”
    "End of new messages."

Fantastic Goulash in the Streets
    Favel pushed the shopping cart containing her fake possessions into the alley next to the warehouse. One thing was certain, no way was she going to join dozens of Lowers inside the warehouse. How stupid to put yourself in a confined space and be trapped like rats. Why make it easy for the Uppers to disappear you?
    She scanned the side of the warehouse, looking for a window to watch the gathering through. If she couldn’t find one Jesper could always tell her what happened afterwards—if there was an afterwards.
    She could hear the speaker’s muffled voice. It was Mr. Grady, the vegetable merchant from the Eastside Market. Each week he brought goods from country farmers to the City to sell or barter from his market stand. He was a good man. A generous man. More than once he’d given damaged merchandise to Favel and other Lowers. Nothing wrong with a bruised melon or misshapen squash, but the Uppers wouldn’t touch them. Uppers were too good for anything but perfect produce.
    The crowd inside the warehouse cheered. Favel cringed. What was he saying? The crowd quieted down and Mr. Grady’s muffled voice continued. She strained to make out his words but couldn’t.
    Shadows created too many hiding places in the alley. Favel was on high alert, ready to bolt at the first sign of ambush. Her cart contained nothing valuable, well not much anyway. She’d miss the atom cooker, but everything else was worthless—bait in case she was attacked. If assaulted she’d abandon the cart and the attacker would search its contents, rifling through papers and cans and boxes of garbage she collected, allowing her time to escape. Lord knows she had left her fake possessions behind more than once.
    Some women were attacked for their bodies, but that wasn’t an issue with Favel. She wouldn’t let herself get pretty and she had a secret weapon, cheese. Stinky Grouden Cheese to be precise, the foulest smelling cheese in the City. She always kept a chunk in a pocket of her patchwork overcoat. She couldn’t even smell it anymore, but people on the street gave her a wide berth. Just the way she liked it.
    She eyed the fire escape attached to the warehouse’s side. The rusty contraption looked ready to fall if a