The Clarkl Soup Kitchens by Mary Carmen Page A

run by the New Christian Congregation. Almost all the vegetables served in our dining room come from that farm, and about 1,500 of the Americans work there.
    About two miles away from our camp, just down the road, is one of the New Christian Congregation’s dining rooms. It is certainly much larger than ours, and about 50 people work there. I saw long lines of locals in front of the place at two separate times today. The New Christian Congregation has several other dining rooms around the town, all supplied by the farm.
    The cabins in back of that dining room are even smaller than our cabins, if it is possible. There are no deluxe cabins there. I saw no meeting room for services there, either.
    We are about fifty miles from the capitol, and the only public transport between the two cities is the bus-like vehicle I rode when I arrived. This runs several times a day, but there is no schedule. I am allowed to ride on the bus, but the locals tend to try to move away from me.
    On each street corner is a public restroom, complete with showers and toilets. There is no segregation of the many sexes, and there are no private toilets. The two restrooms I have patronized so far have been very clean, and I understand they are automatically hosed down and sterilized every thirty minutes. One half of the restroom closes and folds down into itself, and the other half opens for business while the folded half is cleaned.
    Some of the locals are very tall, and some are very short. I understand there are seven types of entities, but I am certain I have seen only three. Nobody was friendly, but tall types with bashed-in heads will occasionally nod as a greeting.
    Buzzing by on the road are small one-seat vehicles, driven by the locals. There seems to be no rule about which side they will drive on, so walking on the road requires a certain amount of care. These vehicles are usually entirely enclosed, with a glass-like bubble on top. I estimate they are traveling about twenty miles an hour at their top speed, but that is enough to get them around this town quickly. We saw none of these vehicles on the main road to Gilsumo, so they may be just town cars.
    About noon I stopped at the market, a jumble of stands near the center of the town. People were selling household articles, most of which were very well used. I saw no food for sale. I want a rug for my cabin, but nothing there resembled a rug in any way.
    March 3, 2144 – I performed at a service today, and my soon-to-depart predecessor helped me with the order. My fugue was well received by the locals, and a few of them nodded in time with the music. The anthem was much too solemn, and the locals started to leave after the second stanza. I threw in a couple of cadenzas between the third and fourth stanza to keep the crowd seated. By the start of the offertory, we were down to two locals, and they did not care much for the quiet Brahms I had selected.
    At least I am getting some ideas about which parts of my repertoire are appropriate for keeping the locals at the services. I brought my computer with over 10,000 pieces of music, both sacred and profane, and I certainly will start to rehearse some more lively numbers. My excellent predecessor never left the Romantic tradition.
    I walked to the New Christian Congregation’s dining room after the midday service to see what they were offering. At that hour, the waiting line was down to only two dozen locals, and I told the woman at the reception desk I wanted to look over the buffet line.
    The locals were eating on china with what looked like sterling silver!
    “Don’t you lose things?” I asked the manager, a bedraggled person named Mrs. Newcastle.
    She shook her head and said, “The helpers who wash dishes count each piece of silver and each place piece of china every day. We have never lost anything, and the staff members have never dropped even a teacup. We are continually requesting new tableware because we are serving more meals each