led. "What's it been? Twenty
years?"

"Close to it," Joe said. "I love that tape of Chesapeake Bay chanteys,
by the way."

"We had fun with it," Jason said.

Joe slid into a chair. "It was nice hearing your voice--got me across
North Dakota and Montana last year."

"Just a foc'sle tenor," Jason said and explained that he was on his way
home from Singapore--a conference on Data Protocols for the 21st
Century. "We gave a paper," he said. "My colleague flew back the other
way; she has family in Amsterdam."

"My, my," Joe said. "I was just an in-the-trenches programmer,
designing small systems." Jason nodded sympathetically. Joe was
confused. The best banjo player he'd ever heard was returning from an
international data conference? In high school, Jason was a football
player and a star in the drama club. "I quit programming," Joe said.
"It was burning out my brain. I never much liked it anyway."

"I know what you mean," Jason said.

"How did you get into the info game?"

"One thing leads to another," he said. "You pitch in, give a hand, go
with the flow." He expanded as he talked. His jaw was set as he carved
into his Mauna Kea, half a papaya beneath eruptions of granola, fruit,
and yogurt. "Keeps me in toys," he said, relaxing.

"Good deal," Joe said. "I wouldn't mind some toys. I'm on the way to
becoming a starving artist--writing things." Jason shook his head
admiringly. "You get back to Woodstock, much?" Joe asked.

"Oh sure, holidays now and then. I got your address from Morgan."

"How's he doing? He was out with his lady a while back--Edie. She was
nice."

"I met her," Jason said. "Good things come in small packages." He
frowned. "I saw Daisy in the village. I know you and Daisy were tight."

"True," Joe said.

"I guess Wes isn't well. Could be bad."

"Oh?"

"Daisy wasn't optimistic."

"Damn," Joe said. "My father just died."

"My mom died," Jason said and looked like himself for the first time.

"I liked your mom," Joe said.

Jason sighed. "Yeah. It's a crap shoot from here on, guy."

Joe was sorry to see him leave. Jason had carried his talent for
theater into the business world. He had taken on the role of front man
and image projector. His job was to walk the walk, talking the talk,
while his colleagues fried their brains in the midnight hours. No doubt
he'd done it with his usual wholeheartedness; he'd earned his toys. And
if the banjo was in the back seat, took second place, what diff