much but a pain in the rear.

The meteor, interviewed scientists were quoted as saying, must have
almost burned up coming through the atmosphere, and disintegrated just
before it hit me. Otherwise I'd have been killed. The Poxville
professor got very long-winded about the peculiar shape and composition
of the pieces, and finally carried off all but one for the college
museum. Most likely they're still there. One I kept as a souvenir,
which was silly. It wasn't a thing I wanted to remember--or, as I found
later, would ever be able to forget. Anyway, I lost it.

All right. That was that and, except for a lingering need to sit on
very soft cushions, the end of it. I thought. We went back to town.

Uncle John felt almost as guilty about the whole thing as if he had
shot me himself and, in November, when he found about old Bert
Winginheimer interviewing girl applicants for checker jobs at home in
his apartment, I got a nice promotion.

Working my way up, I was a happy, successful businessman.

And then, not all at once but gradually, a lot of little things
developed into problems. They weren't really problems either, exactly.
They were puzzles. Nothing big but--well, it was like I was sort of
being made to do, or not do, certain things. Like being pushed in one
direction or another. And not necessarily the direction I personally
would have picked. Like----

Well, one thing was shaving.

I always had used an ordinary safety razor--nicked myself not more than
average. It seemed OK to me. Never cared too much for electric razors;
it didn't seem to me they shaved as close. But--I took to using an
electric razor now, because I had to.

One workday morning I dragged myself to the bathroom of my bachelor
apartment to wash and shave. Getting started in the morning was never a
pleasure to me. But this time seemed somehow tougher than usual. I
lathered my face and put a fresh blade in my old razor.

For some reason, I could barely force myself to start. "Come on, Johnny
boy!" I told myself. "Let's go!" I made myself take a first stroke with
the razor. Man! It burned like fire. I started another stroke and the
burning came before the razor even touched my face. I had to give up. I
went down to the office without a shave.

That was no good, of course, so at the coffee break I forced myself
around the corner to the barber shop. Same thing! I got all lathered up
all right, holding myself by force in the chair. But, before the