Tour

Nivan was an upper-story man. This guy was a street burgler. I had no-inclination to chase-him. I always gave these gratuitous gifts-of-grace the benefit of the doubt. They had good-reason of their own world-minds. "It is no concern of ours how you run your own planet ..." said Klaatu. I had no involvement. I am a space-tourist. I felt-privileged for the witness. I went immediately to the window; no-one had yet arrived, the burglar-alarm clatter-clanging. The window was circularly radiant-cracked, with no-hole, in which to stick an arm. The hole was only as-big as a marble. And the jewelry - someone must know real-or-fake, were there safe sprinkled with-bits of plaster. Wow - bomb-proof see-through plate - feignmail. I thought - what if me ? I am-him. What are the chances ? How dangerous was it ? How do I-make that boom ? What would I do now ? Didn't even get a hole big enough for a Spaghetti G-String. This is high-science. Just big-enough but not too-big, so as not to blow-up the whole place. Who must I know and to what society must I belong, to acquire such Poof. What if I get caught ? "Naw - I'm too smart-art", said Tom Stephens.

Not-me. It was my-nemesis. Now they are really after-me. So what are my assets here ? I have a super-impenetrable fortress. My spaceship and my robot, mind and matter. I am in disguise. One of those ten-most wanted murder-incorporated chief-gangsters, hid-from-the-law for years, as a-wino across the street from a police station, or so I had read, as-happened, in New York city. How do I make contact ? Who-can-know ? Surrounded by Toms, in fact I am-am a TomTom. "No - don't send me back. I will be good: 'Your-Pleasing - Ma'am'". It is different here. I have a spaceman-mind. I am of vast-importance. I am somebody.

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