The customs agent did a cursory examination of the cargo, knowing ahead of time that all or most of it was for the government. I directed him to decks...eleven and twelve where the goods I planned to sell to the public were stored. Meanwhile, the government was already unloading their goodies. They loved the new sensor units, the cloaked probes, the slave collars, and the five thousand Karkallian androids they asked me to buy for them, although I don’t think they expected me to be able to afford. She waited for some word, some thing from Him through another source of communication. Nothing!! The days passed, one simply weaving into another. her heart ached every time she thought of it. He hadn’t shown up. she had waited for three hours for Him, and He hadn’t shown. Had she wasted those 20 hours over those three days? Had she been the only one to feel the connection? Each day passed and her hurt turned to anger at times. She wanted Him there, wanted to beat Him down for playing with. As they sat down, niether of them attempted to remove thier hand from the other’s. While Mike had never been a big fan of ballet, watching Angela as she enjoyed it made him forget where he was. For all he knew he could have been sitting at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Everything except for her was just a blur in his periphary vision. All too soon, the ballet ended, and they made thier way out of the theatre, never letting go of each other’s hand. When they got outside she began to shiver. But I got out in February, totally cured, and began my long search for Santa. Okay… maybe I wasn’t totally cured. I sort of went through a slightly confused time after that. One day I saw a stranger on the street that looked just like Santa. He was a fat fifty-something with a big white beard. He had this jolly look in his eye, even though he was obviously homeless. He even smoked from a little pipe, just like in that poem about him. I became convinced that he was the actual, real Santa. Why.
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