My guitar I had hidden at a friends house so they didn’t have it to hold as ransom for my good behavior. I didn’t need it by now anyway. Just runn...ng my hands across anything and I could hear the tunes. An old spelling bee trophy became my sweet sounding black bodied Gibson guitar. Night after night I played tunes in my head to the music only I could hear. I gave full vent to the growing need to let my own expression out. I played old tunes and new with equal passion. Soundlessly I protested.. While they were still in earshot, I called to the two girls, “Hi Chris, Ash. Do you want to come in and talk about Poincaré half-plane models and boundary points on the modalities we talked about yesterday?”Ash said loudly, “Oh, yes. We had some ideas on that and how it related to NLP conversion and the AI modalities.” They both got up and came towards my office. The three of us glanced down the hallway. The guys had obviously heard our brief exchange and slowed their departure, but only one. More

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