That
greasy old man who sells used books was on campus again, in front of Doherty Hall. I checked his wares for a copy of
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, as always. But then I realized I had already bought it from him last Monday. So I pulled out a pistol and
shot him dead. Of course nobody noticed. I mean, you would expect the hordes on their way to class not to notice, but the people going through the books didn't even look up. (The other day Dave DeAngelis had mentioned that he was afraid the old guy was gonna pull out a sawed-off shotgun if anyone tried to steal a book. And now everybody is systematically stealing the books they would have bought anyway. Economic Irony?)
I head for home, rather frazzled by the whole incident, and run into Dave Howard and Indrani after several yards. I explain my predicament and they help me hide the body. Not move the body, mind you, but just hide it under a carpet in the exact spot where it fell. His head was even sticking out past the end of the carpet.
It's
Jurassic Park at my childhood home, up in the mountains, and my friend
Ian Malcolm gets eaten by a velociraptor right outside the tree fort. All the geometry of the landscape is in accordance with my actual memory.