Caked remnants of macaroni, mingled with hardened crusts and even harder corners of once-grilled cheese, piled upon plate after plate littered the stainless steel counter and basin. The hose hung from a spring-encased coil of hose. Ethan reached up, after wiping his forehead on the back of his arm, and pulled the nozzle down to meet the foe, spraying the dorm food off the plate, shooting the crumbs and debris into the waiting maw of the industrial-sized garbage disposal before him. He stacked the plates in haphazard rows on racks and shoved them through the conveyor-driven machine. Steam and chemical stench hissed from the giant, and at the opposite end, other workers unloaded and stacked the clean dishes. Such was the day’s work.

Tim pushed through the swinging doors. As he dropped off another trayload of dirty dishes, Ethan gave him a nod and a grunt in greeting. “ ‘Sup?”

Tim smiled and wiped his hands on his apron. “Not much, man. Tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Ethan nodded. “I know what you mean. With the humming of the furnace and those damn fluorescent lights all over the house…”

“Well, actually,” Tim smoothed his perplexed look with a short laugh and a tired grin, “I was talking to someone online.”

Ethan arched a tawny brow. At times like these, his twenty-eight-year-old face seemed wizened, grey and aged, almost as if he had aged before his time. “You were talking to someone on the phone all night?”

Tim laughed. “No, man. The Internet.”

Ethan blinked. “Oh. Yeah. I don’t do that. Too many microwaves from the screens, and you never know who’s going to be counting your keystrokes and all that. Why, I knew this woman whose husband…”

Tim looked sharply left. “Damn. Gotta go, man. Regina’s coming. Talk to you later, man….” He ducked out the swinging doors.

“… wouldn’t you just know it, the next thing he was cancelling credit cards, and… Oh.” Ethan looked at the still swaying doors. He reached for the next stack of plates and set back to work.

A few hours later, as he left for the day, he passed Tim out behind the Student Union. The younger man was smoking, and offered Ethan a cigarette. Ethan refused, of course, because of the mind-altering pesticides, but stood around awhile to talk.

“How’s Buck? Haven’t seen his fat ass in awhile.”

Tim took a drag. His eyes focused out above the horizon, between the college buildings. “I couldn’t tell you man.” He exhaled slowly, looking at the glowing tip of the cigarette. “I really just don’t know. I haven’t seen him in like three days. That’s not unheard of, but it is sort of strange.”

A unique expression crossed Ethan’s face. It evoked a sense of constipation mixed with revulsion, whipped and wrapped around a hiccup. Tim made note of this Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of consternation, but let it slide. Ethan was wont to worry.

“I don’t think it’s any big deal,” Tim continued. “I bet he’s just doing that poker party tour thing like they did last semester. Remember when he slept on a different couch every night for nine days?”

“One time it was a workbench. Another, a pile of laundry.” Ethan remembered. Tim’s explanation made sense, for now. But with the radiation…. “If you see him, tell him to stop by or something. Or give a call.”

“You got the phone reconnected?”

“Yeah.” Ethan looked up at the telephone wires. “Using land lines for mind control is so 1979. No way in hell I’m getting one of those car phone things, though.”

“They call them cell phones now.”

“Whatever.”