excerpt fron new TRP novel

[Ya Sam]

It seems that they are in an endless corridor hung at intervals with No-Pest 
Strips, an endless trinity of rails to their right attached to the barricade 
behind which robots with yellow smiley faces toil at scooping heaping 
ladlefuls of, eergh, what, mashed potatoes? onto trays that move seemingly 
of their own accord along the rails, trays which, now that they look more 
closely, are actually pushed by barely visible figures, slight disturbances 
in the air's index of refraction perhaps, and now the Ontogenene-Six is 
making them hear some kind of uh yeah barely audible voices, coming from 
those gray null areas pushing the trays along, trays made of recycled shreds 
of something that looks oddly familiar, pinkish, and here and there, oh ho 
ho, one can see a fragment of fingernail, as the voices sing to the big-band 
beat

You're looking at most
Of the company of ghosts
Of the existentially bereft

For though we're gone
We still try to get along
Till there's very little of us left...

http://world.std.com/~mmcirvin/kibology/thomas.html

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