The man with the biggest watch anyone had ever seen came to "the hut".  He actually was crawling on his belly, cammo-grease-faced, following extension cords that had been loosely covered in leaves.  His hand felt a soft shoe wet with dew before he realized it was someone's foot.  When he did, his hand acted surprised.  He looked up at the woman and mouthed, (i)sorry(i). The woman crossed her arms and picked her feet up further onto "the big hot rock".  Then she pointed to a little set of three trees.  Instead of going right over, the man belly-crawled backwards, rolled like he was on fire, and took out a pen.  Looking at a bundle of cable, he dug through until he found the one he lifted with the pen.

     "I cannot." I looked at the man with a very serious look to the very serious question.  "What kind of secretary are you?"  He perused the brochures on the counter at the Tapoco and plucked one.  Then he sat in an armchair and stared at me.

    "If you could've seen the looks on their faces," the short, balding man's mood forced itself to lift into the showman's remark.  "Really?" Squiggles asked.  "And guess what I found out?" 

    "Is this juicy or just...." Her hands debated closing the laptop.  "Well, I don't know," the man wiped a chair off with a tourism newspaper insert before sitting down like he got a bus seat.  "You tell me." 

     "What's this?" A pen's guts had been taken out of it to turn its shaft into a rollie tobacco holder.  The woman tapped the ashes into the little skillet and rested it.  She wiped both hands on the sides of her sweat pants and received the papers.  Stacked in a neat cross pattern.  "The top one is the report.  Under is...." She looked at the list in her little notepad.