I don't hear a single hammer as I sway above the radio's concrete bowl. I've got a feeling that work on the project has come to an abrupt stop. I keep my eyes closed as my legs dangle out of the harness, the wind softly twisting me back and forth. Everyone's mind is likely too focussed on that alien noise piped through the speakers to glance upwards. I sure hope Yogi thinks about me soon.
"Jimmy Jack? Where are you?" Yogi's voice finally snaps in my ear.
"You have to ask?" I shout at the wind, not knowing where else to throw my voice.
"I need to see you, Jimmy Jack."
"Then you're going to have to help me down, Yogi."
My legs shake as the cables lower me to the ground. I want to hurry to Kurt Larry, Ray Ray and Joe Bob, to ask them what they think of that noise we've helped harvest from the stars. But I think the sooner I see Yogi is going to be the sooner I get any sense about what all of this is about.
So I hurry to Yogi's bubble chamber, where the smartman presents a new set of schematics to my attention, plans for entire rows of little black boxes topped with speakers to be installed along the corrugated rooftops sheltering the lines that form each week to see our smartman. I hesitate to promise to build one construction more; but then, Yogi offers to sponsor my hovermudder in the first race circuit of the coming, new racing season, an offer I'm happy to accept.