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Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

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"I'm driving."<br />

"So?"<br />

I didn't argue. Paul went into the house and brought me back a can of something and opened it for me.<br />

Chivalry. To be honest, I wanted to see his face again. He'd had acne as a teenager, he'd spent too much<br />

time in the sun, he had twenty extra pounds, and he had a Celtic cross tattooed on his left shoulder, but it<br />

was all mesmerizingly Jason-ish.<br />

"He dumped you?"<br />

"No."<br />

"Sorry. I've gotta ask these things."<br />

We looked at each other.<br />

"So tell me where it is you're supposed to go to find your twin?"<br />

"Your analog."<br />

"Huh?"<br />

"That's what you are. You're an analog of my boyfriend."<br />

"So where do I go to find my analog?"<br />

"You don't. I just fluked out. I have a friend of a friend who works in the place where the facial data's<br />

stored." He sat down beside me - too close beside me - on the crumbling concrete front steps. He<br />

touched the small of my back and I jumped out of my skin, at which point a black martial-artsy club<br />

smacked him on his forehead. It was Sheila.<br />

"You stinking son of a dog - "<br />

"Sheila - this isn't what it looks like."<br />

I ran for my car, and luckily Sheila ignored me. Paul still must have a goose egg on his forehead, and I<br />

doubt Sheila's ever going to believe his story. On the other hand, Reg thought it was kind of funny, which<br />

made me feel better.<br />

Saturday night 11:45<br />

It's almost midnight, and the kids have finally passed out from sugar fatigue. They must be diabetic by<br />

now.<br />

I spend my life in court hearing people yammer away and for once I want to be on the stand. Forget my<br />

Page 93

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