dining raze there are three men docked here: an oil baron, a newspaper man, and the town doctor, whose body is encased in glass. he is a diaphanous door that will not open. a sentient display case. a skin-wrapped solarium. wishing to be taken fishing and displeased with his hesitant hosts, the baron brandishes his sidearm and opens fire. the doctor falls. craven crumbs of his cracked carapace rain down like chips of ice impervious to the elements. "take up thy stethoscope and walk," the baron says. the doctor, wounded somewhere past hearing, produces a pistol of his own and shoots the baron dead where he stands. "we've caught a big one," the newspaper man says, picking slivers of silica and soda from the doctor's hair. "there will be fine fish for dinner tonight." 260302 what's it to you? who go blather from