The other man sitting down put down his magazine. It was an old favorite of Koos', "Firearms Monthly". Since he was a boy on his childhood estate, Koos had an interest in weaponry. The elegance of the utilitarian function of firearms, humanity's weapon of choice since time immemorial, had always fascinated him. He remembered the long nights he spend pouring over the specs, pictures and descriptions of these ancient weapons. He marveled at the thousands of hours entire teams of men must have spent crafting such perfect instruments, despite the crude technology of the time. Not a single unnecessary part was included. Everything served a purpose. The tiniest component fit perfectly in the greater scheme of the device in such organization that it functioned flawlessly. Truely this was the clearest evidence that religion, the opiate of the masses was just that, a drug pushed on people to blind them to their enslavement under property.
The man lurched up and glanced at the woman. So engrossed in her reading, she didn't even seem to notice that he had moved. Seemingly under the same impression as Koos, the man scribbled a note to her and left it on the table next to her. What could it say, Koos wondered. Was it about him? Was the burning hot plasma just the beginning of his trials?
The man walked over to the coffee machine which had gone unnoticed by Koos until now. He fiddled with the dial. He turned to Koos and asked if he was a "drinker" This caught Koos off guard. Struggling through the pain of the burns on his mouth he croaked "If you mean coffee, my good man, then yes."
So true is it that unnatural generally means only uncustomary, and that everything which is usual appears natural.
