Chapter 2: The phone rang then, and my idiotic fantasies were shattered, which was a good thing. I looked at my candlestick phone, a reproduction of a 1930’s telephone, and listened to the antique ring. I am a living anachronism, wishing that I lived in 1930’s La Crosse- and, in most ways, I am- kind of. I drive an antique car; while not a 1930’s vehicle, a 1950’s Packard is still in my wheelhouse. And, I dress in retro clothing for the most part, and try to ignore most of modern music and culture, since it all seems like a huge step downwards. I answered the phone, but only after 2 rings. I like to keep them waiting. It was Alexander. “Thanks for finally answering, Kemosabi,” he said. “My faithful Indian companion!” I answered. “I expected a smoke signal, but I guess this will have to do.” “Wampum low,” he said, “firewood dear, but Obama phone free!” Alexander was quite the kidder, since he deplored any government program, and especially those that were earmarke