a short, true story, in progress now . . . the picture: it's two AM. A darkened house. Except for one room, a small office. Inside this office - a small glowing storage bin with four fluffy butted beings piled together in one corner, snoozing fitfully. against the other side of the room, two small strange boxes hum, one styrofoam, the other plastic. go closer and eager, (oh so eager!) little chirps can be heard inside each. And then more strange noises, a voice not quite human, not quite chicken, bok bok booooking back at the boxes. A tiny light flashes on. has something changed? That tiny pip, is it bigger? i think it's bigger! maybe not. and the rocking . . . the rocking . . . the crazy rocking. bok bok little chick bok bok bok. A grown woman sits, computer in lap, crosslegged on her office floor. A volume rests unopened on the chair beside her. "The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism." Graduate school? Critical Theory? no time for such things! there are EGGS in the bator. EGGS man. EGGS. eggs indeed.