Puffed Siadin buys a combination rat-and-mouse "rouse" trap. His wife protests that no such creature exists. "It is only a mouse, or it is only a rat. The two do not combine" she moans, but it's no use.
Puffed Siadin in an unlit room, his thoughts flowing into the soft valleys of his own hands. Small and bearded, watching everything go dark. His wife rolls into the room, car keys in her mouth. "I need a lift to the Government Foodstores" she says. "The radio, it told of a new kind of music, and I need to listen, but not on an empty stomach, love."