Epilogue II
New Compositions
Autumn, 2059
The foam-rubber cab drifted alongside the curb that delineated the western edge of Prospect Park.
“Stop here,” said Lisanne, who was embraced by pseudopodia in the back seat of the vehicle.
The cab halted.
Brushing long hair from her eyes, the petite blonde looked through the window at the tuffgrass field, where children who were wrapped in baggy blue uniforms ran, smiled and shouted. Standing like a gorgeous giant amongst the maelstrom of boys and girls was the tall beauty of Swedish and Indian descent whom she had not seen in more than a year.
The sight of Osa both gladdened and pained Lisanne.
“Do you need assistance getting out?” inquired the cab driver, an amiable Iranian man who smelled of cloves.
Lisanne said, “I would like to sit h
