“Nancy McLuhan?” said a man. His voice was disguised. He might have been speaking through a kazoo. “I’m calling for a mutual friend.” “Oh?” “He asked me to deliver a message.” “I see.” “It’s a poem.” “All right.” “Ready?” “Ready.” Nancy could hear sirens screaming in the background of the call. The caller must have heard the sirens, too, but he recited the poem without any emotion. It went like this: “Soak yourself in Jergen’s Lotion. Here comes the one-man population explosion.”
