When Glamour was sixteen, working in Hollywood as a location extra for his uncle's Gaelic Little People, Ltd., a friend had slipped him a tab of sunshine at Coyote Farms' backlot. The world had taken on its proper dimensionality: they spent the afternoon climbing a tree, admiring the action of the bark and light and time. Now the third and fourth dimensions were there again, without the tree.
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(from Voyage to the Red Planet, by Terry Bisson)
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