the seas. Operating with one hand, beating the rats off a my patient with the other and bedbugs and scorpions rain down from the ceiling.“So somebody wants homogeneity at this juncture. Can do but it costs. Bored with the whole project, me.. .. Here we are. . . . Drag Alley.”Benway traces a pattern in the air with his hand and a door swings open. We step through and the door closes. A long ward gleaming with stainless steel, white tile floors, glass brick walls. Beds along one wall. No one smokes, no one reads, no one talks.“Come and take a close look,” says Benway. “You won’t embarrass anybody.”I walk over and stand in front of a man who is sitting on his bed. I look at the man’s eyes. Nobody, nothing looks back.“IND’s,” says Benway, “Irreversible Neural Damage. Overliberated, you might say… a drag on the industry.” I pass a hand in front of the man’s eyes.“Yes,” says Benway, “they still have reflexes. Watch this.” Benway takes a chocolate bar from his pocket, removes the wrapper and holds it in front of the man’s nose. The man sniffs. His jaws begin to work. He makes snatching motions with his hands. Saliva drips from his mouth and hangs off his chin in long streamers. His stomach rumbles. His whole body writhes in peristalsis. Benway steps back and holds up the chocolate. The man drops to his knees, throws back his head and barks. Benway tosses the chocolate. The man snaps at it, misses, scrambles around on the floor making slobbering noises. He crawls under the bed, finds the chocolate and crams it into his mouth with both hands.