“No lightning,” said George. “No lightning and pretty soon no lighting. They’re taking over the telephone. What do they do with the lightning?”
“Eat it, I guess. They must eat electricity.”
“No lightning,” said George. “Damn. I can get by without a telephone, and candles and oil lamps aren’t bad for lights—but I’m going to miss lightning. I like lightning. Damn.”
The lights went out completely.
Pete Mulvaney sipped his drink in the dark. He said, “Electric lights, refrigerators, electric toasters, vacuum cleaners—”
“Juke boxes,” George said. “Think of it, no more God damn juke boxes. No public address systems, no—hey, how about movies?”
“No movies, not even silent ones. You can’t work a projector with an oil lamp. But listen, George, no automobiles—no gasoline engine can work without electricity.”
“Why not, if you crank it by hand instead of using a starter?”
“The spark, George. What do you think makes the spark.”
“Right. No airplanes either, then. Or how about jet planes?”