"No, I don't ... care much ... about playing."
"What do you like to do, John?"
His string-bean of a body stiffened. "I like to study ancient history ... and I must work on my plan."
Oh Lord, that plan again!
I took a deep breath. "Tell me about it, John. It must be interesting."
He made queer clicking noises with his mouth that reminded me of a mechanical toy being wound into motion. "The whole foundation of this or any other culture is based on the history of all the time dimensions, each interwoven with the other, throughout the ages. And the holes provide a means of studying all of it first hand."
Oh, oh, I thought. But you still have to eat. Remember, you still have to eat.
"Trouble is," he went on, "there are so many holes in this universe."
"Holes?" I kept a straight face.
"Certainly. Look around you. All you see is holes. These beer bottles are just holes surrounded by glass. The doors and windows—they're holes in walls. The mine tunnels make a network of holes under the desert. Caves are holes, animals live in holes, our faces have holes, clothes have holes—millions and millions of holes!"