"You got to watch the ones that don't."
"Yeah, you got to watch the ones that don't. Especially the old ones."
"He's old. You think it was his heart?"
"Who knows?"
"They'll dump him, won't they?"
"After a tracer is sent through. But it won't do any good."
"He probably outlived everybody that ever knew him."
"Wouldn't be surprised. Here, grab his leg."
Robert Craig folded the flight jacket tightly and stuffed it into the cylindrical carton. A sleeve unwound just as he did so, making it difficult to fit into the place he had made for it. Exasperated, he refolded it and jammed it in place. Smaller rolls of underclothing were then fitted in. When he was satisfied with the layer, he tossed in a small handful of crystals and began to fill the next layer. After the carton was completely filled, he ignited the sealing strip and watched as the plastic melted into a single, seamless whole. It was ready for irradiation. Probably in another ten years his son-to-be would put it on and play spaceman. But Craig swore he'd make sure that the kid knew what a stinking life it was.