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Show 116 "What?" Marketing what?" either Hunt or Leah asked. "Systems," he said and stared at the sun through his scotch. Hunt tried for -- it was a word he'd heard once describing his mother: buoyancy. He made the effort, stumbling as it was, for Leah. "What kind of systems?", he asked. And then, reversing response and question, he added, "That's interesting." "Microchip systems," Lane explained, bored. "Right," Hunt said. "Hydrocoolants. BST's. LR-digitals. That sort of thing." "I see." And Hunt felt his buoyancy fly -- like small flocking birds from a wire. "So what do you do?" Andi Pierson asked Leah. . "Just stay home and drink," Leah said. She smiled. She hoped the smile would free the others to laugh, but it didn't. "It's just a joke," she said, finally. It came around to Hunt. "Well, I . . . " It always seemed so strange, stating a life that was, Hunt supposed, probably an obsession. "Well ..." "He's forgotten," Leah said, smiling. Hunt smiled back. "He paints." "I paint," Hunt said. "What do you mean?" Lane Pierson asked. "With a brush and color," Leah said. Andi Pierson laughed. "Have we . . .? Are you . . .? I mean, have we heard of you?" It was |