It didn't surprise Alain that the city's electrical supply cables failed and plunged Auckland into darkness one week after he had arrived.

Being somewhat pessimistic and slightly jaded, Alain expected the complete breakdown of society in less than two years, at the dawning of the new millennium. This was merely a precursor to that time. He was determined to finish his novel before then, and see it published and in worldwide distribution. Most of Alain's pessimism was derived from the fact that he often set himself up for failure by aspiring to, what seemed to others to be, dubious goals.

Part of the reason Alain moved to New Zealand was because, excepting Tonga, it was the furthest place he could go that was backwards in time from where he had been living in upstate Washington. He figured he needed every edge he could get in completing his ambitions.

Alain took to wandering the streets at night when his writing was at an impasse. He often became lost, being unfamiliar with the lay of the land, and wandered the streets in expectation of being mugged or murdered, until he stumbled upon Queen Street. Using Auckland's main thoroughfare as a guide, he was always able to determine how to safely get back home.

One night, Alain's excursions took him into what was obviously the red light district. This area of the city was the first that he had come upon which was still doing a brisk business, despite the lack of electric lighting and power.

Stopping to listen to an aged busker, who was playing a Hendrix tune on a well-worn six-string guitar, Alain slowly became aware of a woman who was standing quite close to him, her left breast pressing warmly against his arm. Turning his head to look at her, he saw that she was looking up at him.

"He sure can pluck those strings, can't he?" Alain asked, feeling he needed to say something to belay the stirrings in his groin.

"He's had lots of time practice," the woman answered. "Speaking of which, do you have the time?"

Alain started to raise his right arm to look at his watch. He stopped, flustered, when his forearm brushed against the woman's nipple, noticeably protruding through the thin fabric of the blouse she was wearing.

"I, um . . ." Alain stammered.

"If you have the time, I can teach you how to pluck," the woman interrupted. She moved in closer, pressing more fully against him.

"Would you like to pluck the fruit of this plant?"

Rendered speechless by the naked challenge in her words and eyes, Alain suddenly realized he wasn't as worldly, or world-weary as he had previously thought.