Book3:WereMyDreamIs

eflowingcrowdofpeoplehustledandbustledaboutswarmingintotheBARTstatioerwaveandsurgingoutjustasbusily.Imaginationaivitystoodhandinhandamongthecrowd,lookingattheseaofhumanfaces,wwhichweretheoheycouldpick.ItwasCreativity‘ssharpeyesthatcaughtsightoftheirtarget.ShesqueezedImagination’shand,threwhimawarninggndsaid,

    “WhatdoyouthinkofthatothegateoftheBARTstation,therewasamiddle-agedmaninhisfiftiesholdingabriefcase,alkingtowardstheparkinglot.Hewaslydressed.Hischiseledfeatureswereclearcut,solemnandaloof,obviouslynotamarifledwith.“Doyouknowwhat’sinhisbriefcase?”askedCreativity.Imaginatioheold-fashionedbriefcase,hisx-raylikeeyespeingintoitsinteriorandresponded,

    “He’sawyer.Therearelotsoffilesinh