The man reached into Peter’s pocket and pulled out three chips. Peter rolled
his eyes up, furious at himself. He’d slipped the chips into his pocket when
he’d been working earlier. "What the hell’s this?" the man said. "Meta..." he
said, sounding out the words. "Metahuman Correlative Neuroanatomy? You
reading this stuff?" Peter saw a thick layer of ignorance over the man’s red
face. He probably hadn’t read much past fifth grade. Today maybe he read the
sports pages and perhaps a menu at a restaurant.