Poking his wobbly way through the scrub, stubble and sand of Florida's Cape Canaveral comes a creature from the ages. The armadillo, his precision-made armor plate intermeshing fluidly, moseys along, oblivious of time. Skittering across his path is another anachronism, the beady-eyed, evil-looking horned lizard, uglier than the sum of the menacing spikes that jut from his body. On trundles the armadillo, scarcely noticing a wide hole in the ground. From the hole run two telephone lines; a few feet away, they connect to a pair of phones lying in a ditch. The...
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