Jamison and his father plodded up a dune. They stopped short of a mound the color of sand. A metal contraption in the shape of an eggshell occupied the lower eighth of the mound. Jamison looked down at a lever. It was situated in a machine-filled opening in the ground. He yanked it back, and the mechanical contraption was unsealed. Jamison ducked under the doorway, and entered the room on the other side. Salty smells filled the air as a woman placed meat, cheese, cream, and flat bread on a box. The box was set in a pit on the floor. Furnishing orbs had been opened on one side, and there were cushions inside. Jamison crawled into one, put his telescope near him, and pulled the orb up to the table.
"What did you make, Mama?" He asked.
"Your favorite," came the reply. "Tacos."
"Looks delicious," Trevon announced.
"Daddy!" Jamison said, reaching for dinner.
Trevon inched closer and responded,
"Yes, bud?"
Jamison loaded tortillas, deep in thought.
"You said you had a problem at work," he recalled. "Did any space beings come?"
Trevon turned his eyes to the ceiling and said, "Why do you keep asking ridiculous questions every time I come home? You know I can't answer that."
Enya cocked her head slightly.
"Trev, lighten up. Please. It's Jamison's Gotcha Day."
"Sorry, bud," Trevon said. "I should be nicer."