What Is This Thing Called Space?

March, 1984

I'm sitting here praying he doesn't come in. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, please, God, let him do it for just a few minutes longer. A couple of hours, say. All right, an hour will do, even half. Just a couple more minutes and I'll be fine.What do you figure I'm doing? Boning up for my neurosurgery exam? Putting the finishing touches on a gelignite bomb? Constructing a complicated soufflé?Nah, I'm just lying around, picking my nose. And when that gets tedious, I start fastidiously scrapin...