"Well," she looked slightly disconcerted. "What all the others do. They play golf, and sunbathe, and go to lectures and shows, and uh--" Her ingenuity gave out. She stole a glance at the T.V. screen. "You've got to relax, honey, stop all this thinking. You know, 'eat, drink, and be merry' sort of--" He noticed that her attention had wandered. He knew why. That cold chill in the pit of his stomach had told him that it was almost time. "Do we have to watch it, tonight?" Sydney asked her almost bitterly. "How can you really sit there and enjoy seeing all that violence and--" She leaned back comfortably, watching the screen. "What else are the boys to do? The psychiatrists say, that since the war is over, our boys need to drain off their energies somehow. Besides, sometimes it's really merciful." She folded her arms over her stomach, as though to dismiss the subject. _The screen had darkened. There were two young men, dim and strange looking, with masks over the lower part of their faces. And they were making plans--in a small, darkened room. Then, silently, they left the room, and crept through the somber streets. The camera followed them faithfully as they slipped cautiously from shadow to shadow._ Sydney found himself watching the screen now, too. It compelled him against his will. "I went through a war," he hissed, clenching his fists tightly. "The Korean War--when I was young. And when it was over I went back to work in an office. I didn't need any violence drained out of me!" "Sshhh," Eleanor insisted, and then relented. "I keep telling you, Syd, these boys went through a different kind of war than yours. They've had more taken out of them than you had." She whispered it, her eyes never leaving the screen, her breath coming in excited gasps. "People have just outlived their usefulness, now, by the time they are sixty. It's natural for the young folks to resent us, especially if we are a burden and there are too many of us. You've got to adjust, Sydney, just adjust to the times." _The two men paused at an intersection--paused for endless moments--while millions of people watched, hardly daring to breathe. Then slowly and deliberately, with overtly melodramatic malice, they turn a corner, and start to run swiftly along the street. Of the millions who watched--there were some who felt a cold clutching within them._ Sydney leaned forward on the couch, his pale eyes almost bulging with intentness. The intersection on the screen had been familiar. The street the cameras were recording--was more so.