There was only one book on RPG II. It was a language from the dawn of computer history, thirty years old. He took the book to the Food Court and began trying to interpret the code listings. Two cups of coffee later, he drove home. He had made some progress, but there was a lot left to figure out. There was a statement from Myron in the mail. Francesca was listed as joint owner at the top.
He circled the numbers and underlined the messages. "O.K.," Oliver said. "Where's the documentation?" "We don't have much," Dan said. "The original stuff is on that shelf over there." "Ah," Oliver said. He pulled at one ear lobe. "What language are we talking?" "O.K." Oliver groaned inwardly. He'd have to get a book. RPG was supposedly the worst language ever devised. First time for everything.
The geese were long gone. When he left, he took with him all traces of Francesca's note. Jennifer arrived home during the early game. "Hi, Sweetheart," she said. "The roads were fine. Mother is withholding judgment until she sees you, but Daddy is on board. Don't worry, she'll love you." "The Patriots don't look too good," Oliver said. "I'll wow her with my knowledge of RPG II."