i find myself on the sofa next to bear , and i cradle them both , bear in one arm , my rifle in the other , like i 'm back in the woods in my tent under the trees that were under the sky that was under the baleful eye of the mothership that was beneath the explosion of stars of which ours is just one-and what are the freaking odds that the others would pick our star out of the 100 sextillion in the universe to set up shop ?