child's crib spawning rainy aprils in tortured america.

Robert Cahnschert wants to know how to disappear.

Robert Cahnschert, aged 29, living in the suburban madness of the San Fernando Valley.

Robert Cahnschert has heard these days about the people disappearing in plain sight all over the nation. These people are normal people like your neighbors and friends. They associate with you on a daily basis as you commute on public transportation or when your road rage gets the better of you on the highway. They hum tunes to work, they imagine they are in the planes leaving smoke trails in the sky that they see in the downtown of Los Angeles, their fingers get pinched by their suitcase clasps on the way to the airport as many times as you forget to turn the clothes iron off. These people are normal people who shop, eat, sleep, dream, weave, smile, cram - Robert Cahnschert is perplexed at these disappearing people. But he wants to disappear also.

It isn't God, terrorists, or ransom artists because they aren't leaving a note. These people have never heard of D.B. Cooper, Amelia Earhart or the Beaumont children but they vanish without a trace such as the previous did. The woman who lives next to Robert Cahnschert vanished yesterday on his property, a cherry pie lay splattered from it's aluminium tin on the concrete path to his door. Store bought, but made to look freshly baked.

Robert wonders what would happen if she had made it to the door, rung the doorbell, and as the door opened; disappeared then. Could he have handled that?

Today Robert called in sick to work and went to the library to check out all the books on Lord Carnarvon. A library patron disappeared the same day a few hours later as she read up on dandelion wine a few aisles away. As the creamy color of odd would have it, it was one of several books that Elvis Presley had anonymously donated to the library in the 1960s.

Television religion.