said Shoshana, shifting her gaze from the painting to Dr. Marcuse and then back again. “That’s me again, all right.” They were in the main room of the bungalow, watching the live video feed as Hobo painted away in the gazebo. Four LCD monitors were lined up on a workbench, one for each of the cameras; it reminded Shoshana of the security guard’s station in her apartment building’s lobby. Marcuse nodded his great lump of a head. “Now, if he’d just paint something other than you.” A pause. “Note that he’s doing your same profile again: you looking off to the right. If he’d done it the other way, that might have torpedoed my thought about it reflecting brain lateralization.” “Well,” said Shoshana, “it is my good side.” He actually smiled, then: “Okay. Let’s put your video-editing skills to work.” Shoshana had a not-so-secret hobby: vidding.
