Sydney Glassheimer was driving down the street when he saw the baby sale. It was taking place in the parking lot outside Rack & Sack and Baskin Robbins. BABIES! a broad streamer announced, LARGEST SELECTION IN TOWN! Brightly colored pennants and signs fluttered in the spring breeze, adding a festive touch to the occasion.

Sydney turned in, parked his Lincoln Mark XXVIII and got out. He walked quickly to a long row of tables where babies on display kicked pink and blue booties at the sun. Elbowing his way between two fat women in polka-dot dresses, he ran a critical eye over the wares. Pink babies, black babies, brown babies, even some Indian and Oriental. Sydney rubbed his chin, roving up and down the tables, occasionally squeezing a plump cheek here, a fat thigh there. Twice he picked up babies and started for the cashier, only to change his mind. Frances, his wife, always complained that he didn't know how to shop, and for once he didn't want to give her grounds for criticism.

At last he spotted just the baby he wanted, a bright-eyed, tan-skinned little tot who couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. He broke into a run, snatched the child from the clutches of a young couple and rushed to the cashier, ignoring their complaints.

"How much?" Sydney asked, holding the baby up.

The cashier squinted at the baby through thick glasses. "Thirty-nine dollars."

"Twenty."

"Thirty-seven fifty."

"Thirty."

They stared at each other. After a moment the cashier moved forward and thrust his nose into the baby's diaper, sniffing deeply. He drew back. "Thirty-three."

"Done!"

Handing the money over, Sydney turned with the baby and headed for his car. Wouldn't Frances be pleased!

* * *

But Frances wasn't pleased. She stopped short after entering the living room, staring at Sydney as he bottle-fed the baby.

"What the hell is that?"

Sydney looked up from his chair. "It's our son, hon. They were having a baby sale right at the corner and I couldn't resist him." He looked down at the baby's plump cheeks as he sucked at the bottle. "Maybe we could call him Frank, after my father."

"I don't want to call him anything!" Frances set her purse down on a couch and folded her arms. "Take him back!"

"But . . . I can't!"

"Why not? You still got the receipt, doncha?"

"Yes, but . . ." He looked down at the baby's adorable little face, then up at his wife's, which was turning crimson. "Look, Fran, he's a real bargain."

"Some bargain. I'm getting sick of your damn sales, Sydney!"

"But Fran, we've been talking for years about having a baby."

"Yes, when we're ready. And I'm not ready."

"If you'll just hold him . . ."

"I don't want to hold him. Take him back!"

Sydney sighed. "I hoped you would like this baby as much as I do. But I see now I was wrong."

His wife's face hardened. "You didn't even consult me!"

"Why should I? You would only have said no anyway! Prattled about needing more time to establish your home cosmetics business."

"It's not prattle! I do need more time. I'm building up my clientele right now. It's a formative period, and they need to feel I'm there for them. A baby --"

"A baby wouldn't be that big a whoop, Fran. I could look after him while you sold your flavor-of-the-month cunt sprays and mint-fresh deodorizers." Sydney rose, cradling the baby. "That's the main problem with people today: they're selfish! No one cares about the young, about looking after children! When I was a kid, adults cared about something more than their own petty concerns!"

Frances's eyes were mere slits. "Take -- it -- back!"

"All right!" Sydney threw the milk bottle against the wall and stormed out, carrying the baby.

When he returned to the baby sale, he marched in the warm spring air up to the cashier. "I want to return this," he said, hefting the baby.

"Gotta receipt?"

"Yes."

The cashier took it and peered at the print through his thick glasses.

"Sorry, mister. You bought this fella at 1:15 pm today."

"So what? It's a receipt, isn't it?"

"Yep, but if you read the top, you'll see that you only have a two hour period to return your purchase if you're not satisfied with it. It's now past four."

"So I'm stuck with the kid, is that it?"

A shrug. "Maybe you can sell it to someone else."

Not it, Sydney thought. It's a he, and I was going to name him Frank, after my father. He flung the receipt in the cashier's face, then held the baby against his chest. Hearing him burp, Sydney gently, tenderly patted his back.

He turned and walked up and down, trying to sell his child. But now, nobody seemed to want him. Once, a middle-aged couple hesitated, and Sydney lowered the price to $7.50 and finally offered to give the baby away. But the man shook his head, muttering how a baby would change their life, force them to make sacrifices.

Sydney watched in disgust as they walked away. That's the way society was. Everybody was so selfish these days, wrapped up in themselves. When he was a kid, it had been a lot different.

Sighing, Sydney turned and went to the disposal unit in the center of the parking lot. "Goodbye, Frank," he said. He kissed the baby, dropped him down the chute and walked away, trying to ignore the whir of blades.

* * *

Driving around, he thought about Frances. Maybe he should have consulted her first and not criticized her so much. But then, what was the big problem about having a kid? She was just being a bitch as usual. If push came to shove, they could always have hired a live-in nanny or something. In fact, since his marriage counseling practice kept him so busy, he would have been willing to pay for one himself!

Sydney turned a corner, where he saw that a robbery was in progress. He braked and parked the car to watch.

Two little kids with faces like altar boys were trying to snatch an old woman's purse. She held fiercely onto it, though, even tried to kick them with pointed, high-heeled shoes.

"Leave me alone! Why do you rob an old woman? It's all the money I have!"

A passing police cruiser stopped with a screech of tires, and Sydney saw half a dozen cops with plump baby faces pile out. They stood watching, leaning against their car with coffee and chocolate doughnuts in their hands.

In the meantime the boys persisted in their efforts to steal the old woman's purse. One got down on all fours behind the woman so that the other boy could push her over him. As she fell, the cops broke into high-pitched giggles and nudged each other.

A boy had the woman's purse now and kicked her in the face, stilling her screams. Then both kids ran off, dashing in front of the police.

"What is this world coming to?" Sydney mused, watching them run.

* * *

Needing a drink, Sydney drove to Nudie Ned's. He parked, then headed down the street toward a dozen old people who lay all over the sidewalk. Huh! Probably thrown out of their apartments for nonpayment of rent. These days no one cared anymore about old-fashioned values. Not only didn't people want to have children, but they treated the aged with contempt. Sydney stalked angrily on, stomping an old man's hand as he passed him.

Inside the bar, Sydney let a lap dancer named Minnie lead him to a table. He ordered a beer and, when it came, dropped a sixty dollar bill on the tray.

"Thank you," she smiled. She sat down beside him on the red cushioned seat. Since she weighed about 350 pounds, the result was that he tipped sharply toward her. He righted himself by grabbing one of her gargantuan thighs.

"Oooooh, baby!" She raised two enormous breasts and rubbed them vigorously against his face, then thrust a nipple into his mouth like a battering ram. "Wouldja like me to dance for you?"

"H-how much?" he gasped, pulling his lips free.

"Only nine hundred a dance."

Nine hundred. That was a hundred more than usual. He watched Minnie's mountains of flesh jiggle and bounce as she leaned toward him. Dammit, he'd bet this girl didn't even weigh 400 pounds. Usually he preferred at least 500, but, looking about, he saw that the other dancers didn't even weigh as much as Minnie.

What the hell was happening lately?

But Sydney was in such a dark mood, he knew he needed something to cheer him up that would require heavy cash. He reached in his wallet and pulled out his Gold Ultrasex card. "Sure," he said, "I want you to dance. As long and as often as my credit holds out."

"Ooooh, baby, I think we're gonna get along just fine!" This time she pulled him so tightly against her heaving bosoms that he almost lost consciousness.

* * *

Driving home, Sydney found that the day had darkened even more than his mood. Black clouds obscured the sun, and he realized his self-righteous anger at Fran had changed to guilt. What if she learned he had spent twenty thousand dollars just to have a girl dance in his lap? She'd scream, of course, and call him a wasteful fool. He could hear her sharp voice now, demanding an explanation as to why he hadn't simply visited a Government-inspected Pleasure Companion. After all, it was what they both usually did, and it cost only a fraction as much!

The world is falling apart, Sydney thought morosely. Things just aren't like they used to be.

Suddenly the car's engine started to rattle and make an odd assortment of noises. He drove on, hoping it would stop, but it only grew worse. W-w-w-rrrhhh! B-b-prrrffttt! Krumpppfffffff!

Sydney pulled over, feeling vexed and perplexed. He yanked the hood release and got out to lift it and peer inside, but the day was so dark he could barely see anything. Rubbing his eyes, he leaned closer. Hmmm. Could it be . . .

VROOOOOOOOM!

With an explosion of wings, the cause of the problem rose into the sky. Thousands of them. Sydney saw delicate fish bodies borne aloft on silver wings. VROOOOOOOOOOM! They surged forth and upward, their iridescent scales flooding the air with light and fragrance, beautiful beyond compare. Sydney watched them rise, his mouth open in awe.

A nearby motorist had stopped to observe the event. "Say, you got a good one there, pal."

Sydney watched the winged creatures rise in a glorious, shining wave, then turned to him. "I do?"

"Yep," the man said. "According to the news, it's gonna be a perfect day for babyfish and a great season too, just like the old days. Why, this morning my pickup spewed the pretty little buggers for ten full minutes when I popped the hood. I bet there was a million of 'em."

Sydney raised his eyes, following the last babyfish as it swam triumphantly toward the clouds. He noticed it held his receipt for the baby purchase between its teeth, and that the paper fluttered like a gay streamer behind it.

Just like the old days, Sydney thought. The man's words evoked wonderful memories of babyfish from his childhood and brought tears to his eyes. Maybe times weren't as bad as they seemed. As long as there was still a fresh, healthy crop of babyfish in the spring, there was still hope. Hope for him and for Fran, and for the future as well.

Sydney closed his hood and drove home, whistling all the way.