THE HOUSE LEFT EMPTY by Robert ReedThe truck was long and white with a name I didnt recognize stenciled on the side. But that doesnt meanmuch what with new delivery services springing up every other day. It was the details I noticed and Ivealways been good with details: No serious business would call itself something as drab as RapidDistribution. The trucks body had been grown from a topnotch Ford-Chevy schematic tires woven frompricey diamond-studded glass. But the machine acted heavier than I expected as if somebody hadthrown extra steel and aluminum into the recipe -- just to help a pair of comatose industries. Instead of ajoystick the driver was holding onto a heavily padded old-fashioned steering wheel and he was lockedin place with three fat seat belts a cumbersome buckle stuck over his poor groin. Standard federal issuefancy and inefficient and not for the first time I wondered why we still pretend to pay taxes to theremnants of our once-national government.It was mid-morning. I was sitting in my living room considering my options for the rest of the day. Myroof tiles were clean house batteries already charged the extra juice feeding into the SGs communalbank. The factory inside my garage had its marching orders -- facsimile milk and bananas a new gardenhose and a dozen pairs of socks -- and it certainly didnt want my help with those chores. I could havebeen out in my yard but last nights downpour had left the ground too soggy to work. I could attack oneof the six or seven books Id been wrestling with lately or go on-line on some errand sure to lead to ahundred distractions. But with the early warm weather what I was thinking about was a bike ride. I havefour fresh-grown bikes each designed for a different kind of wandering but even a decision that simplerequires some careful lazy consideration.Then the delivery truck drove past my house. I heard the _bang_ when it hit the pothole up the streetand then the long white body swung into view. I immediately spotted the uniformed driver clinging to hissteering wheel trying to read the number that Id painted beside my front door. He was young