Yawper

Snaps! I take up my stylus and put it down, tempted once again by the satisfying buttons. I remove the nose piece, and then clasp it back into place. I remove the strap that holds in the mouth box - a clever machine that filters noxious fumes while also amplifying the voice. A wonderful asset for the colliers beset with noise or bedeviled by interference on their channels. One feels the voice of a prophet when expelling trite instructions through these boxes. "Cast thy shovel on the other side of the lode" - inane direction in one's own voice; vatic poesie when amplified through the box. More snapping. Wonderful action through the old fingerpads. The lenses, too, are modular. Shade in the glare of the alien stars or the spark of a welding torch; clear in the dim caverns of the planet; carved and cut to supplement those who cannot see beyond the point of their drill or those who, through the fault of only their own eyes, cannot liter-ate. My dear Padulweis, I would not know what to do if I could no longer read your missives and if thine eyes could no longer read mine. Snaps while I observe the remaining structures. The empty snaps on the side of the mask indicate an absent hood of some sort. The wiry knob on the forehead, mysterious. Best left alone. Best left alone. Best left alone. Best left alone. Best left...