A pair of strangers made an appearance at the Dot Tavern at 840 Dot Ave last night. They were wearing fully padded, bulky clothes and they carried full face helmets that they hung on the coat hooks before they ordered their beers. The regulars assumed they were motorcyclists just passing through.
The strangers bought a few rounds for the house while making conversation. Tongues got looser as the night progressed and the strangers were very interested in the answers they were getting to their questions. They concentrated intently, as if they were taking mental notes. One of the strangers had corralled Steve and Brenda into one of the booths where they were running down the last fifteen years of Red Sox stats. He must have been from out of town if he hadn't memorized these figures already. The other stranger was talking to Fred who warmed to his favorite topic: where potholes most frequently appear between Andrew Square and Field's Corner. Fred used to be employed by Public Works.
The beer had been flowing for a couple of hours when the strangers picked up their helmets and said they had to be going. The bartender protested that they couldn't be riding motorcycles after all the beer they had drunk. The strangers weren't the least bit unsteady or slurry but they assured the barkeep that they weren't driving. He looked outside and didn't see any motorcycles parked at the curb so he let them go without calling a cab.
After they left, the regulars began speculating where the strangers came from. Fred said, "They're from Dot Neb." Charlie said, "What are you talking about? There's no Dot Neb. You mean 'Nep' like Neponset." "No," Fred answered, "I had a smoke out back with one of them. He said they were from Dot Neb and he pointed in the direction they came from."
We all crowded onto the back porch so Fred could show us where this neighborhood is. He pointed straight up at a fuzzy spot in the constellation of Leo. Of course. They were from the Dorchester Nebula. That explained their pointed ears.