They can read photons as simply as breathing. They bounce them off everything they meet. It's as easy as shooting a glance at a passing stranger. They know the world has a living, beating heart of molten magnetic rock and they are in touch with its chord. As they get older, Chords tend to float west and move back home. The further west the better. Facing the Atlantic makes them feel comfortable so they retreat to where they can spend the day cycling through the drizzle, getting zapped by nothing more powerful than a dry-stone wall or a flock of sheep. This is Chord heaven. Now Chord heaven is...