Chapter 3

She was fine ... mighty fine ... perfectly fine ... fine, fine, fine.

Except.

Except is a classy form of Murphy ... Murphy uses ‘but.’

Except ... her feet were skimming the newly mown grass. (I’m not sure how mown grass figures in the plot ... at a beach ... but this is not my idea ... not at all. I have a feeling I’m going to find out.)

“You’re not in Chicago,” she said.

“I see,” I said ... and I did ... see. The pruned Scotch-pines were a poor substitute for the coconut palms of the sunny beach. The vistas present were a truly poor substitute for the sunny beach. Sonnytbitch. The vast vista was prairie ... with accompanying herds of not buffalo. What the fuck? Dinosaurs do not run in packs ... do they?

Velocraptors ... well ... that’s what they were doing ... running like mad and shitting everywhere. Running at ME.

“Pay attention,” said my mighty fine hallucination ... only I was watching ME being eaten by Velocraptors. WE were above the galloping mass ... they passed under the Scotch-pines and away.

“You can’t stay here,” she said.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“What were you doing?”

“Walking in Chicago on the Lakefront trail.”

“How did you get here? ... not that I mind ... you performed a service I hate doing myself.”

“I picked up this purse,” I rattled it at her. “And this revolver.”

I waved the revolver around ... it went off. The noise brought the Velocraptors back. They can leap to impossible heights. Fart Assisted Propulsion. They do not breathe fire ... but they explain “Shitfire!”s first usage. Common saying these days ... right in there with Shit Fuzzy.

“May I see it?” “The revolver, you idiot.” “How does this thing work?” “I see.” “LOUD!”

“WHAT?”

“THERE’S NO NEED TO SHOUT!”

“I’M NOT SHOUTING.”

I slapped the side of my head twice.

With slightly reduced volume I said, “Never shoot a gun in a closet.”

“WHAT?”