Take the 920 exit. Go South on 920 until you reach the Central Second Street Exit. At the bottom of the Ramp, go left. Two blocks down you'll see the sign:

WOODLAND HILLS
Luxurious, affordable housing

James turned left again. He gave the gas a jab in order to conquer the hill that had risen up before him in defiance. His car, somewhat ancient, rebelled. It died. James pulled the emergency brake, and, giving the gas pedal a pump, turned the key. It clicked. He tried it again. It didn't click. It didn't do anything.

"Great!" James yelled, and grabbing his directions, keys and a dozen roses, he locked and shut the door. He was an odd sight in his black suit and tie-carrying roses-walking angrily up the steep hill that greeted those entering luxurious Woodland Hills. It was late afternoon, and the cool evening breeze soon soothed James' mood. The sidewalk eventually became horizontal, and James began to take notice of his surroundings. It was a nice subdivision, as subdivisions go. Scrawny young trees adorned towering houses, overseeing nicely trimmed yards invaded by screaming children at play.

Glancing at his watch, he found he still had time to find Alison's house. Ahh, Alison. She was gorgeous, and James had just barely gotten the nerve together to ask her out. To his great surprise, she accepted, and proceeded to give him directions.

He stopped at the next cross-street and looked at his map. This was the first left, but the street sign said, "Peabody Lane" and he wanted "Grand Avenue."

"Crud," James said, forcing air out of his cheeks.

"Hey, Mister." James looked down into the face of a scrawny kid who was standing almost directly beneath him. "How come you make that strange sound with your mouth?"

"I" James realized then how dumb he must look with his cheeks filled with air. "Ihave a blood disease."

"Oh." The kid ran off.

"Hey, kid!" James shouted, "You know where Grand is?"

"He's dead!" The kid responded, still running.

James blew air through his cheeks again.

"Young man!" James whirled. An elderly lady stood shaking in the doorway of a ranch.

"Hi."

"I know where Grand is!"

"You do!" exclaimed James, relieved.

"You betcha!" James ran up to the door.

"Would you like to come in?"

:"Well, I'm a little late-"

"Oh, poopoo late, you ought to meet people."

"Well," James glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes. "All right, but just for a minute." She held the door open wide, and he entered. The room was small, and had a new-house smell, mixed with the odor of slowly molting furniture. The furnishings were all circa 1920, and arranged immaculately. A head stuck out from above one of the chairs. "Do you have company?" asked James, pointing to the chair.

"Oh, nonononono," cooed the old lady, "That's my husband, Reginald. I'm going to go into the kitchen to make tea. Why don't you go introduce yourself? Reginald loves guests." With that she turned and tottered off towards a door, which, James supposed, must have led to the kitchen. The door swung shut and James made his way to the other side of the room. Reginald sat, unmoving in the armchair, a shriveled monument to old age.

"Oh, hi. My name's James." James waited.

Reginald didn't blink. James passed his hand in front of the old man's eyes. They were still as stones. James felt a chill in his bones. He touched the ancient skin. It was cold as ice.

"Oh, god," he mumbled.

"Reginald got you praying?" The old woman appeared carrying a silver tea tray. "He's good at that, you know. He was a minister before he retired. He still prays a great deal. Oh my, yes, he sits all day and night, with his eyes lifted towards heaven-"

"Ma'am-"

"Call me Grenda."

"Grenda, I-"

"I've changed my mind. Call me Tootsie."

"No!"

"Oh, please."

"Ma'am, your husband is dead!!"

"SHHHHH!!!" She blew huge quantities of air and saliva on her raised index finger. "Don't say that, you'll upset him!"

James stood transfixed, unable to cope with this for the moment.

"Are you a Buddhist?" Tootsie asked, pouring him a cup of steaming brown liquid.

"No."

"Good, we used to shoot those." She set a piece of cake before Reginald. "Eat, dear. You need your strength."

"But he can't eat!!!"

"You never should use absolutes, dear," scolded Tootsie. "Here, have some cake."

'"I don't want any cake!!"

"My, you are ungrateful!"

James looked at his watch. "I've got to get going. Do you know where Grand is?"

"Drink your tea, dear." She took James' untouched cake and set it before Reginald. James noted with horror that Reginald's plate was empty, save for a few stray crumbs. There were crumbs also around the old man's wrinkled mouth. Also his eyes, which were still open. James could swear he hadn't moved.

"Of course he hasn't moved," James thought. "He's dead!"

"How did you do that?"

"Do what, dear?"

"Make him eat?"

"Oh, it's not hard, just give a man what he wants." She smiled. "Drink your tea."

James obeyed. "Bleh!!" he spat back into the cup.

"What wicked manners!" said the old woman, appalled.

"What is this stuff?!"

"Tea, of course. Oh!" She covered her mouth with a wrinkled palm. "Oh, dear." She removed the tea bag from the teapot. "Oh, my!" She got up and ran into the kitchen dropping the teabag in her haste. James picked it up, and read, "Swenson's Rat Powder." There were also the slogans: "For fine rats who drink tea" and "Kills with class."

"So, so sorry. Here's some good tea." Tootsy appeared again, toting a new tray.

"No, really," James stood and nodded. "Thank you, but I have to go. I'm late."

"You, too?" she sighed. "Strange. Reginald has the same fixation"

"Can you tell me where Grand is?"

"Grand?"

"Yes, Grand. Outside I said, 'Do you know where Grand is?' And you said you did."

"Did I?"

"Yes!!"

"Oh, I don't think so."

"Yes, you did. I heard it with my own ears."

"It wasn't me. Maybe it was Mrs. Johnson."

"It was you, you asked me in!" James was furious now.

"Did I? I was wondering how you got here, weren't you, Reginald?" Reginald sat immobile, still staring sightlessly skyward. "Why don't you go ask Mrs. Johnson?"

"Where Grand is?"

"Yes, if you like."

"Where does Mrs. Johnson live?"

"Oh, but she's probably not home right now." Tootsy adjusted her spectacles. "Today is her crochet club. They're crocheting a pair of warm fuzzies for the toll plaza down at the bridge."

"You mean the tollkeeper."

"What?"

"They're making warm fuzzies for the tollkeeper."

"Certainly not! He may be a Buddhist for all we know!"

"Where is Mrs. Johnson?"

"Why?"

"Oh, god." James buried his head in his hands.

"Are you all right?" Tootsie asked, genuinely concerned. James looked up suddenly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" James whined.

"Doing what, dear?"

"Never mind." Instantly indignant. "Where can I find Mrs. Johnson?"

"Her club meets at Matilda's house."

Under his breath James seethed. "This is too much." He spoke up. "Where is Matilda's house?"

"He doesn't look very interested, does he, Reginald?" Reginald apparently didn't disagree.

"I am interested!!"

"On Grand."

"What?"

"Matilda lives on Grand."

"WHERE IS GRAND?!" James shouted.

"I don't believe I have to speak to someone as rude as you. Please leave."

"But­but I­I've got to know-"

"My you are strange, I have only one." She felt her own nasal aperture and shrugged. "Now please leave before you make Reginald violent!"

"What's he going to do, fall over at me?"

"GO!!"

James slammed the screen door and pounded away in exasperation. "Old bag!" he yelled back at the house.

"Young suitcase!" She screamed out the window.

James loosened his grip on the roses' stems, as he had punctured his skin in several places.

"Hey, watch it!" James jumped at the gruff voice underfoot. He jumped again when he discovered that his pant leg was on fire.

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Who are you?"

"Name's James."

"Hi, James. Did you know your pant leg is on fire?"

James did, and was trying to beat it out with his sports coat. Once the burning had subsided to a smoky smolder, James took in his "attackers." Two telephone repairmen were sitting cross-legged before an open fire on someone's driveway, roasting hot dogs on miniature telephone poles.

"Close call there, Jim," said the one nearest James. This one was tall even sitting down with frayed brown hair and a scraggy beard. The other was smooth shaven and bespectacled. "I'm Jerry," said the first, "And this is my partner, Derrick."

"Hi," said Derrick in a nasal twang.

"Hi," replied James, offhandedly. His prime interest was in his ruined suit. There was a black hole just under his knee.

"Polyester," said Jerry. James looked up. The man continued. "Had an uncle that got thrown into a bonfire at a rather wild vacuum cleaner salesman convention. He had on a polyester suit, too. Within seconds the suit had melted straight off his body and collected in a lump on the floor under the fireplace."

James, only half-listening, can be forgiven for asking, "Could he ever wear it gain?" because of his pre-occupation with his own suit.

"No, he was a size 16 long, but it made a hell of a racquetball." Jerry looked thoughtful. "Yes, my uncle really loved to play racquetball with that suit. He used to say that it was the only thing on the court that needed to be taken in two inches in the sleeve!" Both telephone repairmen erupted into laughter. "But then it was great fun playing racquetball with Uncle Hal after that. You see, he had to have skin grafts over 98% of his body because of the burns, so." He giggled, ".so every time he would swing, he would open a sore, which would start the bleeding all over, and within twenty points the man was out cold with the pain. Terribly easy to get a point past an unconscious man, I can tell you!"

"So," said Jerry, after he had recovered, "What can we do for you, kid?"

"Hi," said Derrick.

"Well," answered James spitefully, "I could use some new trousers."

"Hmm." Jerry's brow wrinkled in thought. "What size are you?"

"Thirty-two, thirty-two."

"Black polyester"

"Yes."

Jerry got up and faced James.well, looked down into James' face, as he was fully two feet taller. "Right. Wait here." The big man strode to a pup tent erected on the grassy boulevard between the sidewalk and the street. Kneeling, he unzipped the mesh door and ducked in, reappearing moments later with a brown-paper wrapped package addressed: "Great Danny Bodecker." Inside was a polka-dotted pajama top and striped muslin trousers.

"No?" asked Jerry.

"No," answered James.

"Hmmm." The giant telephone repairman disappeared again into the tent.

"Hi," said Derrick.

"Hi," said James.

"How 'bout these?" said the ever-grinning Jerry. This time the package read simply "JAMES." Inside was a perfect match to his still smoldering trousers.

"Duck in, kiddo. Put 'em on."

James nodded and closed the tent fly after him. He had no sooner slipper off his burnt trousers when a sweet voice offered, "I'll take those, if you like."

James whirled to see a strikingly beautiful girl clad in a soft blue silk dress that was almost invisible. James held his pants in front of himself in panic. "Shouldn't you knock or something?"

"In a tent?" she asked. She seemed to be looking straight through him at some other object. He turned and looked himself, but there was only nothing. "Don't be alarmed," she said sweetly, "I am blind."

James sighed, and slowly began to finish changing his clothes.

"I'mI'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, really." James detected a strange note in her reply.

"Is it my fault at all?"

"Do you ever dial outside your area code?"

"Well, yes."

"How often?"

"Two, three times a week, I don't know. Why?"

"Well, then, you are definitely to blame, somewhat."

"I don't understand," said James, and he didn't. "What happenedI mean, to your eyes?"

"They put them out."

"Those men? Jerry and Derrick?"

"And others."

"They just put your eyes out?"

"Yes," she smiled, "Every evening. They say they must keep an eye on the truck and on the fire. This one is pretty well done by now." She pointed to her left eye, which was a tad darker, if not charred around the edges.

"Who are you?" James asked, appalled.

"My name is Flight. Now go before they get suspicious and glue my ears to the walls!"

James felt a little sick as he reappeared to the outside air, wearing his fresh black polyester trousers.

"Want a marshmallow?" asked Jerry with a wide grin.

"No, thank you, Listen, I just met this girl-"

"In there?" Jerry was suddenly serious.

"Yes."

"That's it. Derrick, we take her arms off tomorrow."

"But-" said a policeman driving by and waving out of an open window, "the right to bear arms is guaranteed in the constitution!!"

Jerry waved. "That's right. Tomorrow we surgically replace her existing limbs with bear arms. Polar bear, what'cha think, Derrick?"

"Hi."

"Yes, well, the cost is no object for the telephone company. Nothing but the best."

"What if you took away her sleeves?" asked James, hoping he had caught on. "Then she'd have bare arms, and it wouldn't cost the customers anything!"

"Hmm." Jerry thought, then suddenly, "That's it! No sleeves and thirty lashes with a switchboard cable!"

"Say, Jerry," tried James, "Why is she being punished?"

"Punished? She's getting minimum wage for this!"

"Hi," said Derrick.

"Shut UP!" retorted James. Derrick rearranged his spectacles and put an open can of Cream of Tomato soup on the fire. James noted with sudden terror that his light was slowly fading in the western sky. He looked at his watch. He was definitely late. Suddenly his purpose came rushing back to him. "Jerry," he started, "Could you please tell me where Grand Avenue is?"

"Sorry, guy, it's not on my route. It's on Gregg's route, though."

"Gregg?"

"Yeah," he shoved his flaming telephone pole towards the house they were camped in front of. "That's why we're here, to watch him."

"Who?"

"Gregg."

"Why?"

"To stop the insurrection."

"What insurrection?"

"Gregg's. Go ask him where Grand is."

James took a deep breath and started towards the door. Derrick piped up suddenly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you!!"

James, shocked that the little man could utter a complete sentence, stopped for a second. "Why?"

"Sorry," the bespectacled repairman smirked and dropped his head between his knees, falling over on his side.

James turned again towards the house slowly, and rung the doorbell. A middle-aged man in full military dress answered the door.

"Well?"

James noted the man's navy cap, sunglasses and corn cob pipe with interest. "May I, uh, do you know-um, can I use your phone?"

The man cocked his head to one side and threw Jerry and Derrick a glance. "You a spy?"

"No!" James retorted. "I just have to use your phone-"

"What did they tell you?"

"Nothing, sir. Really."

"All right, come in." James stepped inside cautiously and came face to face with a man hanging upside down. He started, unnerved. "Gotta report, Delaney?"

"Yessir, Mr. Gregg."

"Good. Put it on my desk. I'll get to it after I have some ice cream."

"Yessir." The upside-down man trudged off on the ceiling.

As James entered the living room, he noted many people standing at all angles in relation to the floor. He realized this was due to them wearing spikes strapped to their boots, as repairmen do when they climb telephone poles. James froze at the sight of over a hundred angry telephone repairmen.

"Don't worry about them," said Gregg, obviously the man in charge, here, "They're harmless enough, if you're a friend. Just don't dance with them." James gulped and followed the commander to the telephone on the wall. "Feel free," said Gregg, picking up several files and skimming through them.

James lifted the receiver and dialed. He mentally planned what he was going to say: "Uh, Alison? I'm a bit latebecause my my" It was dead. James flipped the cradle up and down. Still nothing. Not a buzz.

"It doesn't work!" He complained to Gregg.

"I could have told you that," he said.

"Why didn't you?" James demanded.

"Because, dummy," said another voice, behind James, "you didn't ask." The man was tall and balding. "Sir," he addressed Gregg, now, "The strategies are fixed. We can go at midnight."

"Excellent! Collect the troops in the training grounds immediately!"

"Yessir!" He turned: "Okay, guys, let's go to the backyard!"

Within seconds, the room was emptied except for James and Commander Gregg, who was putting ice in a brandy glass. "Want some?" he asked, as he poured cream from a red-colored carton in his glass.

"No, thanks," answered James, somewhat sickened.

"To the battlefield, then!" shouted the Commander, shoving James through the open wall door into the back.

"All right, men!" screamed the Commander. "We need, above all else, organization tonight!"

"Organization!" shouted hundreds of men squeezed into a small backyard cubicle enclosure by a silver chain-linked fence, lit with great floodlights, which were green.

"We've suffered under the regime of the present phone company too long!"

"Suffered!" wailed the soldiers.

"The time has come for a revolution!"

"Revolution!"

"With the new telephone company, we'll have lower long-distance rates to Siberia!"

"Lower long distances rates!" shouted the near-frenzied mob.

"We'll have Zwieback crackers delivered with every new phone!"

"Zwieback!!"

"What's a Zwieback?" James asked of one of the mercenaries on his right.

"Not what, when."

"All right, when's Zwieback?"

"Oh, I'd say in about two weeks." All the others agreed.

"Crackers!!"

"Men, present arms!" A hundred arms flew into the night sky.

"Switchboard cables!" A hundred hit the surface of a sea of screaming men.

"Good. Off we go, then, to the Telephone Company office!"

"Where's that?" James asked anyone around him.

"On Grand Avenue.," said the man standing almost on top of him.

"GRAND?"

"Yes. Grand, isn't it?"

"Wow! What luck!!"

"I don't know, what?"

"Never mind," said James, ecstatic.

"Wait!" shouted Commander Gregg as they started marching. "I'm going to go potty first, but we leave in two minutes!"

James was grinning ear to ear.

"Mister," James looked down into the face of a little girl of about eight or nine years.

"Hi," he said.

"Mister, I gotta go to the little girl's room. Will you watch Excelsior for me, please?" She shoved a leash into James' hand, and ran away on spindly little-girl legs.

"Wait! Little girl! I can't! I gotta go!"

"You should of thought of that sooner, chum; the Commander's back!"

"Charge!!!" shouted Gregg.

James covered his head as a hundred frenzied telephone repairmen charged into the empty suburban streets toward Grand Avenue.

"Hello, Excelsior," said James, sadly.

The dog began to growl.

"Good dog" James patted the canine's head. The dog jumped and snapped at his hand. James started to back away, dropping the leash. The dog paced him as he walked slowly backwards, yellow eyes locked onto his. In desperation, he shoved a rose stem into the dog's face and made for the fence. In a single leap he cleared it, and ran madly. The dog, recovered, was close behind, coming closer. James saw the dog, not ten steps behind, and made for another fence. On top of this, he jumped onto a woodpile, and then to a roof. The dog leaped futilely at the roof's edge, but to no avail. James finally allowed himself to breath.

"Oy! Oy! Oy!" chortled a merry voice.

James groaned and closed his eyes. Slowly he turned his head and looked. He promptly shut them again, as he wasn't prepared to cope with a fat man in rabbinical robes inside a chariot drawn by-he opened his eyes again-yes, drawn by nine Judean lions. "Oy! Oy! Oy!" The fat man laughed again. "And who might you be?"

James tried to stand. "I'm James."

"Oh, yes, James," said the old man, stroking his traditional Jewish beard as if remembering an old friend. "You used to tie your cat to revolving doors as a child-"

"How do you know that?" shouted James, suddenly.

"I've seen you during Christmas, James. Don't you know me?"

The jolly man smiled broadly, his great belly shaking merrily.

"You're Santa Claus!"

"On Christmas, yes! But not now. Tonight, I'm Semita Claus!"

"Semita Claus?"

"Yes! Every year, at Yom Kippur, I circle the globe searching out the 12 tribes, distributing joy. You know, at Christmas, Jewish children feel so left out, so every year on this night I come to give presents. Want a Dreidel?"

"No, thank you. But perhaps you can help me-"

"Oy! Oy! Oy! That's my job, James. I always help!"

"Good. Listen, can you tell me where Grand Avenue is?"

"Well, that's not my long suit, why don't you ask my lead thunderlion, Joseph Bar Rudolph?"

James gulped and cautiously walked down the long line of lions, to the front, where he found a huge lion with a shining star of David implanted on his nose.

"Can you tell me where Grand is?"

"No semitics live on Grand."

"I'm sorry, but-"

"I can't tell you about Goyim."

"Goyim?"

"Gentiles."

"Oh!" He nodded and walked back to the chariot. "He didn't say."

"Oh, I am sorry."

"Did you ever go there?"

"No Jew I know of ever has!" He cracked his whip, and the lions pawed off into space.

James felt very disappointed and started to survey the rest of the roof, when he felt hot breath on his new pant leg. Slowly he glanced down and saw Excelsior about to spring. James decided to spring first and fell down the black sooty chimney which the Jolly Fat Jew had just himself occupied.

James hit bottom with a puff of flowing soot. Groping around, he found a lever. "Ow!" he shouted, realizing that he had just shut the flue on his leg.

"C'mon!" someone yelled in his ear. He jumped and hit his head. "This way." Hands tore at his clothes, pulling him out of the sooty depths. Wiping the soot out of his eyes (or rather, into them, as his hand was covered too), he tagged along after the voice.

"Here!" someone threw a towel to him.

"Thanks," he said.

"Shhh! C'mon!!" He wiped his face and looked as he ran. He was evidently inside of a school of some sort. A kindergarten, by the looks of it. And the persons leading him, he noted, were each of them under four feet tall.

"Hurry up, Mister, or she'll catch you!"

James scurried after the kids.

One stopped and opened a door. And James waited in line with the children. He heard an elderly voice counting:

"32, 33, 34."

"Jump, Mist-!"

James did, as he heard the old voice croak, "35.Ready or not, here I come!"

James allowed his eyes to adjust, while following the children through the dark subterranean corridors.

"Okay, let's rest," one of the kids said, "We're safe, for now."

They had all collected in a small cavern.

James realized that none of his "rescuers" were over 7 years old.

"Hi, Mister. You almost ruined everything."

"Sorry," said James. "I was being chased by a dog."

"Was it a big, black dog?"

"Yes, it belonged to a little girl."

"Oh, it's Jenny's dog, Jonathan Gurgle."

"Jonathan Gurgle? She said his name was Excelsior."

"That's what she tells people."

"Hey," said a little boy. James noted with great discomfort that this kid was holding a submachine gun. "Didn't we shoot that dog last week for target practice."

"No. And it was two weeks ago, on maneuvers. We shot Reginald Dodson's brother Pecky."

"Oh, yeah. He sort of looked like Jonathan Gurgle."

"'Cept he's not black."

"Right."

"Say," began James, "Where'd you get the gun?"

"All us guys got 'em."

James looked around. It was true.

"Santa Jew gave 'em to us."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. There's what the kids in the Holy Land were sposed to get. Guess he got mixed up. So all the kids in Israel can do is throw Barbie dolls at the Arabs."

"Oh." James stopped thinking about all this, it was easier that way.

"What's your name, Mister?"

"James. Say, what was up back there?"

"Oh, preschool."

"It's past midnight!"

"We're missin' lunch, Jeff," said a little girl to the most vocal of the boys.

"Go away, we got business to attend to."

"Just what is your business?"

"There another all-night preschool down the road."

"Yeah?"

"Well, that hag back there-"

"The one counting?"

"That's right, " Jeff paused, clearly upset, "She's the substitute teacher."

James waited patiently.

"We think our regular teacher is being held hostage by the other preschool."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, so we've been playing hide-and-seek with Mrs. Schedlikol, and comin' down here to dig this tunnel."

"Doesn't she miss you?"

"Heck no! She gets bored and sacks out in the kitchen after a couple of minutes." He leaned in to whisper, "She moonlights as a stripper in an all-male nursing home."

"Moonlights?" James asked. "How come you're here now? It's past midnight!"

"Not in the Middle East!"

James couldn't argue with that. "Where is this other pre-school?"

"Corner of Grand at Peabody."

"You're kidding!" James shouted.

"Shh!" whispered Jeff.

All the kids strained their ears to hear some evidence of pursuit. It came.

"Halloo! I'm coming to get you!"

"Crap! Okay, guys, project aborted, scatter!"

"No!" James yelled. "I've got to find Grand!"

"Don't you know, Mr. James? He's dead."

"So I've heard."

James followed Jeff through a short corridor. It led to a storm drain, light pouring into his eyes through a high metal grate. A streetlight above flooded them with blinding luminosity. James strained to lift the grate. Eventually it came loose with a start. James tossed it aside and hoisted Jeff above. Jeff shouted, "No!" and a shot pierced the night air, and Jeff's limp body fell back into the drain. James felt the boy's pulse. It was weak. He examined his wound. It was clean through the lung. The pulse stopped. James grabbed the boy's gun and leaped out of the drain in a fury. Thirty rounds burst through the gun. The smoking remains of Jonathan Gurgle lay twitching. There was no one else around, until-

"Hey, Matt!"

James swung. "Come here!" James could think of nothing else to do. He slung the gun over his shoulder and picked up the dog's carcass. The man's stood in the bright glaring of an apparently open hamburger place. "Good work. We're getting low on rats as it is!"

"Pardon me?" asked James.

"Said getting' low on rats. You must be the new boy." The man wiped his greasy fat hands on an apron that may have been white a few centuries ago.

"You're early, but that's all right." Bertha'll fix you up with a uniform."

"Sir, there's a boy, over in the drain-"

"Really? Well, where will they be next? Seems kids are just about every place now."

"But, sir-"

"Can't turn around these days without seeing a young 'un."

"Sir-"

"Next thing you know, there'll be kids in hamburgers!"

"He's dead, sir."

"Huh?"

"There's a kid over there in the drain. He's dead, sir."

"Really, well what will they be next? Seems kids are turning up dead just about everyplace now."

"Sir!"

"Nope, can't turn around these days without seeing a dead young 'un."

"But-"

"Next thing you know, there's be dead kids in-"

"Sir!"

"Oh, yeah. Call me Dan. I run this place. Fella that used to run it called it 'The Baseball Burger Joint.' I jus' call it 'Tennis Elbow.' What do ya think?"

"You didn't get it, do ya?"

"I guess not."

"That boy is dead!"

The fat fry cook started to laugh hysterically.

"It's not a joke!"

"Oh, sorry. It didn't have any punchline, did it?"

"Someone shot him!"

"Oh dear, is he all right?"

"He's been shot!" James was almost in tears. "You must have seen it."

"Yeah, I did."

"You did?"

"Yeah, here's your murderer." The man lifted one of Jonathan Gurgle's limp paws; it grasped a still warm luger.

"Oh, sod."

"Yep," said the fry cook. "Kid was Jewish, wasn't he?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"It's a German shepherd."

"Oh."

The fat man eyed James critically now. "You're awfully dirty, ya know."

"Yes, well. I sort of fell down a chimney."

"You should watch where you're going. C'mon."

He held the door open and motioned for James to follow. "Damned Sunday drivers," he mumbled.

Within minutes James found himself behind a burger grill in a blue and white checkered suit and funny white hat. Dan came around the corner carrying a dripping spatula. "Here, kid. This is how you do it." Opening a freezer, Dan took out a meat patty and threw it on the grill. Grease splattered and flew around the room. James ducked, but Dan stood fast. James rose to his feet after the grease had settled a bit, finding Dan's face covered completely with hardened lard. The fat fingers tore at his face and came off with an almost perfect life-mask, which he carefully placed in a cardboard box underfoot.

"Hand those out at Halloween. Gruesome things, don't you think. 'Sides, really sucks out the blackheads."

James smelled smoke as the burger started to burn. "Don't you think this is done?"

"No, it looks dark brown to me."

"No! I mean, do you think it's ready?"

"I think it's a hamburger. Whoops! Looks finished!"

Dan took the spatula and flipped the meat over once. "We make our very own patties here. All 100% meat, see?" He pointed to a meat grinder. James noted with distaste the long ringed tail hanging from it.

"Well, you cook, I'm going to go into the office and do owner-type things. You can wash the dishes until you get an order."

James walked out to the huge metal sink in the back of the kitchen. Brown water slurped around hazily. James wondered what awkward new life forms would evolve in there. "What are you doin'?" shouted Dan.

"Washing dishes."

He appeared moments later. "Look like you're thinking. I don't pay you to think. I pay you to make burgers!"

"But there aren't any orders!"

"Exactly!"

"Huh."

"Why aren't there any orders?"

"Because there aren't any customers."

"And why aren't there any customers?"

"Because it is bleeding one in the morning!"

"People get hungry at one in the morning."

James sighed. "I suppose so."

"So why aren't we busy?"

James was blowing air through his cheeks.

"Because they don't like your burgers?"

"And why don't they like our burgers?"

"Because you put rats in them!"

"No! Because you're slacking off! You haven't made a decent burger yet!"

"I haven't made any burgers yet!"

"See!"

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Well that's nice to know."

"What?"

"It's nice to know that I am, as Bertha is always denying my existence."

"I'm getting out of here-"

"True! I have a delivery for you."

"Delivery?"

"Yes. This case of yak entrails. Take it to 926 Grand Avenue."

"Grand?"

"Yes. Needs to be there in 15 minutes."

"But I can't find Grand!"

"You haven't started lookin' yet!"

"I've been looking all evening! Since 7:00 in the evening I have been hoofing through this asinine neighborhood. I have been chased, attacked, burned, trampled, kidnapped and shot at!"

"Oh! I say! That's quite good. Can you say that again? Bertha, come listen to this, this is neat!"

"Can you tell me where Grand is?"

"Straight down the street at first, left at the light. It's on your right-hand side."

"Grand Avenue?"

"No, the graveyard."

"Is Grand buried there?" James asked, exasperated.

"No."

"No?"

"No. He's the caretaker."

"Everyone said he was dead!"

"He is."

"I give up!"

"Good, I haven't taken a good up in a long time."

"Do you have a car, Dan?" James asked, his eyes closed.

"Yes."

"For deliveries?"

"Yes."

"Good. Can I use it?"

"Sure."

James waited. "Where's the keys?"

"Don't have any."

"Have do you start it?"

"Don't. It doesn't work."

"But you said it was for deliveries."

"It is, or is it five?"

"600!" James grabbed the case of yak entrails, and stormed out of the kitchen.

"No, it was definitely four!"

James saw his sooty suit and roses up on a shelf near the door. Quickly he tucked them under his arm and marched out.

No sooner had the door swung shut, then James almost ran straight into a giant of a man in a trench coat. Once James got out of the trench coat he stepped back. Apparently he had been noticed. The huge man got on his hands and knees and crawled through the door. "Hello, sweetie," growled the giant voice.

"Hello, Baby Cakes," replied Dan from somewhere deep within the bowels of the restaurant.

James found the yak entrails becoming more and more heavy. The huge yellow lamps lit the shopping center parking lot adequately, but beyond it the darkness crouched as if ready to spring. James caught glimpses of a mammoth Jonathan Gurgle covering the world.

Looking around, James took in the shops around him. Nearest him was "Guido's All-Night Pizza Parlor and Roller Disco Transmission Repair Palace." James decided it definitely wasn't for him. If he asks about Grand in there he'd probably get a tour of computer on the continent by some bearded drunk with B.O. and syphilis of the armpit. A closed bookstore, a darkened supermarket and a laundromat. An open laundromat! James was pleased. Lugging the yak entrails through the door, James was staring at an awesome sight. Setting down the crate, he carried his clothes to an unoccupied machine, the only one not being used by-mooseheads. James looked around in wonder. Some 30 people, at 1:30 in the morning, all stuffing stuffed moose heads into washing machines. James put his clothes into the machine and deposited the quarters. Carefully he sat on his crate and waited.

"Have you got a moosehead in there?" asked a young man, pointing to James' crate.

"No," James said.

"Hmm, is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"Yes, look-"

"Smaller than an elephant?"

"It's about the size of this crate here," James snapped.

"Ah, I thought as much," said the young man.

"Is it a box of party favors?"

"No, it isn't, a b-"

"Is it a case of Cream of Mushroom soup?"

"It's none of your business!"

"You're kidding! I haven't seen one of those in ages!"

"It's a case of yak entrails," James incanted..

An old woman had been eavesdropping as she brushed her moosehead. "What's a yak entrail?"

"Oh," answered the nosy young man, "Mindless gossip, senseless drivel about the weather-"

"Weather certainly has been drivel, hasn't it?"

"Yes," spoke up another old woman, "I love a good spring drivel."

James' curiosity pecked at him until he could stand it no longer. "Why are you washing mooseheads?"

"Is this a riddle?" asked the first old woman.

"No."

"Oh."

James waited. He tried again. "Why are you washing mooseheads?"

"Is this one a riddle?" she asked again.

"No!"

"Oh." The first old woman turned to the second. "Not very good at those, is he?"

"This is silly!" James shouted.

"Oh!" shouted the second old lady in delight, "It's not a riddle, it's a silly!"

"You can't wash mooseheads!" James screamed.

"Oh, that is silly, isn't it, Margo?"

The first old woman asked.

"I'm serious!"

"Oh, hello. I'm Margo, and this is Betsy," the second curtsied.

"Say, chum," the young man started in, Where is your moosehead?"

"I don't have one."

"Oooo," tsked Betsy, "One of those underprivileged children." Margo nodded.

James stewed as his washer stopped. Relieved, he retrieved his clothes. As he was walking towards a dryer, however, a tremendous howl erupted the room. Twenty or so college students were frantically trying to stuff a live moose into a washer. James grinned against the din and opened an unoccupied dryer door.

"Hello." James was staring at a wonderfully female face that was inside of the dryer.

"Uh, hi."

"Is my father out there?"

"Is your father a moose or an old lady named Betsy?"

"Yes, Betsy, that's him. Don't let on that I'm here."

"I won't." James was too startled by her beauty to be baffled by the absurdity of it.

"Would you like to come in?" asked the girl.

James looked around and dived into the dryer.

He found it sparsely furnished and a bit cramped, but reasonably comfortable.

"Tea?" asked the girl.

"Oh, no."

"How about some 'm'?"

"M?"

"Mmmmm" She lifted her eyebrows. For the first time James' eye roved from her face. She wore a yellow tee shirt, a bit too small, which was alright with him, and a comfy pair of faded jeans. "From repeated drying," James thought.

"What are you doin' here?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to be on a date, but I can't find where the girl lives."

"Oh, I am sorry." She shifted her position from atop the VCR, to the edge of the couch where James sat sipping a cool glass of "M."

"Would you like to help me?" the girl asked.

"Wi.with wh-what?"

"My Biology homework."

"Had enough 'Mmmmm'?"

"Mph? Uh, no, uh, yes!" James rose from his seat and followed the girl to her kitchen table.

She sat stiffly and opened a book. "I'm having a problem arranging amino acids on my DNA molecule model."

"Oh." James was dumbfounded.

"Yes, I've got my sugar-phosphate base built, but I just can't get the-"

"This is your Biology homework?" James stammered.

"Well, yes." Her beautiful blue eyes were totally serious.

James was so frustrated that he welcomed the commotion that erupted outside. The girl quickly ran to the door and looked out. The live moose had gotten loose and was trampling the room. Everyone was frantically trying to crawl inside their moose heads for cover. James turned back to the girl, who was tying antlers on her head and mooing. James shook his head and jumped into the tumult. Sighting a back door, he sprung for it, locking it behind him.

James leaned against the locked door, panting. H is breath was coming in spasms, and was so loud that he imagined he could see it. Then, he opened his eyes. The room, lit by a single candle, danced irregularly. The walls seemed black, but James supposed this could be the effect of the lighting. "Or lack of it." He breathed.

"Lack," repeated a voice. It was low, and melodic. It was a very old voice. "The man who lacks all, has everything to gain."

James quieted his breathing, in order to listen more closely to the voice, and the man it belonged it. "Hello?"

"Hello." The voice was cold and even. Too cold. Too, too even. "Why have you come?"

"Well, I didn't exactly come." James licked his dried lips with a yet drier tongue.

"And yet you are here." A shadow played upon an opposing wall. A cloaked figure walked into the light. James seriously considered facing the moose convention on the other side of the door.

"What do you want with me?" James asked.

"You came to me." The man's bony white hands gestured rhythmically with his words.

James tightened his grip on the doorknob, turning it slightly. It refused to open. James tried harder. Still it was unmoved. Panic rose in him immediately. The room seemed to have no other openings, and the objects in the center of the room were disturbingly ominous. Under great white sheets were contraptions of such design that James could not begin to guess their applications. In vain he tugged on the doorknob.

"There are no exits." The man sighed. "Only entrances."

"Who are you?"

"Who indeed." The hood rose to reveal an ivory chin. "You name me."

James was silent. "What do you do?" he said at last.

"I create." James winced at this. The man noted his uneasiness and chuckled in a hideous way. "And you cannot bring yourself to call me 'Creator.'" He paced to the other side of the room and turned abruptly. "What would you call yourself?"

"A-a searcher."

"Oh? And what do you seek?"

"A street," James said, and then thought better of it. "A girl. Love, I guess. And prosperity-"

"Money?"

"Money. Yes, I guess. Security. Peace. Joy, most of all." He stood, head down, hands dormantly hung at his sides. "Understanding." He mumbled. "Understanding, I guess, most of all."

The figure seemed to smile. "If," it spoke, "You had that one thing, then you would die a wiser man than has ever breathed a breath or has ever known our world. And besides"-if a hood could smile, this one did-"If you understood everything, what reason would there be in existing? The joy in life is its unpredictability; love is not to be understood. Concepts are to be grasped, not controlled or held captive. Try to hold love to yourself. It will evade you. Peace is something you alone make in the midst of a bloodied battle. And joy? Don't waste your time pursing happiness. Fools have their hands full with this. Happiness is a giggle. Joy is a well. But I cannot tell you how to obtain anything. At least none of these sorts of things."

James found his voice. "Are youEvil?"

"What is evil?"

James thought this over a bit. "A destructive force."

"I have told you, then. I create. Decisions about abstractions must be made by you alone. I cannot control your mind, least of all, your understanding."

James raised his head. "But.I don't understand anything!"

The stranger said nothing. He walked over to the veiled objects. "Would youlike to see what I create?"

James felt a wave of fear roll over him. Under those sheets could be instruments of torture previously unimagined by the human mind. But then, James had no assurance that the cloaked figure was human. James cringed at the mental visions running wild. Tearing flesh. Eyes torn, limbs dismembered, genitals desecrated. Nausea rolled over him unmercifully, as a bony hand gripped the edge of the cloth, and pulled back, revealing to James' sight a hundred, blood-red, shiningmulti-speed blenders.

It was minutes before James could speak. "You makeblenders?"

"Oh, yes. Original kitchen appliances of all sorts. There's nothing like a bright new blender with forty-eight adjustable speeds to brighten a kitchen."

Fear was no longer something James felt necessary to try to grasp. "Why?" James asked. "Why do you make, well, appliances?"

"Ope, there you go, trying to understand again. Without the need to understand, there is no confusion. But to answer, appliances are eternal! And they breed wisdom. Think of how much one can learn from a toaster oven! Or a colander!! It's just too much to grasp!" The figure was holding its head in its bony fingers unable to fathom the virtually untapped wisdom of kitchen-help devices.

HERE THE MANUSCRIPT ENDS. SOME HANDWRITTEN NOTES ON FURTHER CHAPTERS ARE ATTACHED:

Has to deal with a club devoted to saving the earth from the Martians. James objects. "No life on Mars!"

"Exactly!" is the reply, "If that ??????? at life sprouts to earth, we'll all be dead. We must destroy nothing!"

"How can you destroy nothing?" James asked.

Lots of discussion, but finally by the Martians' non-existence, and through their non-existence at a takover plan, feel that they have saved the world once more. A "Normal Girl" that gives James a lift is driving around looking for her little sister's lost dog, Jonathan Gurgle.

***

James nearly fell into the open door. Gasping, he grabbed his shirt, and waved it around, to air out the sweat.

"Don't do that."

"Why?" asked James, not daring to look.

"Well, OK, but only if you're not your mother."

"Okay!" James cheerfully grinned, because it was easier not to be someone he was not. He gazed upon his new friend.

"Brushlettes," screamed the person, who was, indeed a large, orange toothpaste tube.

"Tooth paste!" yelped James.

"Cavaties!" the tube, making for James' mouth.

"Stop," James clamped his hands over his mouth, to deter his adversary. But toothpaste tubes, not being ordinarily gymnastic, could not make the contortians possible to worm themselves into a person's mouth. After all, toothpaste is soft-cell. But this was no ordinary toothpaste tube. "Well, that's enough said, 'cause he's a real legend. In fact, he had just got the cap past James' throat when an ancient child rushed in and pulled him out of his thought, with a wonderfully satisfying "pop!" The child's grasping skin burned, as ist rushed to place a black harness on the tube. He thrust it back through a door, which slammed. James rubbed his throat as the reverberations sounded in his brain.