Did anybody see what hit me on the back of the head? It must have had some kind of weird shape because I’m seeing M C Escher scenarios on the insides of my eyelids whenever I close my eyes.

“Declan,” I yelled. “If you play the Wandering Dingleberries one more time I’m going to rip out your entrails and strangle you with them!”  

“You’re lucky,” I told her. “That’s Skip Lester, concept weenie for Dust to Dust. If you’re nice to me, I won’t introduce you.”  “But I want to be introduced. Please??” 

I get the feeling that something isn’t right. I start to look around and notice that the bleachers are doing a funny sort of wiggle. Crap. A bolt’s probably loose underneath and if they keep rocking on it the whole thing’ll come down. I grab the pliers. . .

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