February 4th, 2003



In this country if you want to make pancakes that are light and fluffy, you have to go to the grocery store and look for "levitate the bread of the angels." Baking powder, in other words.

Wake Up!


Mike tried to keep his fingers from trembling as he fumbled in his wallet for a five, and he tried to assume indifference as he flicked the bill toward his soon-to-be ex-wife.

He expected a look of hurt to twist Betty's face, but instead she smiled faintly and moved her head very slowly back and forth, as if she had known exactly what he was going to do.


Once again he'd been betrayed, cheated. The bitch wouldn't give him any satisfaction at all. Nothing. Not one goddamned thing.

Well, fuck her.

His face burned as he rode the elevator down to the lobby. She hadn't bothered to pull the sheet up to cover her breasts. Those naked breasts. Which her lover Bully had been pawing and sucking not too long ago. It was an image he couldn't shake. It made him crazy. He wished he could surprise them, give them what they deserved. He'd like to break in with his .45 and shout "Wake up!" She'd rise slowly and look up drunkenly. In a fog.

Fucking whore.

* * *

Tee-oh-wanna. That's right.

Mike sat next to the driver, and Corporal Rodginski and Corporal Shorter were in the back. When they got to a steep hill the driver revved the engine and the wheels spun, and the cab fishtailed dangerously close to the edge of the road. Rodginski and Shorter howled.

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