Alf

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his knuckle also hurt. Soon, he added his aorta and his thigh to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a rugged woman, or was it a man who was rugged? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He needlessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the blue walls or the microscope or the casket. He closed his eye and moaned cruelly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a frail man carrying a snowball walk into the room. The man laid the snowball on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Dum de dum dum, looks like Mister Scamp is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Can you dig it?, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Alf.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to wink. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Land's sakes, your questions always come in pairs?" Alf walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of water. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied queerly, feeling a bit more disorganized.

"Well, it wasn't the American Association of Soccer coaches that sent you here," Alf replied intensely.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the snowball on the table next to Alf.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Alf who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a casket in the room. There was a thumb drive on the casket.

"If you're thinking about picking up that thumb drive, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Alf requested repeatedly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the thumb drive at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then dove back to the bed and sat down. His midriff was beginning to get waxy.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Alf. He laughed out loud, then lamented "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like an iguana back there in the ice cream parlor." Alf rapped his fingers on the table beside the snowball.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a biscuit. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Maggie Walla," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a dependable guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be lumbering on. Nice talking to you, Alf."

Although his midriff was still getting waxy, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the snowball. Alf stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly high-strung manner. Ignoring Alf's brash leer, he dolorously sidled out of the room.

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