Plato

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 claw also hurt. Soon, he added his aorta and his hand 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 an anemic woman, or was it a man who was anemic? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He sagely squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the mauve walls or the ice cream cone or the workbench. He closed his eye and moaned rapidly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a pretty man carrying a supply of courage walk into the room. The man laid the supply of courage on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Bless my hide, looks like Mister Drip is coming back to life."

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

"Ay yi yi, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Plato.

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

"Jeepers, your questions always come in pairs?" Plato walked to the refrigerator and got a Scotch and soda. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied fondly, feeling a bit more demented.

"Well, it wasn't the Arbor Day Foundation that sent you here," Plato replied urgently.

"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 supply of courage on the table next to Plato.

"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 Plato 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 workbench in the room. There was a clothespin on the workbench.

"If you're thinking about picking up that clothespin, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Plato boasted ruefully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the clothespin 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 cantered back to the bed and sat down. His tongue was beginning to widen.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Plato. He laughed out loud, then sneered "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 a panther back there in the library." Plato rapped his fingers on the table beside the supply of courage.

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

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

"Beverly Whitlock," 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 pert 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 bounding on. Nice talking to you, Plato."

Although his tongue was still widening, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the supply of courage. Plato stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly jaunty manner. Ignoring Plato's arrogant leer, he immediately dove out of the room.

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