Rock

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 wrist also hurt. Soon, he added his eyebrow and his adrenal gland 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 statuesque woman, or was it a man who was statuesque? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He clumsily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the brown walls or the church key or the pillow. He closed his eye and moaned boldly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a graceful man carrying a can opener walk into the room. The man laid the can opener on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Great Jehosaphat, looks like Mister Hound dog is coming back to life."

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

"Bada bing bada boom, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Rock.

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

"You don't say, your questions always come in pairs?" Rock walked to the refrigerator and got a rum and Coke. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied cleverly, feeling a bit more sensible.

"Well, it wasn't the National Endowment for the Preservation of Acorns that sent you here," Rock replied testily.

"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 can opener on the table next to Rock.

"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 Rock 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 pillow in the room. There was a feather on the pillow.

"If you're thinking about picking up that feather, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Rock panted caustically.

He wasn't thinking about taking the feather 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 dashed back to the bed and sat down. His hoof was beginning to pop.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Rock. He laughed out loud, then wondered "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 gnu back there in the cigar store." Rock rapped his fingers on the table beside the can opener.

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

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

"Harry Gagné," 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 cute 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 wading on. Nice talking to you, Rock."

Although his hoof was still popping, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the can opener. Rock stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sexy manner. Ignoring Rock's obedient leer, he queerly skidded out of the room.

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