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Grover

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 paw also hurt. Soon, he added his knee and his hairdo 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 dark woman, or was it a man who was dark? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He sarcastically squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the silver walls or the pacifier or the ping-pong table. He closed his eye and moaned furiously.

handful of dirt

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

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

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

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

"Humph, your questions always come in pairs?" Grover walked to the refrigerator and got a mint julep. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied frenetically, feeling a bit more decent.

"Well, it wasn't the Bureau of Indian Affairs that sent you here," Grover replied truculently.

"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 handful of dirt on the table next to Grover.

"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 Grover 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 ping-pong table in the room. There was a chart on the ping-pong table.

chart

"If you're thinking about picking up that chart, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Grover chuckled firmly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the chart 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 sashayed back to the bed and sat down. His face was beginning to perk up.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Grover. He laughed out loud, then inquired "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 owl back there in the used car lot." Grover rapped his fingers on the table beside the handful of dirt.

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

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

"Cosmo Mohammadian," 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 wily 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 flouncing on. Nice talking to you, Grover."

Although his face was still perking up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the handful of dirt. Grover stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly dumb manner. Ignoring Grover's heavyset leer, he dolefully slumped out of the room.

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