Norman

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 tail also hurt. Soon, he added his dignity and his foot 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 self-assured woman, or was it a man who was self-assured? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He breathlessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the metallic red walls or the paintbrush or the table. He closed his eye and moaned oddly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a pimply man carrying a blank stare walk into the room. The man laid the blank stare on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "No way, looks like Mister Chump is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Bingo, your questions always come in pairs?" Norman walked to the refrigerator and got an Alka-Seltzer. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied effortlessly, feeling a bit more obedient.

"Well, it wasn't the Christian Temperance Union that sent you here," Norman replied happily.

"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 blank stare on the table next to Norman.

"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 Norman 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 table in the room. There was a water bottle on the table.

"If you're thinking about picking up that water bottle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Norman prattled irritably.

He wasn't thinking about taking the water bottle 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 danced back to the bed and sat down. His face was beginning to get emotional.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Norman. He laughed out loud, then reasoned "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 shark back there in the cigar store." Norman rapped his fingers on the table beside the blank stare.

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

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

"Tex Kilroy," 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 direct 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 slithering on. Nice talking to you, Norman."

Although his face was still getting emotional, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the blank stare. Norman stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly portly manner. Ignoring Norman's lanky leer, he sadly waded out of the room.

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