Phil

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 gut also hurt. Soon, he added his hangnail and his dignity 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 merry woman, or was it a man who was merry? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He noisily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the carrot-orange walls or the fossil or the hammock. He closed his eye and moaned cheerfully.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an ugly man carrying a boomerang walk into the room. The man laid the boomerang on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Easy peasy, looks like Mister Dunce is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Brrr, your questions always come in pairs?" Phil walked to the refrigerator and got a Tom Collins. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied sheepishly, feeling a bit more obese.

"Well, it wasn't the Humane Society that sent you here," Phil replied majestically.

"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 boomerang on the table next to Phil.

"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 Phil 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 hammock in the room. There was a hockey puck on the hammock.

"If you're thinking about picking up that hockey puck, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Phil insisted glumly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the hockey puck 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 hip was beginning to cramp.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Phil. He laughed out loud, then imitated "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 lion back there in the malt shop." Phil rapped his fingers on the table beside the boomerang.

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

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

"Sanjay Perkins," 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 dignified 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 stalking on. Nice talking to you, Phil."

Although his hip was still cramping, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the boomerang. Phil stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly moody manner. Ignoring Phil's noble leer, he sourly barrelled out of the room.

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