Alton

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 hip also hurt. Soon, he added his liver and his brain 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 selfish woman, or was it a man who was selfish? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He grimly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the salmon walls or the baby doll or the washing machine. He closed his eye and moaned openly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a feeble man carrying a rattlesnake walk into the room. The man laid the rattlesnake on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Alrighty, looks like Mister Buzzard is coming back to life."

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

"Praise the Lord, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Alton.

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

"Holy smokeroo, your questions always come in pairs?" Alton walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of hot cider. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied sadly, feeling a bit more generous.

"Well, it wasn't the National Endowment for the Arts that sent you here," Alton replied suddenly.

"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 rattlesnake on the table next to Alton.

"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 Alton 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 washing machine in the room. There was a bicycle on the washing machine.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bicycle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Alton wondered hastily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bicycle 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 bounded back to the bed and sat down. His eyeball was beginning to swing.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Alton. He laughed out loud, then reacted "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 walrus back there in the art gallery." Alton rapped his fingers on the table beside the rattlesnake.

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

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

"Bix Welles," 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 an intrepid 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 inching on. Nice talking to you, Alton."

Although his eyeball was still swinging, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the rattlesnake. Alton stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly somber manner. Ignoring Alton's obnoxious leer, he queerly tore out of the room.

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