Welcome to the Borderlands
- Chapter 38 -
Banana anna Foe Fanna Fee Fi...Nally eye get My own KATANA
“When I die I want to meet God and say, what the Hell were you thinking…like what were you thinking?” -Indian Larry from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“I see the angel in the marble and carve until I set him free…Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.” -Michelangelo
“I get some ideas of kind of what I want to do then whatever it takes to see it through; that’s the way I do it. I treat it like sculpture. I like to see the frame up there and then let it flow; let it happen, whatever comes natural. When you hear the bike breathe its first breath that’s probably the biggest reward…every bike is like a child or work of art, like a creation that goes from dream to reality.” -Kendall Johnson of KENDALL JOHNSON CUSTOMS from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“Roll with the mystery; life’s uncertain. Just be comfortable with that…why fight it?” -Indian Larry from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“I have more faith in you than you have in you.” -Paul Cox to Robert Pradke from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF and MATTHEW 14:31
“Trust in God…Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord…No Fear…” -TATTOOED ‘backwards’ on Indian Larry’s neck so he could read it in the mirror.
“I see the angel in the marble and carve until I set him free…Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.” -Michelangelo
“I get some ideas of kind of what I want to do then whatever it takes to see it through; that’s the way I do it. I treat it like sculpture. I like to see the frame up there and then let it flow; let it happen, whatever comes natural. When you hear the bike breathe its first breath that’s probably the biggest reward…every bike is like a child or work of art, like a creation that goes from dream to reality.” -Kendall Johnson of KENDALL JOHNSON CUSTOMS from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“Roll with the mystery; life’s uncertain. Just be comfortable with that…why fight it?” -Indian Larry from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“I have more faith in you than you have in you.” -Paul Cox to Robert Pradke from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF and MATTHEW 14:31
“Trust in God…Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord…No Fear…” -TATTOOED ‘backwards’ on Indian Larry’s neck so he could read it in the mirror.
Speaking of the Suzuki Katana, I would finally TRADE my Kawasaki Z900 to Hilts for HIS Katana.
“I’ve good news,” shouted Hilts, “and bad news.” (HILTS…why was he here?) Hilts was at the top of the hill standing next to a Katana IDENTICAL to the one I was riding. Standing next to Hilts was Medea. Suzuki Katanas have the power but were not designed for riding off-road.
Never really made to be ridden on dirt I’d borrowed Larry’s Katana while he was borrowing my Z900 to ride on this dirt road. It was a mistake. Medea must’ve been wishing lots of luck my way for me to have made it up and over those last near vertical yards.
Pulling to a stop beside Charon’s car I could feel his car’s engine radiating enough heat to pass for a wood stove. Charon had completed the climb before me. Kendall had been his passenger and was still inside the car sitting next to Charon who was in the process of drinking a bottle of (Charon drank it regularly) Styx river water. A few seconds later Larry parked my Z900 next to his Katana. The ‘other’ Katana, the one IDENTICAL to Larry’s, had to belong to Hilts.
“What’s,” I shouted back to Hilts, “the bad news?”
“The bad news,” Hilts answered, “is there are two roads from here on; I’ll help you pick the right one.”
“Then you’ll appreciate the irony,” Medea said to Hilts. “We took this route in case you might need our help.”
By now Kendall, Charon and Larry had joined the group. The group being Hilts and Medea in the center going over the map and the rest of us looking over their shoulders.
Nearby the cooling of bike engines coupled with the cooling of Charon’s car engine sounded like the tick, tick, tick you hear at the beginning of the old Doo Wop song LITTLE DARLIN’ by the Diamonds.
“The good news is,” Hilts added, “the town’s not far from here.”
“Temper that good news with a bit more bad,” Charon’s concern was genuine. “Medea made a promise not to use magic in the Borderlands; which means she can’t use magic to find out which of the two roads is the one to take.”
Never really made to be ridden on dirt I’d borrowed Larry’s Katana while he was borrowing my Z900 to ride on this dirt road. It was a mistake. Medea must’ve been wishing lots of luck my way for me to have made it up and over those last near vertical yards.
Pulling to a stop beside Charon’s car I could feel his car’s engine radiating enough heat to pass for a wood stove. Charon had completed the climb before me. Kendall had been his passenger and was still inside the car sitting next to Charon who was in the process of drinking a bottle of (Charon drank it regularly) Styx river water. A few seconds later Larry parked my Z900 next to his Katana. The ‘other’ Katana, the one IDENTICAL to Larry’s, had to belong to Hilts.
“What’s,” I shouted back to Hilts, “the bad news?”
“The bad news,” Hilts answered, “is there are two roads from here on; I’ll help you pick the right one.”
“Then you’ll appreciate the irony,” Medea said to Hilts. “We took this route in case you might need our help.”
By now Kendall, Charon and Larry had joined the group. The group being Hilts and Medea in the center going over the map and the rest of us looking over their shoulders.
Nearby the cooling of bike engines coupled with the cooling of Charon’s car engine sounded like the tick, tick, tick you hear at the beginning of the old Doo Wop song LITTLE DARLIN’ by the Diamonds.
“The good news is,” Hilts added, “the town’s not far from here.”
“Temper that good news with a bit more bad,” Charon’s concern was genuine. “Medea made a promise not to use magic in the Borderlands; which means she can’t use magic to find out which of the two roads is the one to take.”
I pulled to a stop beside Charon’s car; he’d made the climb before me. His car’s engine was radiating so much heat it felt like a hot wood stove.
“It’s true. I made a promise,” said Medea, “long ago not to use my magic in the Borderlands. However there maybe no need to break that promise. The road on the right looks like the one not to take. The cut plants and grass beside it haven’t had time to grow back and the dirt’s still dark from being turned over. And all I had to do to find that out was use my good old observational powers.”
“But what IF,” I asked, “the opposite were true? The new work you’re looking at was done on the old road knowing you’d look for new work and that you’d choose NOT to take the road that showed new work?”
“Then I would say,” Medea laughed, “we need to take a break from over thinking which road is the right road and have a late lunch. I made us all sandwiches.”
Surprisingly Hilts, who’d said he was in a hurry to get to town, seconded the motion. Charon even found a couple of bottles of wine buried beneath the water bottles in his car.
And so for the next few minutes everyone was runnin’ around preparing for a picnic while listening to the ticking of cooling engines. Oh, and did I mention the sun had a restful warmth to it and that there was the strong smell of cut grass in the air and if the others were stretching out on the warm grass to take a nap before they ate I might as well…
“WAKE UP!!!”
And suddenly Medea was rising up tall and shouting ‘wake up’ in a loud voice…and at the same time she was shouting for us to awaken her hands were stretched before her tracing strange patterns in the air.
“This place is a trap. We need to,” Medea was running over and shaking everyone and shouting, “leave NOW!”
“But a trap, I mean nap,” Kendall was sleepily slurring his words, “would do us some good.”
“It will be a permanent nap,” Medea was looking at me to help rouse the group, “you’ll never awaken from. Hurry! My counter spells, so much for my promise not to use magic in the Borderlands, won’t last long.”
“But what IF,” I asked, “the opposite were true? The new work you’re looking at was done on the old road knowing you’d look for new work and that you’d choose NOT to take the road that showed new work?”
“Then I would say,” Medea laughed, “we need to take a break from over thinking which road is the right road and have a late lunch. I made us all sandwiches.”
Surprisingly Hilts, who’d said he was in a hurry to get to town, seconded the motion. Charon even found a couple of bottles of wine buried beneath the water bottles in his car.
And so for the next few minutes everyone was runnin’ around preparing for a picnic while listening to the ticking of cooling engines. Oh, and did I mention the sun had a restful warmth to it and that there was the strong smell of cut grass in the air and if the others were stretching out on the warm grass to take a nap before they ate I might as well…
“WAKE UP!!!”
And suddenly Medea was rising up tall and shouting ‘wake up’ in a loud voice…and at the same time she was shouting for us to awaken her hands were stretched before her tracing strange patterns in the air.
“This place is a trap. We need to,” Medea was running over and shaking everyone and shouting, “leave NOW!”
“But a trap, I mean nap,” Kendall was sleepily slurring his words, “would do us some good.”
“It will be a permanent nap,” Medea was looking at me to help rouse the group, “you’ll never awaken from. Hurry! My counter spells, so much for my promise not to use magic in the Borderlands, won’t last long.”
Larry’s bike of choice would always be a Harley chopper but he’d grown to like HIS Suzuki Katana.
I’d gotten Kendall and Larry back on their feet and headed to where we were parked. Medea followed with Charon and Hilts. The scene reminded me of a news film of guests helping each other stumble out of a smoke filled hotel.
“Take the road,” Medea said looking at me, “on the right. Your suspicions were correct. It’s the old road disguised with new work so we’d not take it.”
Hilts took the lead and my Z900, leaving me his Katana. He said the Z900 better fit his dual-sport style of riding. He’d recently conjured a Katana identical to the one he’d conjured for Larry thinking he wouldn’t be doing any dual-sport riding for awhile; he was wrong. Charon bundled Medea and Kendall into his car. Larry would follow us.
Medea was right; the road on the right was the right road but made to look like the wrong one. Torn up for the first hundred yards it had been made to look new to FOOL us.
“Can the spell,” asked Kendall, “follow us?”
“It was powerful;” Medea said in answer to a fully awake Kendall, “but limited to that area…sorta like how the field of poppies in the story THE WIZARD OF OZ was limited to making Dorothy fall asleep only in the field where the poppies were growing. But you know what angers me most?”
“What,” Charon turned to Medea, “angers you most?”
“What angers me most,” laughed Medea, “is the waste of the wine and the sandwiches.”
“I’ll buy,” Hilts said as he started to ride away, “us all dinner. I didn’t foresee this trap so it’s on me. You can order all the wine you want. Oh, and may I permanently TRADE you (meaning me) my Katana for your Z900? The Kawasaki Z900 is a better fit for my dual-sport style of riding.”
The road down hill began as packed dirt then changed to packed dirt with stretches of pavement, then pavement with stretches of packed dirt then to just pavement. In the final mile before town I found that the Katana Hilts had traded me for my Z900 had long legs and that to paraphrase what Hilts said about the Z900…the Katana better fit my style of riding.
“Take the road,” Medea said looking at me, “on the right. Your suspicions were correct. It’s the old road disguised with new work so we’d not take it.”
Hilts took the lead and my Z900, leaving me his Katana. He said the Z900 better fit his dual-sport style of riding. He’d recently conjured a Katana identical to the one he’d conjured for Larry thinking he wouldn’t be doing any dual-sport riding for awhile; he was wrong. Charon bundled Medea and Kendall into his car. Larry would follow us.
Medea was right; the road on the right was the right road but made to look like the wrong one. Torn up for the first hundred yards it had been made to look new to FOOL us.
“Can the spell,” asked Kendall, “follow us?”
“It was powerful;” Medea said in answer to a fully awake Kendall, “but limited to that area…sorta like how the field of poppies in the story THE WIZARD OF OZ was limited to making Dorothy fall asleep only in the field where the poppies were growing. But you know what angers me most?”
“What,” Charon turned to Medea, “angers you most?”
“What angers me most,” laughed Medea, “is the waste of the wine and the sandwiches.”
“I’ll buy,” Hilts said as he started to ride away, “us all dinner. I didn’t foresee this trap so it’s on me. You can order all the wine you want. Oh, and may I permanently TRADE you (meaning me) my Katana for your Z900? The Kawasaki Z900 is a better fit for my dual-sport style of riding.”
The road down hill began as packed dirt then changed to packed dirt with stretches of pavement, then pavement with stretches of packed dirt then to just pavement. In the final mile before town I found that the Katana Hilts had traded me for my Z900 had long legs and that to paraphrase what Hilts said about the Z900…the Katana better fit my style of riding.
In the final mile before town I found that the Katana Hilts had TRADED me for my Z900 had long legs and that to paraphrase what Hilts said about the Z900…the Suzuki Katana better fit my style of riding.
Hilts had been to the town before so he kept the lead when we entered. In less than a minute we were surrounded by town folks doing what town folks do. No one gave us a second look. Could we have unwittingly ridden out of the Borderlands and not known it?
“Relax; we’re still,” Larry must’ve anticipated my concern, “in the Borderlands. Think of me as the CANARY in the coal mine. Believe me I’ll start tweeting if we get close to crossing a Borderland border.”
Ten minutes later Hilts parked in front of a small café. All of the vehicles parked in front were long haul trucks. An isolated structure about a half mile out from the other side of town; the café was the last building before the road continued on through dry rolling grassland.
There are crossovers: shared exits and entries into and out of our world and the Borderlands. Few people are aware they’re passing through them. Spanky’s Café and the River Inn were crossovers and I had a feeling this might be another?
“This café,” I said to Larry over my ear phone, “might be a crossover like Spanky’s Café or the River Inn.”
“I’ve the same feeling but I’ve been thinking about steak for so long I’m not going to worry about it until I’ve eaten.”
The café was crowded yet we were right away shown to a table by a (had he been waiting for us?) weird looking waiter. Medea was first to sit down followed by Charon. Larry and I sat across from Kendall and Hilts. The tight seating reminded me my 10mm was tucked inside my pants.
From the beginning our waiter was toooo eager. It was as if he’d known we were coming; had saved a table, seated us, started reciting house specials and began working his way around behind us handing out menus. When he got to where he was in back of Medea he was way toooo eager to stoop down to hear her order. When he became toooo eager to pull out the knife he had tucked into his pants to cut her throat I pulled out the 10mm tucked in my pants and shot him in the face…toooo bad so sad…
“Relax; we’re still,” Larry must’ve anticipated my concern, “in the Borderlands. Think of me as the CANARY in the coal mine. Believe me I’ll start tweeting if we get close to crossing a Borderland border.”
Ten minutes later Hilts parked in front of a small café. All of the vehicles parked in front were long haul trucks. An isolated structure about a half mile out from the other side of town; the café was the last building before the road continued on through dry rolling grassland.
There are crossovers: shared exits and entries into and out of our world and the Borderlands. Few people are aware they’re passing through them. Spanky’s Café and the River Inn were crossovers and I had a feeling this might be another?
“This café,” I said to Larry over my ear phone, “might be a crossover like Spanky’s Café or the River Inn.”
“I’ve the same feeling but I’ve been thinking about steak for so long I’m not going to worry about it until I’ve eaten.”
The café was crowded yet we were right away shown to a table by a (had he been waiting for us?) weird looking waiter. Medea was first to sit down followed by Charon. Larry and I sat across from Kendall and Hilts. The tight seating reminded me my 10mm was tucked inside my pants.
From the beginning our waiter was toooo eager. It was as if he’d known we were coming; had saved a table, seated us, started reciting house specials and began working his way around behind us handing out menus. When he got to where he was in back of Medea he was way toooo eager to stoop down to hear her order. When he became toooo eager to pull out the knife he had tucked into his pants to cut her throat I pulled out the 10mm tucked in my pants and shot him in the face…toooo bad so sad…
The café was an isolated building about a half mile from town before the road continued out through dry rolling grassland.
“Shittttttt;” shouted Larry, “no sandwiches, no wine, no eardrums and probably no steak and now pieces of the waiter’s face on my plate as an appetizer…shitttttt!”
Shooting the waiter was the ‘last’ straw for Charon; he had enough and stood up…EXCEPT it was Charon the seven foot demon that ferried souls across the river Styx to Hades that stood up and faced the crowded restaurant.
“So you’ll know,” said Charon, “let me show you nice folks what’s been added to your menu if you opt to order it. It’s called the ‘You don’t want to fuck with me’ Special.”
Charon’s eyes had become red coals looking across the room inviting anyone else to attack our group. The café became silent, the smell of gunpowder and face au jus were still in the air…with maybe a whiff of brimstone.
It was the cook’s calming, “Clean up on table ten,” command that settled things down.
And with that everyone went back to eating whatever they were eating as if nothing unusual had happened. And our once upon a time waiter minus his face was matter-of-factly picked up by two burly bus boys and carried out of the café through a side door.
“Hilts, the food here better be damn good,” said Medea after handing Charon a bottle of Styx river water and in the process of handing him the water she made a point of holding Charon’s hand for more than a few moments. And when Charon drank the water his eyes changed from red coals to sky blue and he seemed to shrink back into his clothes.
“Speaking of specials…a very special thanks to you,” and Medea looked at me as only a very tall beautiful 2500 year old witch can look at you, “for saving my life. I’m in your debt…I owe you.”
Hilts reached down to pick up the waiter’s knife; when he touched the blade it turned to dust.
“You were caught up in my past,” Medea continued, “when my past picked this time to catch up with me. Love betrayed leads to hatred which leads to revenge; forgive me.”
“Steaks are on the house,” the cook said as he approached our table, “along with all the beer and wine you can drink. My apologies, I’m the owner and I’m usually pretty good at weeding out the weird ones.”
Our order arrived moments later served by the same two burly bus boys that’d carried our knife wielding wannabe assassin, sans face, out the side door minutes before…and yes I checked to see if they’d washed their hands…
What amazed me was how quickly the incident was forgotten by the folks at the other tables. Maybe what just happened wasn’t that unusual?
“Do you,” I had to ask Hilts, “get the feeling the folks in here know they’re in a crossover café?”
“They not only know where they are but travel here on purpose;” Hilts said, “and for the good food.”
“What’s the real reason,” Larry was an expert at cutting to the chase, “we’re here?”
“We’re here,” Hilts answered with such calmness he almost (but not quite) sounded reasonable, “to borrow one of the long haul rigs parked outside, load ourselves and our rides into its trailer and drive it across the eighty miles of grassland behind this café.”
A cluster of keys landed on our table.
“No need to steal, I mean borrow a rig. Use Clint’s,” the cook said. “It’s parked in back. He’s sleeping. I’ll ride with you and return it before he wakes up. Think of me as his designated driver. I was a trucker before I bought this place; I know the route.”
“And we should,” I asked, “trust you because…?”
“Because I don’t want this café becoming a war zone between you and whoever sent that waiter. They, whoever they are, will soon hear what’s happened and come here to finish the job. My guess is you folks will probably win the fight but at the cost of turning my café into the granddaddy of demolition derbies …Lady, you must’ve really PISSED some people off.”
Shooting the waiter was the ‘last’ straw for Charon; he had enough and stood up…EXCEPT it was Charon the seven foot demon that ferried souls across the river Styx to Hades that stood up and faced the crowded restaurant.
“So you’ll know,” said Charon, “let me show you nice folks what’s been added to your menu if you opt to order it. It’s called the ‘You don’t want to fuck with me’ Special.”
Charon’s eyes had become red coals looking across the room inviting anyone else to attack our group. The café became silent, the smell of gunpowder and face au jus were still in the air…with maybe a whiff of brimstone.
It was the cook’s calming, “Clean up on table ten,” command that settled things down.
And with that everyone went back to eating whatever they were eating as if nothing unusual had happened. And our once upon a time waiter minus his face was matter-of-factly picked up by two burly bus boys and carried out of the café through a side door.
“Hilts, the food here better be damn good,” said Medea after handing Charon a bottle of Styx river water and in the process of handing him the water she made a point of holding Charon’s hand for more than a few moments. And when Charon drank the water his eyes changed from red coals to sky blue and he seemed to shrink back into his clothes.
“Speaking of specials…a very special thanks to you,” and Medea looked at me as only a very tall beautiful 2500 year old witch can look at you, “for saving my life. I’m in your debt…I owe you.”
Hilts reached down to pick up the waiter’s knife; when he touched the blade it turned to dust.
“You were caught up in my past,” Medea continued, “when my past picked this time to catch up with me. Love betrayed leads to hatred which leads to revenge; forgive me.”
“Steaks are on the house,” the cook said as he approached our table, “along with all the beer and wine you can drink. My apologies, I’m the owner and I’m usually pretty good at weeding out the weird ones.”
Our order arrived moments later served by the same two burly bus boys that’d carried our knife wielding wannabe assassin, sans face, out the side door minutes before…and yes I checked to see if they’d washed their hands…
What amazed me was how quickly the incident was forgotten by the folks at the other tables. Maybe what just happened wasn’t that unusual?
“Do you,” I had to ask Hilts, “get the feeling the folks in here know they’re in a crossover café?”
“They not only know where they are but travel here on purpose;” Hilts said, “and for the good food.”
“What’s the real reason,” Larry was an expert at cutting to the chase, “we’re here?”
“We’re here,” Hilts answered with such calmness he almost (but not quite) sounded reasonable, “to borrow one of the long haul rigs parked outside, load ourselves and our rides into its trailer and drive it across the eighty miles of grassland behind this café.”
A cluster of keys landed on our table.
“No need to steal, I mean borrow a rig. Use Clint’s,” the cook said. “It’s parked in back. He’s sleeping. I’ll ride with you and return it before he wakes up. Think of me as his designated driver. I was a trucker before I bought this place; I know the route.”
“And we should,” I asked, “trust you because…?”
“Because I don’t want this café becoming a war zone between you and whoever sent that waiter. They, whoever they are, will soon hear what’s happened and come here to finish the job. My guess is you folks will probably win the fight but at the cost of turning my café into the granddaddy of demolition derbies …Lady, you must’ve really PISSED some people off.”
It may have been a truck a hundred years ago; it was now just the rusted skeleton of one. Picked clean for parts it sat there as proof I’d been LIED to…
“So this truck’s parked,” I was still skeptical, “in back of the café and your friend Clint won’t mind if we borrow it?”
“Actually,” the cook was quick to respond, “it’s my old truck. It’s the truck I originally drove here years ago.”
“Clint’s truck,” it was Larry’s turn to be skeptical, “was once your truck?”
“Yup…years ago I took a wrong turn and ended up at this café. Clint had the café’ up for sale; he said he needed a change. But first he needed a truck, we traded and I’ve been here for…seems like forever.”
Throughout our meal the other patrons had been leaving; the café was now empty. We needed to make a decision.
“Let me,” I was already up and heading for the front door, “look at this truck. If it looks doable we should probably go for it. It won’t take but a few minutes to ride around to the back. I’ll pound on the back door.”
The parking lot was empty except for Charon’s car and our bikes. All the trucks were gone. The wind was colder than I remember. My Katana was harder to start than I remember. Was it my angle of sight but the inside of the café was much darker than I remember? It made me want to check out the cook’s a.k.a. Clint’s truck and get back to my friends.
The road that circled around to the back of the café looked unused. Weeds grew up through the tire tracks. When I rounded the last corner my bike’s headlamp highlighted an old (the operative word is reeeleeee old) truck.
It may have been a truck ninety years ago; it was now just the rusted skeleton of one. Picked clean for parts it sat there as proof I’d been lied to…
I parked. The backdoor was open. Seasons of leaves were scattered across the backdoor’s threshold. The café was empty. The cook, the burly bus boys, Charon, Hilts, Larry and Kendall were gone…Medea was waiting.
“Medea, Medea, Medea, my most beautiful Medea, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”
“I know... I owe you.”
“Actually,” the cook was quick to respond, “it’s my old truck. It’s the truck I originally drove here years ago.”
“Clint’s truck,” it was Larry’s turn to be skeptical, “was once your truck?”
“Yup…years ago I took a wrong turn and ended up at this café. Clint had the café’ up for sale; he said he needed a change. But first he needed a truck, we traded and I’ve been here for…seems like forever.”
Throughout our meal the other patrons had been leaving; the café was now empty. We needed to make a decision.
“Let me,” I was already up and heading for the front door, “look at this truck. If it looks doable we should probably go for it. It won’t take but a few minutes to ride around to the back. I’ll pound on the back door.”
The parking lot was empty except for Charon’s car and our bikes. All the trucks were gone. The wind was colder than I remember. My Katana was harder to start than I remember. Was it my angle of sight but the inside of the café was much darker than I remember? It made me want to check out the cook’s a.k.a. Clint’s truck and get back to my friends.
The road that circled around to the back of the café looked unused. Weeds grew up through the tire tracks. When I rounded the last corner my bike’s headlamp highlighted an old (the operative word is reeeleeee old) truck.
It may have been a truck ninety years ago; it was now just the rusted skeleton of one. Picked clean for parts it sat there as proof I’d been lied to…
I parked. The backdoor was open. Seasons of leaves were scattered across the backdoor’s threshold. The café was empty. The cook, the burly bus boys, Charon, Hilts, Larry and Kendall were gone…Medea was waiting.
“Medea, Medea, Medea, my most beautiful Medea, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”
“I know... I owe you.”