Episode 2

A 65 foot red and yellow alligator chewed on my brains for a while, finally spitting the remnants into a conveniently placed skull. The mutilated dregs of what had been a thought swam slowly up a river of pain and knocked on a large wooden door.

"Come in," said a voice; it was Conciousness. I hate consciousness - he's always trying to nail my feet to the floor.

In the dazzling light of a 10 dollar cigar, I saw a man who looked like he started where King Kong got off - even his fat was overweight. Partly draped around this figure was that girl clad only in a fur G-string (handy for pulling the G-ropes). Boy! With a lollipop like that on the end of your stick, who cares about tooth decay.

I sussed out who the big boy was at once - yeah, you guessed it, he was THE MAN. Who need worry about the starving millions when I can grow this kind of corn with just a 10 cent biro.

I decided to act ice-cool. " Hi Fatso..." A set of knuckles the size of the decorations on a plastic surgeon's wallet came up to say "hello". My mouth greeted them none-too-easily, and contributed some colour to my previously white shirt.

"That's no way to greet your host," said the man-mountain, pressing the button under his left forefinger. The broad moaned appreciatively. "We've been having a little trouble in these parts recently," he went on. "We'd like you to help us."

I decided not to open my mouth too wide - red didn't go with the wallpaper. "What's the deal?" I looked for the knuckle sandwich, but I guess he'd gone to lunch.

"Rudy, take our, er, guest on a little sightseeing tour and fill him in - the nice way, huh?" The hustler slid out of the darkness - he's used to that with so many bums continually greasing his palm. "Come." he said. I looked at the dame; no sweat!

We walked down a dark alley-way. It must have been down by the docks from the smell of the dope in the air. To my right, an angel in batwings was crying over a dead lamb. Broadway seems everywhere these days, but I don't need him - I can write my own story. Me? I'm just a horn-blower, you can tell me by the way I talk.

At the end of the alley was a warehouse - you know, the kind of place where people can store their lives until they can grow a new skin. "This is the place," said Rudy. "You'll get all your questions answered here." He opened a small door and pushed me inside.