Randy Wells had an appointment with one of his three wives. It bugged him that the Bad One was makin’ his life so complicated, and havin’ to drag hisself out of bed at 11 AM was a real pain in the butt. Randy was a night owl, always had been, and if he had his druthers he wouldn’t emerge from his nest until the real birdies settled into theirs. He came out of one of his bungalows and dropped his scooter to the pavement. Little Randy, ready for school. He squinted against the brilliant sun and ruffled his wild black hair.
real“What a day,” he sighed, and pushed off on his scooter. Anyone watching him would wonder why he bothered. He wasn’t moving any faster with it than he would have gone without it. But Randy was devoted to his scooter. It was the closest thing he’d ever had to a horse.
