Fallout (Crank 3)

I allow myself a short fantasy—

me, popping buttons, exposing

soft white flesh … stop it, Hunter.

Rein it in. You will not be exposing

anything, unless it belongs to Nik.

“Uh. The next remote I’m scheduled

for is the Sparks Hometowne Christmas

Parade.” Two weeks, two days. “I’ll

be announcing with Montana.”

Oh. So long? Well, I guess I can wait.

I’ve got a little something for you.

The girl is persistent. “Nice. Hang

on …” I put her on hold, dig into

my brain for a little Bob Marley trivia,

pass it on to my listeners. “You still there?”

Doubtless. “Well, you have a good

Thanksgiving. See you in Sparks.”

I’M STILL MUSING

About “celebrity” perks when Big

Leon comes in to take over. “Hey,

dude,” I say. I’d ask his opinion

on the matter, but his air name

refers not so much to his height

as to his three-hundred-pound

girth. Pretty sure he’s never been

offered a fine little piece just by

virtue of his “not exactly a star”

status. I gather my stuff, head

out to the parking lot, look for

my Nissan. Not there. Damn.