I finish my final fatal flush of 110 year quadruple malt Irish scotch vodka and tip the bartender. As I'm leaving, a rowdy band of highly charged circus dwarves dressed in daffodil costumes begin to fist fight, blocking my exit. I ask the waitress, a kind young girl of about 60 to get me some flour. She gives me 4lbs. I dump the entirety onto the brawl. The fight stops. The costumes are shed. When the 8 underwear clad minimen look at each other, amidst the daffodil costumes and wheat flour, their hearts soften. How silly it was for them to have fought over who was the best daffodil! My act of coating them with equal amounts of the same type of flour instilled in them a sense of unity so overwhelming that they forgive one another, form a human pyramid and proceed to pose for local news photographs. I slip past them, nodding to the one dwarf on the bottom who's eyes have rolled back inside his skull from the weight of the others.
The night is warm. The sky radiates with beams left from fireworks shot by the nearby church. They have received a sign from God that the Answer is coming. They've all dressed in children's pajamas and each carry a container with photographs of dead taste buds, which serve as verification for them to speak in tongues. I scan a nearby array of traveling devices, each one tied to the large harness holder in front of the store next to the bar. The horses are too unhappy looking, giving me glances of defiance that read, "If you rent me I will literally ride you face on into traffic." The Komodo dragons' nails look as if they haven't been clipped in months, and the saliva that drips from their muzzled mouths smells worse than mud cooked with ugly faces. I drop a small bottle of Listerine beside one napping Komodo. He thanks me in German. A tired looking cyclops offers his service to cradle and carry me comfortably to any destination within the four corners of the earth. I laugh at the fact that he has only one eye. What a disadvantage in today's sophisticated technology based civilization. I laugh again wholeheartedly at his disadvantage! He digs into the earth's crust, deep, and pulls up semi molten iron ore. I quietly go to the bathroom on myself, excuse my person and continue on my descent down the hill toward my home where my wife is patiently awaiting my arrival with new under drawers freshly washed, prepared for the daily inevitable event that I come home having soiled clean linen by way of rustling up unnecessary excitement, unintentionally. "Help me calm my Cyclops! Come back here, you shitty person!", the manager of the traveling device store shouts at me from afar. He shrieks and then is quiet. I can hear the chomping satisfaction of the hungry Cyclops fade as I pass the town's limits.
It is at this point in the story where all plot falls apart. I can tell you simply that the rest of my journey home is spent on moonboots. Two years ago, I ordered them from an online retail website which promoted them by saying that you could bounce from earth to the moon in just 3 leaps. I have tried such an endeavor and have never made it so far. However, I am missing a piece of my left ear from bouncing high into the clouds and directly into the path of a plane propeller. Thankfully I only suffer the loss of part of my ear. I cannot say so much for the Canadian Geese or Portuguese Heffalumps, who were also wearing moonboots. On three occasions I have also jumped so high that I was pulled into earth's orbit and forced to complete almost a full magnetic rotation around it's circumference. Unfortunately, each time the magnetism weakened while I was crossing the border between North and South Korea. Miraculously, thanks to luck and "God's Answer", I was dropped into the Northern section, right onto the front lawn of my dreaded Anglo Saxon cousin Delbert who insists that he is actually from a long line of Korean shrimp farmers, has 4 pet racing kangaroos named Kelkononon, Dangerux, Semengracious, and Fuckwidth, and has a government job digging holes for land mines.
None of that bothers me now. I am sky high. I brush the tops of the forest branches and am able to foresee miles with the birds of flight. I cover distance at the rate of a blue whale. And this time, smartly, I wear a carbon fiber helmet, which I have also purchased through an online retail website. Yes, life is good. The drinks at the bar have left me feeling full and relaxed. It has been a long day of solving puzzles. The sun is fading and I hop closer to a warm meal and a bedded wife as dusk pushes further into night.
Finally, I arrive home.
The door is already open.
I can hear the moans of my wife, Mona.
I can smell the musk of another man and I see an unlaced boot laying in the hallway, left as if not needed.