I was walking through the airport wearing my burkha and turban. I'm fairly certain I was the only one that had drank The Holy Calpis. I could be wrong because an entity, gender & species unspecified, walked up to me and asked me for some. I gave it to them and realised I had not had a trip like this since I had been cowering under the billiard table at Gold Miner's Daughter.
I had an appointment to meet Hunter S. Thompson in Vegas.
I was fairly certain this would be a better party than the last. I hate waking up in jail. Not that I didn't suspect that could happen again. Hunter just had the best drugs. I took asprin, and I know shouldn't take that.
Q had told me that Jeffrey Bronson Anderson would be there. Unfortunately, Q refused to let me know which edition or version. If it was the one raised in Des Moines, I knew I'd be bored silly. If it was the one from Amsterdam with the new oGender attachment we could have just a wee bit a rock'n roll.
