The driver slowed the white van as he
passed the town limits sign. The two men peered down the first side street. The
van stopped. One man in a white coat jumped out. “He’s around here somewhere.
Our jobs are on the line if we don’t nab him soon.”
“It’s your fault he escaped. If you
hadn’t been so busy trying to make out with nurse Jane, he could never have made
it out the back door unnoticed.”
My psychotherapist is as mad as a March
Hare. She has this insane idea that I am a schizophrenic with multiple
personalities. How simple can a person get? I actually have been doing research
on her, watching her every move and keeping a detailed journal. I have this
uncanny ability to sense a lunatic a mile away. I saw through her the first
She wanted me to mingle with people and
above all, be especially polite. She said I have a tendency to be overbearing.
But who believes what a crazy woman says.
I saw in the newspaper that there was a
book signing at the Atlantic Hotel. The author published a journal about her
search for Noah’s Ark on the Navaho Reservation in Arizona. I smiled to myself.
She was my kind of woman.
I went out the back door, walked a mile
to the highway and caught a bus to Main Street. A young woman stopped me at the
entrance to the book signing area. “Are you an author or explorer?”
“Both.” I wrote Kit Carson on a label
and stuck it to my jacket. “Where is the author? I ‘d like to meet her.”