Bill Keyes posted: The rotund one came to me in my sleep last night (I'm still airing out my room), and now I have a story to tell. Comments welcome.... --------------------------------------------------------------------- El Dupree, odiferous sage of the western plains, staggered down the street of downtown suburbia in a daze. The people of this small courner of civilization, well-dressed, successful, smart, but obviously unaware of the master's wisdom and quiet power, recoiled from him in horror. His sombrero was black, capping his greasy head like a dark halo, or desert thunderhead threatening torrents of cold stinging rain. His shirt, wet with the sweat of the anxiety that a stranger in a strange place feels, barely managed to cover his impressive gut. His breath was like a wind over the unending desert of the south -- hot, dry, and filled with tiny particles that made one's eyes sting. Yes, El Dupree was in a strange land, foreign and hostile. He did not want to spend the night in jail, but he suspected that was how he would end up. How even did he arrive in this place? Perhaps this was a trick, an illusion brought on by too much sun, or too much bad guacamole. Damn Maria and her tequilla! he thought. Just then, a glass door opened beside him, spilling an old woman into his path. El Dupree felt a blast of cool, scented air touch his greasy face. He smiled beautifically -- Salvation! -- as the woman backed rapidly away from his odiferous aura, nose wrinkling in distaste. Inside, cool air and soft music coming from nowhere. Huge tanks of tiny colored fish sat in the back of the little shop, filled with colorful sand and tiny plastic sunken ships. A large yellow bird with a beak that reminded him of his own huge red nose squawked loudly. Rows on rows of dogs and cats in tiny cages stood trapped behind a soundproof glass wall. No, this was not the salvation that El Dupree wanted. He licked his lips dryly and began to back out, slowly. "Can I help you," not a question, but almost a demand, startled the fat one. A pale faced young man came into view, just behind the master, blocking his escape. El Dupree reached into his bag and felt the cold, reassuring cold iron of the Corzappa. Just then, he noticed what was in the young salesclerk's arms. It was a tiny, squirming animal, the likes of which El Dupree, in all his travels, had never seen. It was as small as the kittens that little Pepito used to play with, but long and thin, like a rattlesnake under a rock. It's fur was brown and coarse (just like Maria's, he thought wistfully), and its face was marked with a white mask. El Dupree stared at it. The clerk stared at El Dupree. The creature looked at nothing in particular. There was a long silence, broken finally by El Dupree's bad english. "Chwat ees eet?" he asked, reaching greedily toward the creature. "It's a ferret," the clerk answered, ignoring the master's unwashed scent. "They make great pets." "Then I weel take heem," the master smiled, showing his yellow, uneven teeth. The clerk took a defensive step backwards. "Sir, they are very expensive animals," he explained. "Some states even require that you have a wild animal permit before you can purchase one..." El Dupree looked crestfallen. He had no money, not a single peso. He put his beefy hand into his bag to feel for loose change. By chance, his fist closed around the vinyl headsack #32. Once again, the drifter smiled. Quick as a flash, the master of Camchatta had the sack over the clerk's head and was out the door of the little pet shop, cradling his furry prize as gently as he was able in his clammy, caloused palms. He ran -- oh how he ran! -- his gut bouncing like an untended red dodgeball on a school playground, until the cursed suburb was far behind him. The fat one collapsed heavily against a tree, his barrel chest heaving, his heart fit to burst from the strain. He still held the tiny furry snake-like creature in his hands. He held it up and looked at it curiously. What a strange creature! It regarded him with tiny, black, emotionless eyes. "I theenk I weel call you..." he thought for a moment, then stated grandly, poking it's head with one meaty finger, "Burrito, seence you are long and skeeny." The ferret blinked twice, then sunk it's tiny, razor-sharp needle like teeth deep into the tip of the master's finger. "Yi yi yi yi!!!" El Dupree howled, stuffing his finger into his mouth. For safe keeping, he put the ferret down his pants. Later, as Maria bandaged up his legs, he reflected on his error. The ferret, already enlightened, was merely bemused.