I was joined at that dumpy little diner by the fellow pictured above, who told me he would love to accompany me on the next leg of my journey. The only problem was that he wasn’t quite dead yet, so it would be impossible. When I said, “But I thought you were dead,” he laughed that inimitable laugh of his and gently reminded me not to even mention it, given what happened the last few times I questioned the status of someone’s life. He shared some pie (apple crumb) with me, kissed me on the cheek, and the next thing I knew I was milling around the appliance department of what appeared to be Sears, marvelling over the latest features in refrigerator-freezers.
“Surely this must be hell,” I thought.
But it turns out I’m still in limbo. And it really blows. First of all, they took away the chic ensemble I’d carefully selected for my trip, and replaced it with something even more hideous than the white sashed robe and soft-soled slipper-shoes that I envisioned. Apparently whoever is in charge of wardrobe here made some sort of deal with a tacky mail-order catalogue, because everyone is walking around wearing this, with matching capri pants, plastic button earrings, and 1″ covered-heel pumps.
And now they’re about to serve us a late lunch. How much do you want to bet there will not be a vegetarian option?