I wrote this for my friend and commenter Bev as a bit of amusement as she recovers from one of those intestinal flu viruses. I thought some other readers might enjoy it:
[the scene: a grim and barren concrete-block room painted a bilious shade of green. There are no windows — seems like a basement, an underground interrogation room.
Larry has been apprehended by the nameless authorities, and he is duct-taped to a maple chair — oddly enough, it is a chair which has been painted, decorated by some Canadian woman! What kind of movie is this, anyway? Getting rather surreal…
A surly mustachioed man approaches Larry. He has a .45 revolver, and he aims it at the poor guy’s head.
“Okay, buddy, are ya gonna drive south or what? We can make you do it, ya know!”
“But I want to! Just let me go and I’ll be outa here!”
“Ha! They all say that! Ya gotta be more convincing than that! The Herald-Whig told us about you. Did you know that there are city statutes dealing with deadbeats like you who fail to deliver their newspapers?”
“Oh, you have to be making this up! Statutes?!”
“Yeah, I’m just kiddin’ ya, bud. Let me peel this duct tape off and you can go.”]
I often have imaginary movie scenes drift through my over-active mind…