Chapter 39

I moved a long-unmoven box, and Gregor scurried up another like the
fool he was. There he perched, shiny and brown, waving his antennae
like mad probably deciding where to scurry to next. With my eyes on
the little vermin, I reached for something to swat him with. Now,
sometimes I just use my hands in moments like this -- Care to shake?
Nah, you probably don't -- but for this job, I thought a weapon would
work better. My hand felt something the right size and weight. I
rolled it up. I cocked my arm, my eyes still dead straight ahead.

Thwack!

There was a little 'plip' as the body hit the floor.

Thwack!

Thwack!

It took a few swats, but Gregor Samsa was a goner. Da Book had struck
again.

Chapter 40.

The next day, I felt a little bad for icing Gregor. You see, like
seeing that book you signed for your best pal in the used book shop,
this is probably right up there on a list of an author's worst
nightmares. I would have used one of my own pieces, but they were out
of reach. How was I going to explain that to Frank? I knocked back a
couple of stiff ones at Joe's as I thought over my options.

I was staring at Joe's TV when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled
around to see

* * *

At this point, the manuscript abruptly leaves off.


--


Or maybe you'd rather just do acid and listen to Led Zeppelin.