Further Fickle Ficleteering

“That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

I turned, slowly, trying to determine where the voice had come from. There weren’t really that many possibilities. Unless the cat a) actually could speak and b) had developed incredible voice-projection techniques, or my bat work had not been quite as thorough as I had thought, or the car possessed a sophisticated new voice-based alarm system, I was apparently dealing with something inexplicable.

Well, more inexplicable than the mildly fourth-wall-breaking events that had happened already. In any case, I was well over half way through my allotted characters, so I decided to hurry things up a bit.

“No, it wasn’t nice, but then what can you expect”? I said. “I’ve not been having a nice few days, really. Do you know what I’ve had to do just to keep going?”

“All too well,” came the voice back at me. It was a pleasant voice, I found myself thinking. Smooth, restrained, and no hint of the bronchitis that I had found just so objectionable in the homeless man.

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