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The Crest of a High and Beautiful Wave


We were somewhere near the Lombardi on the edge of the Turnpike when we got back in 3G range. Suddenly my phone began to chirp insanely, with the exact hell-born banshee-wail that the evil Dwark at the AT&T Store had promised me when I finally decided to upgrade.

I whirled to face my attorney. He was cowering in the driver’s seat, trying desperately to pilot the Red Shark on a straight-ahead trajectory while fighting off a phalanx of nonexistent bats.

"We have to turn back! Right now!" I screeched at the raving lunatic.

At first he utterly failed to grasp my meaning. “What? And finally cash Savage Henry’s check for good? But we’re not even armed!” He was clearly feeling the first tremors of the Fear.

"No, you cretin!" I shouted, lunging toward my attorney and giving him a few seconds at the business end of my taser. Just a wake-up zap, for focus. "We have to go back to that Starbucks so I can send a message. Someone finally responded to my #gawkerdating post."





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