Fred, who had realized that the language involved pauses where there
usually weren't, questioned the man, Bugsy, on why he didn't want to
leave. Bugsy firmly planted a finger up his nose and said that he had been framed by several corrupt policemen. In order to save their jobs, they had tossed him into jail to cover the bungling of several thefts of scrap iron from a nearby millitary base. Fred respected the man's decision and went into the passage. It is tight and cramped and ends against a metal door three feet square. It opens into a small, dark room, filled with flowers of all sorts. Cold radiated from a chugging, vibrating hunk of metal in one corner. A small door was cracked open, revealing light, some shelves and a lot more flowers.
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12/15/2005 8:24:23 AM
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