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Crash landing ... Lead fume poisoning .. Podunk Crapshot New York

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First excerpt from Culrik's "Filth Column" auto-journal. Publishing not yet considered.


I was somewhere between the barstool and the edge of the dancefloor when the dizziness began to take hold. A mediocre Top-100 boogie rock song was playing from the speakers. Most of it was the man repeating "you ain't seen nothing yet", though I suppose that there was something between the repetitions, but it was mostly sappy love song nonsense that made it feel like someone had poured syrup into your sinuses, so none of it seemed important at the time. Anyhow. It had a beat that you could dance to and there were strobe lights enough to kill an epileptic or a vampire (not that I have much against vampires, I relate to them in quite a lot of ways). It has all I need, and besides, I'd already bought into the place by getting drunk there, so it wasn't worth leaving.

Before long I fell down somewhere. It took too long for my brain to register that this wasn't the usual kind of falling you do on a dancefloor, and by that time I was already cannonballing towards the ground with untold speed.

??? (Thursday in retrospect) SAME TIME, PROBABLY

It felt like someone was holding a drill press to my head and the rest of my body was bruised like a binned fruit. People were chatting somewhere behind me, and I could hear wind. My head went into alarm mode, and I suspected that someone had fucked with my drink. After tactically playing dead on the ground for a few seconds, I opened my eyes and saw talking, multi-coloured dragons, which was a surefire sign that I was fucked of my damn mind.

I asked one of them for a drink. It kicked me. The bartender gave someone attitude, and I put them in their place, and after that things start to go fast. There was something about Russians, paint thinner and my drink that hadn't arrived. I discovered that I was a dragon too, and started swearing the ass of whichever wizard had done this to me, which in retrospect only turned out to not be a terrible decision only because everybody had in fact been turned into dragons at the time.

There was fucker named Carl from California (title appended. I don't know his last name) at the bar who looked like and smoked like a nazi funfair ride. He was sober enough at the time to lay things as straight as they could for someone who thought he was psychotic. A conversation first occurred with someone else, but nothing important was said. Carl asked me if I needed anything. Everything from this point on points towards Carl having a service gene.
"Nah, n ah, don't let my ass get in the way of the real important stuff. I'm a strong soul. Lived through worse. Could use the drink, though" I tried to be polite. His first reply was "All ya had to say", and then he ordered two vodkas. I swallowed the vile drink. I needed it, and could feel it sobering me up.
"It's horrible" I replied. He took it well. We were comrades in how horrible it was. In situations like these it's important to make allies.

"Y'can order whatever charge-free. Probably show us pity mortals what a good drink is." Carl told me. Bullshit.
"Bullshit" I said, and accused it of being foul play. He had suggested that they lived out there, and polite society doesn't mix with free booze. I was sceptical. But the fucker meant it, and by now the place had piqued my interest. I talked some more about Eisenhower, planets, and some other stuff before I mooched a couch off the Carl fellow for the night. I wanted to see the town during the daytime. I felt like this was my sort of place.
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