The freak shows he'd been host of had faded from popularity in Culchack Corners after a few years, the lovable sidewinder Dim Jim Driscoll cracked his head open a second time, and right after recovering from the latest skull fracture slash coma, the old
raconteur took a trolley downtown to the Cowsheet Singles Ball to see if he could meet a woman.
You had to write a 40-word romance ad for Cowsheet's classified section at the door to get in. There was a free buffet of puffy treats, but the drinks weren't free like he'd figured.
Slippery fire played over the dance floor.
