handbag, the rear of a fat man's bald head, a rat dashing across the sidewalk, threading a path through a half a hundred pairs of feet.
There was that strange whining sound, too. And a kind of exclamation, like, "Hey!" Then Monk suddenly realized he was in freefall. He wasn't quite sure how that had happened. It was really strange.
Like he was just floating in midair. Immune to gravity. He caught a glimpse of someone smoking a red cigarette, then spotted a patch of ferrocrete wall, then everything around him was crashing. He was tumbling, rolling, flipping upside-down, smashing into things. His body hit the ground. That kind of hurt.
"Are you all right?" somebody called.
Monk wasn't sure about that. He felt kind of funny. Like he might suffocate and vomit and pass out all at once. He felt banged up, too. He spent a few moments just getting back into the habit of breathing. Once he got that down, he tried opening his eyes and looking around. The first thing he noticed was the pile of plastic trash cans around him. The second thing he noticed was someone kneeling next to him. Someone wearing a leopard-print jacket, pants, and boots. As another moment passed, Monk realized this someone was female and looking right at him. His eyes widened. He looked at her more closely. Her hair was frizzled and wild and kept changing colors, winking from red to orange to gold and back again. She had bright blue eyes, a pert nose, and lips like Cupid's bow. She smiled, looking right at him, and showed off teeth as white as... well, anything he had ever seen. She smelled like a fragrant garden. She was... she was...
She was beautiful...
"Hey, you're kinda cute."
"Huh?"
She giggled.
Aches and pains faded to nowhere. Monk stared. Women never paid much attention to him. Beautiful women like this one never even seemed to notice he existed. They weren't interested in writers. Didn't consider them good nesting material. They had their eyes on salarymen, execs, and the tall towers and big money over on the other side of the Hudson River.
She lifted a hand to cover her mouth, then helped him sit up. She had slim little hands like a girl.
"You must've been in another world," she said, smiling. "Didn't you hear me beep?"
Monk frowned, wondering what she meant.
"Hey, are you an elf?" Abruptly, she brushed at his spiky hair and leaned over as if to look at the side of his head, maybe at one of his ears. His ears were kind of weird. Pointy like.
"Uh ..."
"My father was a dwarf. Can you believe it?" She looked him in the face again, then smiled and thrust her arms out to her sides as if to invite him to look her over. Monk couldn't help accepting the invitation.
She was slim and just plain gorgeous.
"Wuh ... wiz," he said, breathing hard.
She giggled again, then smiled warmly, right at him. "I'm Minx," she said. "Who're you?"
"Monk," Monk blurted.
"Wiz!" she said, softly. "You know, you remind me of the flower children. They were always in another world. They were these people back in the twenty-hundreds who said we should make love, and mostly just that." She smiled like she thought that was funny. "And they meditated, too. A lot of them wore tie-dyed clothes like you."
"Yeah?"
"Sandals, too."
Monk looked down at the colors splashing across his Fixe Rescue tee, then down the lengths of his faded blue rippers to the black and red sandals on his feet. Flower children? Wasn't that what people called weed-eaters? elves? "I ..."
"Hmmm?" Minx looked at him inquisitively.
"I think ... something on the ... the California Channel ... about ... uh ..." What had she called it? Them
... "Flower children."
Suddenly, Minx covered her face with both hands and bent forward at the waist. She was laughing, Monk realized, laughing so hard that when she straightened up again she had to wipe at her eyes and gasp for breath. "See!" she said. "See what I mean!"
Monk wondered about that.
"So where do you live anyway?" Minx asked, fluffing out her hair,
There was that strange whining sound, too. And a kind of exclamation, like, "Hey!" Then Monk suddenly realized he was in freefall. He wasn't quite sure how that had happened. It was really strange.
Like he was just floating in midair. Immune to gravity. He caught a glimpse of someone smoking a red cigarette, then spotted a patch of ferrocrete wall, then everything around him was crashing. He was tumbling, rolling, flipping upside-down, smashing into things. His body hit the ground. That kind of hurt.
"Are you all right?" somebody called.
Monk wasn't sure about that. He felt kind of funny. Like he might suffocate and vomit and pass out all at once. He felt banged up, too. He spent a few moments just getting back into the habit of breathing. Once he got that down, he tried opening his eyes and looking around. The first thing he noticed was the pile of plastic trash cans around him. The second thing he noticed was someone kneeling next to him. Someone wearing a leopard-print jacket, pants, and boots. As another moment passed, Monk realized this someone was female and looking right at him. His eyes widened. He looked at her more closely. Her hair was frizzled and wild and kept changing colors, winking from red to orange to gold and back again. She had bright blue eyes, a pert nose, and lips like Cupid's bow. She smiled, looking right at him, and showed off teeth as white as... well, anything he had ever seen. She smelled like a fragrant garden. She was... she was...
She was beautiful...
"Hey, you're kinda cute."
"Huh?"
She giggled.
Aches and pains faded to nowhere. Monk stared. Women never paid much attention to him. Beautiful women like this one never even seemed to notice he existed. They weren't interested in writers. Didn't consider them good nesting material. They had their eyes on salarymen, execs, and the tall towers and big money over on the other side of the Hudson River.
She lifted a hand to cover her mouth, then helped him sit up. She had slim little hands like a girl.
"You must've been in another world," she said, smiling. "Didn't you hear me beep?"
Monk frowned, wondering what she meant.
"Hey, are you an elf?" Abruptly, she brushed at his spiky hair and leaned over as if to look at the side of his head, maybe at one of his ears. His ears were kind of weird. Pointy like.
"Uh ..."
"My father was a dwarf. Can you believe it?" She looked him in the face again, then smiled and thrust her arms out to her sides as if to invite him to look her over. Monk couldn't help accepting the invitation.
She was slim and just plain gorgeous.
"Wuh ... wiz," he said, breathing hard.
She giggled again, then smiled warmly, right at him. "I'm Minx," she said. "Who're you?"
"Monk," Monk blurted.
"Wiz!" she said, softly. "You know, you remind me of the flower children. They were always in another world. They were these people back in the twenty-hundreds who said we should make love, and mostly just that." She smiled like she thought that was funny. "And they meditated, too. A lot of them wore tie-dyed clothes like you."
"Yeah?"
"Sandals, too."
Monk looked down at the colors splashing across his Fixe Rescue tee, then down the lengths of his faded blue rippers to the black and red sandals on his feet. Flower children? Wasn't that what people called weed-eaters? elves? "I ..."
"Hmmm?" Minx looked at him inquisitively.
"I think ... something on the ... the California Channel ... about ... uh ..." What had she called it? Them
... "Flower children."
Suddenly, Minx covered her face with both hands and bent forward at the waist. She was laughing, Monk realized, laughing so hard that when she straightened up again she had to wipe at her eyes and gasp for breath. "See!" she said. "See what I mean!"
Monk wondered about that.
"So where do you live anyway?" Minx asked, fluffing out her hair,
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