This chapter is penned by none other than myself, Vivian Borne, about to regale you, dear reader, with the amazing adventure that transpired after I took my leave of Brandy and Sushi, following a certain unfortunate truncated press conference, a debacle for which I can only say: my bad. The tale you are about to hear (read) is one I might not believe myself, had I not experienced it. This is the case even though I’ve had many (adventures) and told many (tales) (I do hope you appreciate a creative use of parentheses), and perhaps I risk building up your expectations too much—like the trolley stories I’ve shared in previous volumes. But I must first make use of my unfortunately limited space herein to bring up a few issues and/or set the record straight. Firstly, several readers (not many—two or three) (well, perhaps four or five) (six tops) wrote to complain about my most recent Serenity trolley story. The delightful anecdote in question concerns a spinster who dressed her pet chimpanzee as Goldilocks in order to sneak it onto the gas-powered trolley, after which an elderly man with cataracts mistook the animal for a little girl, affectionately pinched its cheek, and got his finger bitten off.
