It wasn’t a bad joke. It was how he asked to come into my private doublewide trailer up in the woods in Oregon. It seems that when Stan teleported, he couldn’t just drop in outside and then use the door to actually knock on. But he was a God, and my boss, so I supposed he could do just about anything he wanted, even make bad “knock-knock” sounds in thin air in my living room. I was only Poker Boy, a lowly superhero. Not much I could say about it. I pushed aside the cold fried chicken I had been eating while sitting on my old green couch and watching the evening news out of Portland. “Come on down.” Stan appeared beside my couch and glanced around, shaking his head. He always did that when he came here. He just didn’t understand why someone with as much money as I had (and as many superpowers) would keep an old, 1970s-furnished doublewide trailer in the Oregon Coastal Mountains, even if it was within a half mile of a casino. It was the green couch and chair and shag carpet that did it for most people, not counting the fake wood paneling on the wall.
What do You think about Fiction River: Unnatural Worlds?
