No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law. Printed in the USA. As he was walking home from a rough night of drinking at Fishervilles most well-known watering hole, the Rams Head Bar, Scotty hummed a song that had been playing on the jukebox. Then, just as he was getting to the chorus, he got the distinct feeling that he was being followed. He was the only one on the street except for the occasional car or junkie. It was close to four in the morning and most of the inhabitants of the area were sleeping, drunk, or nodding off somewhere quietly. Scotty was at the point where his tiredness was catching up with his alcohol buzz; he was starting to mistake parking meters for cacti. As his paranoia grew, Scotty slowly grabbed hold to one of the meters, being careful not to get stabbed by the non-existent spines of the non-existent cacti.
