It was oddly comfortable on the floor, giving him a new perception of the trailer: there were clots of dried gum wads and boogers on the underside of the coffee table, and the name “Frank” scrawled in red crayon. Or Crayola? Was Frank the messy little gum chewing villain? Had the nymphet heard the crash and been alarmed? The bottom of the kitchen table was also a mess, a soiled minimalist painting. No wonder little children behave badly what with this grim view of their world, a world of dog bellies and dust curls, of bunioned feet and pant cuffs, the darkness up Daddy’s robe and Mommy’s dress. He remembered the garters cutting into his aunt’s thighs. Why had he been stupid enough to try to hypnotize this aunt when he was fifteen? He had ordered the hypnotism book from an ad in True magazine for five bucks, which represented two weeks’ profit from a paper route. All he got was a slap in the face when he touched her supposedly sedated thigh. Who wants to be young again when that sort of thing happens? So yummy through the bathroom keyhole, the nascent hormonal buzz turning into a jet roar. She was napping in a plaid skirt with Sunday comics spread across her face. Joe Palooka rose and fell to her steady breathing. She coughed and he jumped backward like a cat. Panties pulled up her bum, an effect revered in photos. You are in ancient Kashmir … in the golden temple of Shalazar … I am the caliph, your lover, the most handsome man in the world etc. I still remember the unsuccessful hypno-lingo. Days later she winked. Doze.

After a wondrous nap, troubled in its last stage by horses running around under the ground and Diana in the back of a pickup with a cowboy, he drove down to the bump shop to retrieve his BMW. He gave a strolling hippie twenty bucks to follow him out to the airport with the rental compact. Unfortunately the hippie never arrived at the car rental office. After an hour the police came to take Warlock’s statement.

“You’re liable!” shrieked the rental agent for the fiftieth time, and now for the benefit of the police.

“I don’t care,” was Warlock’s standard reply.

“You irresponsible faggot! You fucking queer!”

The irresponsible statement got the car rental agent picked up by the tie and belt, and shaken senseless. The police made no effort to interfere. Warlock had already slipped them his identification papers. He swore out a complaint against the agent for foul language in a public place, then drove off with a light heart. A simple nickel-and-dime car theft wasn’t going to spoil his birthday.