Bloomsday drafts his speech on a treadmill at the Lakewood Y. His musical menu includes: Brand New Day by Sting with Stevie on harmonica (warm up); the album, Eraser, by Thom York (hard momentum running, intermittent hard walk); selected songs from Todd Rundgeren (cool down). For shits 'n giggles, he rocks out to Prince's When U Were Mine and I Feel 4 U on the way home and blasts Darking Nikki in the driveway.
Inside the stone colonial, Molly and Luna snuggle like hamsters, awaiting papa. He gathers his effects from the car and sees he has missed a phone call. The number is not familar, with an unknown area code. Suddenly, his hand vibrates as a new text message arrives. It's a tweet. "@BloomsdayDevice: How was U'r workout?"
Bloomsday's first thought is, Prince is tweeting me. But reason prevails. Another text arrives: "I'm in the cab down the street." Bloomsday turns and looks and sees a cab parked, lurking, suspicious. No one takes cabs in Cleveland.
He takes to the cab, walking tall. Two passengers emerge. The stinky puppeteer and his silent companion. "Dobry den," he says.
"Dobry den," Bloomsday replies. "Have you been waiting long?"
"No hurry. As you instructed, we had waffles at Gene's Place. Delicious, I'd say."
"I believe the technical term is delicioso."
"Pardon?"
"Nevermind. Look, I'd invite you in, but I got a new baby and a tired momma in the house. How about you take me in the cab to the destination of my choice."
"Excellent idea. We need just a half our of your time."
"Fuck that. Your taking me to bloodymaryville. You fly, you buy."
The stinky puppeteer surmises. "I think I understand."
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