-Cat Man Do-

It must have been part of the second set. Big Mama Sharon cast a second spell, twirling her blue light cylinder in a tight circle over my face. Clap-clap she mouthed, and I did.

Cursed blue-light cylinder.

Famine-strength hunger pangs hit my gut on the ride home. By the time I'd scaled my third floor walk-up, this unfamiliar ill-fed feeling had taken over. The cat turned cartwheels over my feet as I clawed for cheese and crackers. The plastic tore in my hands, and the squares scattered about the floor.

Only cheese. She giggled.

Water takes so long to boil, and the cheese only made a small impression. Slicing jalapeno peppers took my mind off the distressing twinges. When I took the finished pasta off the stove, the pot's plastic handle snapped off in my hand, and the noodles slapped the floor.

Only peppers! She crowed.

It's no good trying to fight the blue-light on half rations. I spread the county voter map (circa 1984) across my card table, and confide my alderman election strategy to the singer/songwriter/comedian.

I think I see something blue on the fire escape.
It's not as hypnotic as Big Mama Sharon, but then, who is?