I was standing in front of the pawnshop microwave, watching my Bar-S Franks spin in a circle when I heard the "BANGCLANK!" outside. I looked out the tool room window and saw a sweaty black face with bulging eyes looking back. He was clutching his arm close to his chest, bobbing and weaving in the parking lot, looking behind him all the time.

I put some spicy brown on my franks and sat down to eat. Aunt Cheryl was on the phone with Grandma, asking about her trip when the sweaty black face ran through the front door.

"Please help me! They shootin' at me, tryin' to kill me! I've been shot! Call 911! My name Percy Lloyd Campbell Jr. the Fourth, and they said I was a molester but they wouldn't tell me nothin' about it ANDNOWTHEYSHOOTINATME!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Mom, I better let you go, everything is fine, but I've got to call 911." She hung up and looked Percy Lloyd Campbell Jr. the Fourth in the eyes. "Hon, who's shootin' at you?"

"EVERYBODY! THEY KNOCKED ME OFF THAT HORSE! SHOT ME IN THE ARM! CALL 911!" Percy ran to the back of the shop at full tilt, bobbing and weaving the whole time.

Tom came out of his office, hand on the pistol in his pocket. Cheryl walked between Tom and Percy, locked eyes with Percy. "Hon, you're gonna hafta calm down. You can't be runnin' around in here. I'm callin' 911 right now, but I need you to come up front and sit down."

"I CAIN'T! THEY'LL SHOOT ME THROUGH THE WINDOW!"

Cheryl got him in a chair, and called 911. The dispatcher figured out we had a crazy on our hands right quick. "We got a 10-96 down at Cheryl's pawnshop guys, better hustle. Cheryl, stay on line with me until they get there."

A Pentecostal family wandered in to compare pistols just as Percy decided that our novelty hand-grenade "complaint department" was an immediate threat and repeated his bob and weave dash to the opposite corner, yellin' "OH JESUS! I DON'T WANNA GET BLOWED UP!"

"It's not always like this in here," I said to the Pentecostals, "and the police are on their way, and as long as you don't point the laser grip his direction, I think we're all cool."

"THEY SHOT ME OFF MY HORSE! I BROKE MY ARM!"

"What horse are you talkin' about Percy? The horse next door," Cheryl asked.

Percy nodded and clutched his arm tighter to his chest, sucked air through his teeth to demonstrate his agony. Cheryl walked next door to investigate. She came back holding a bronze ear aloft for everyone to see.

"He knocked that eight-thousand dollar horse statue over, broke it's ear off," she announced to the shop. "Percy! What happened to the horse?"

"I PUNCHED IT AND IT FELL OVER! I WANT TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL! IT BROKE MY ARM!"

The parking lot soon filled up with black and whites and a lonely ambulance. The EMT pressed on Percy's arm and determined that he had not been shot, and all the bones were intact.The head officer had met Percy before, knew him well enough to know his real name was Langston.

"Langston, did you dip your cigarette in PCP!"

"YEAH MAN!"

"What did I tell you about that stuff," the officer asked, not waiting for an answer. "Langston, did you knock that horse over?"

"YEAH I DID! Say officer, why don't you give me a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke. Stand up for me, nice and slow, put your hands behind your back."

"I WANNA GO TO THE HOSPITAL AND YOU BETTER GIVE ME A CIGARETTE!"

"I told you, I don't smoke," the officer said, cuffing him. As he led him to the squad car he said, "You're going to the hospital, and back to the county jail."

When they were gone, everyone stood around and rehashed their favorite Percy moments. A different dispatcher called to find out why we didn't shoot him. I sold the Pentecostals a gun, then made a fresh pot of coffee.

Dream #1

I am eating lunch in a plank wood restaurant that seems to float in the tree tops. Dot and Papa are there, and I know lunch must be on Papa, because I have an enormous lobster on my plate and a plastic bib on my chest. So do Dot and neither one of us like lobster. This restaurant has a lot of neon beer signs. I touch them as we walk down the hallway, our lobsters untouched on the table, out to the floating stairs that take us down to the forest floor.

"Don't worry about taking us home Papa. We could use some exercise after that lunch, and Dot said she's never been this deep in the forest before. We'd like to see some deer, and maybe some bunnies."

We take our leave, and I seem to know where I'm going. We talk about things that don't make sense, and a man steps out from the trees. He is over 7 feet tall, a handsome, coffee colored man, a stretched Denzel Washington. He asks to join us, and I see that his arms are too long, and so are his fingers. We walk silently until he grabs Dot by the throat and throws her to the ground. I grab a log the size of my forearm and go upside his head with it. He flies 25 feet, like he is made of paper maiche, hits a huge pine. I run forward and bludgeon his face with the log, screaming like an Amazon while his brains splatter my face.  I hand the log to Dot so she can get in on the action when the alarm goes off.

Dream #2

I step outside the front door, and immediately realize that the house is being surrounded by a large group of unknown ne'er-do-wells. I am certain it doesn't matter who they are, they are a threat. "Fuck yeah bitches," I say without moving my lips, "it's motherfucking go time!" I spin back in the house, grab my Glock and her 30 round clip. "Guys, we are being surrounded. Get your weapons, this is not a joke." I slam the magazine home, and pull back the slide to put one in the pipe. Very smooth, except when I drop the slide, the pistol mis-feeds and the shell jams the action. "What the FUCK?" I drop my mag, clear the shell and lock back the slide. I replace my magazine and hit the slide release. And it jams again. "What the FUCK? You are a Glock! You are never supposed to malfunction! Eric, I need the 50 round drum, I've got a mag problem over here, and this is not a good time!" I am crushed to find that we never loaded the drum, and can’t find the directions and I realize that it's too late because the ninja/S.W.A.T./zombies are certain to kill us any second when the alarm goes off. Dream #3 I'm trying to watch TV, but someone is raising a ruckus in my front yard. Probably all the assholes I find parked there, crammed in all directions. I go inside to write angry notes to tape to their windshields, but I can't find the correct tone so they understand that I hate them and would be glad to shoot them if they park in my flowers again. I wad up the fifteenth ball of paper and throw it in the floor, and my bedroom windows start rattling thanks to one of my guest's boomin' system. I grab the shotgun by the door and hurry around the side of the house to confront them. "Hey! Is there a good reason you parked in my gawd-damn yard?" "We needed to go to the football game," said stretched out Denzel. I notice that he has a gold tooth now. "I don't really care what you thought you needed to do, I am telling you right now, if you park your heap in my yard again, I will happily fill your ass full of buckshot, and I will be completely within in the law. Do you understand me?" He nods. "I'm glad you hear me. Now, would you like a bottle of water?" He follows me to the front steps, where a tiny Mexican in alligator boots and a ten-gallon hat stops us. ""Scuse me mees? Choo know whose car that ess? I heet it wit' my truck, and it 'splode." I look behind him and see the burning shell of a compact car, and I am thrilled.