He climbed down from the roof, tossed a drumstick to a stray dog, and headed home. The sun set normally. The air smelled like fried chicken and victory. And somewhere in a parallel dimension, a botanist named Elvis Presley was teaching a begonia to sing “Heartbreak Hotel.”
“Are you Francis Mooky Duke Williams?” the creature demanded, dripping ink onto the linoleum. francis mooky duke williams
“I am Prittle, a Memetic Auditor from the Bureau of Probability Stabilization,” the creature said. “And you, sir, have broken reality.” He climbed down from the roof, tossed a