Home Sweet Home

the Daily Gazelle

"Betty Boopkininsky," she repeated.

"Chief Librarian."

I shook her hand.

'Betty Boop.'

I almost laughed, but she looked so ...

actually I have no idea how she looked.

Plain, sad, lonely, nerdish, lonely, ...

Sigh.

A lot like me.

"Krall Jones," I said, shaking her hand.

It was so soft and warm and my hand tingled a bit.

She looked shocked.

"Aren't you dead?"

Now I laughed.

"So I hear."

She hurried to her desk.

She passed me a newspaper.

KRALL JONES FOUND DEAD

Needle in arm. Possible overdose. Body cremated.

Front page even.

This is one boring little town.

I looked closely at the picture. It was obviously a photo shopped picture of my head on another persons body.

I looked closer. This person had breasts. And dark skin.

And was in a hotel room. I could see a Gideon's bible.

"I am glad that you are not dead."

I dropped the paper on the desk and turned to Betty.

She was pushing her glasses up on her nose.

"What?"

"I was just saying, I am ..."

Her voice faded as she lowered her head, obviously nervous about the conversation we were having.

" ... so lonely here," the voice raised, as did her head.

She pushed up her glasses, with her middle finger.

Was she flipping me off?

"I was wondering if you could help me?"

Her whole face lit up.

Seriously.

Or maybe it was just that she stepped out of the shadows under the overhead light.

"With what?"

"Do you have newspapers from the 50s on your computer system here?"