Pt. 9

the time had come to embark on the next leg of his journey.
Having gained nearly fifty pounds from extravagant hoagie consumption, the now portly Bo waddled quickly to catch the 5:00 bus. Midge had dressed him in some of Brother Platinum's hand-me-downs, but as Bo's swollen thighs had come to be too much of a challenge on the seams of the black sequined bell-bottoms and bottle green leather capris, Bo had asked to use Midge's sewing machine to fashion himself a pair of empire waist trousers, cut from the cloth of his monk's robes and bedazzled with some of the more flashy numbers in Midge's rhinestone collection. He found that they paired nicely with the rubber maternity tube top that Midge had been generous enough to bequeath him.
Once on board the bus, Bo began searching through the pockets of Midge's vintage rucksack in hopes of finding the cheese hoagie she had promised to enclose. His husky fingers grazed something tiny and smooth. Hoping it was perhaps a superfluous bit of diced onion, he extracted it from the pocket and held it up to the lurid yellow bus light to scrutinize. Not quite sure what to make of the minuscule commodity, his hand again delved into the velvet interior of the rucksack in hopes of securing some type of explanation, and sure enough, after a minute of searching, withdrew a note printed on Midge's monogrammed electric blue stationary.
"Bo," it read, "the bus you are on is not going to Philadelphia. The driver is an acquaintance of mine from back when I worked as a lumberjack in Kalamazoo. She is taking you to a liquor store in The Bronx where you will find a man named Ebenezer LaBoeuf who is very interested in what you are holding in your hand... the legendary vocalist Ray Davies' missing middle tooth. You must guard it with your life, as my words cannot fully bring to your senses the power that it possesses. Lest it fall into the wrong hands, there is no telling what dark evils will befall you and the future of rock and roll."
Bo, only slightly repulsed by the oral appendage that nestled between his great sausages of fingers, had barely taken enough time to replace the note and utter a muffled, "Holy Chippendale!" before he heard the candid "click click" of a firearm being cocked alarmingly close to his ear.