I stood there, hip deep in the Gulf of Mexico, and lit a cigarette as the tide slowly began to wash away the remains of General Dolphissimo and his mad band of murderous dolphin-men. It was blood and twisted wreckage as far as the eye could see. The fires on the water danced slowly along, slipping into darkness one by one.
Beside me, the Llama sighed.
“I tell you, I’m almost fifteen years old, and by now I thought I’d seen everything. But nothing like this, man, nothing like this.”
I nodded, handed him the smoke. He took a long drag and let it out slowly, seeming smaller now, tired, more fragile than when I’d first laid eyes on him.
Then he shook himself with a snort, “I’m getting too old for this shit. Come on kid, let’s go home.”
We drove the Nissan Stanza back to Memphis without talking. I stared into the night outside the window and wondered about the last few days. How many of these things would I remember? How much of it was real? Would anyone believe this mad tale of drugs and debauchery and llamas and crazy mutant dolphin things with dreams of ruling the world?
The night, as usual, offered me no answers.
As the sun crept upon the horizon, the Llama dropped me off at my doorstep. We just nodded to each other as I got out of the car, there was nothing more to say. I watched him drive away until the cracked red taillights disappeared down the street. I felt the warm rays of dawn on my face.
And I smiled.
Then went inside my house and slept for a week.
~~~
