Trixie eyed the bartender in front of her, struggling with the spigot on the cider barrel in a fruitless endeavor.

“Blasted Flim Flam tech is jammed again,” he said. "Useless bloody money grubbers, I swear one day i'll—”

Trixie said nothing but instead cocked a smile and tilted her performer's hat upward.

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Heya, folks!

Well, not that my illness is mostly something I’ve run over and have left in the review mirror like a freshly smashed into dimension hopping telephone booth and rental store out in the middle of nowhere—

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