It was cold. It was dark. It was just another night in the City. I was straightening things up in the Bomb Shelter when they walked in. Just my luck. This dame and her man had been escorted into the building by Pete personally.

Introductions were in order. They were Paul & Melissa Holman-Kursky. The hyphen, I figured, was on loan from their place of employment: The Un-scripted theater company. She had the manner of a Dickensian urchin and he was a dead ringer for Ben Savage.

We could have jumped right in to get to know each other but I had bigger problems. Not only were the reviews for my Lousy Walking Tour less than helpful, but animals were dying. Siku the walrus drank herself to death and leopard sharks were loosing their minds..Poor saps. If it weren't for the good news that we could now stream movies from the SF library I might have hit the bricks right there and then. Or maybe I'd take a Chariot. I'd heard good things.

The conversation had been moving at a decent clip but I could tell my guests were getting worn down. There weren't enough cups of mud in the city to keep up this pace and we hadn't even gotten to the latest round of "Stump SK".

We ended with a hasty discussion of their favorite hash houses and gin joints in their hood. I chose to believe them.