The loan guppies had stalked him for weeks. Many obscure originals melt time flawlessly into sitcoms, fade like madras Kostabis, but our high priest of no concept wore his wiffle unashamed. Back to the wall and shadow at the ready, he wondered what it would be like to be a brick. Not much different, really, from the nada he usually mumbled in his you-could-call-it mind. Rudy readied the punishment. The schlemiel gave up his image of red clay for hep jive. Alley oop oop. Oop. Oop oop. In the apartment above and to the left of Mr. Wiffle, an Armenian couple coupled on the bathroom floor. A belt buckle clattered against porcelain, and the loan guppies cracked him like an egg.

-- Michael West