I had intended to spend Saturday evening having dinner with old friends in the distant future, on the far edge of the Galaxy. You know, typical Saturday.
I stopped in mid 1970s London to arrange for a place to stay upon my return, and was, of course, distracted by a large reptile that led me to a crime scene. Those who know me are aware of my natural curiosity, and will not be surprised to learn that I wound up staying in London.
During the course of the evening, I consumed at least one bottle of vodka of which I am aware, consorted with prostitutes in the proletariat area and as the first grey tendrils of sunrise stole over the side of the island, I passed out cold in the basement of the Chinese embassy on Portland Place.
Despite my Mandarin being both childish and rusty even when I am conscious, my accidental hosts were kind enough to wrap me in an army blanket and put me on a slow boat to Canada. I passed the morning, or rather the very early afternoon, breakfasting with laborers (the hour perhaps explaining the lack of back bacon, eh?) and made my way from one coast to the other.
Thence I traveled to my favorite resort, which is built on a small artificial island off the coast of Japan. I have not been to this place in ages, though I used to haunt it with daily accuracy. One day I shall recount the virtues of the place in the fullness they deserve, but for now suffice it to say that there is plenty to do, the air has a scent to it that is most conducive to revitalization–a must in any resort–and the people are quite friendly, even if they do have a habit of cheating at ping-pong.
Here, I discovered that while my golf swing is not what it used to be, still it is less rusty than my Mandarin, and I was pleased enough with a twelve under par.
And here, with the sun sinking to its heavenly rest, I breathed in the time under a purpling sky by idly tossing a Frisbee™ for someone’s small dog to catch and return.
The natives approached me in the twilight and honored me by offering a sample of their simple repast: mussels and spring rolls. They recalled the time I defended their isle from a horde of demons and are still quite grateful, and I can only hope that I accept this gratifying truth with the grace that it requires. While I ate, I was treated to watch a few of the more aggressive locals beating the hell out of one another.
I have had larger feasts, with loftier personages, in an atmosphere of greater spectacle, yet I would not have traded this evening, and I hope the smile that never left my lips even as I ate was received as an expression of grateful acceptance and approval, rather than as a side effect of the truly excellent beer with which they provided me in sufficient quantities.
As the moon passed its halfway point in the spangled night, I prepared a rejuvenating sleep/transportation module from the remains of an old satellite that had crashed some months previously. My smile was wider than ever as I did so; for this was a weekend as of old, and the feel of it was marvelous. Truly, I am back in form and ready to enjoy life in my usual style.
How better, I ask, to bed down, than with such assurance?