Little Johnny and the male FBI agent had both disappeared into the Vortex, without a trace, sliding in 'accidentally' on cardboard boxes.
The FBI had obviously pulled the funding for Little Johnny's stay after his disappearance occurred, and almost worse, the daily prepared gourmet meals had been halted as well. Miss Linda was a horrible cook, and piece-mealing meals together the best she could. Basically she was eating whatever was lying around in the refrigerator. She ate lot of peanut butter sandwiches, cheese sandwiches, and scrambled eggs. She wasn't much cut out for 'roughing it', but desperate times called for desperate measures.
She was having strange, psychedelic dreams that were a residual effect from the energy work she had been practicing. She felt a growing blurred line between this world and the next with more and more clarity. Although that didn't lend itself very well to sleep, so she was also tired. Very, very tired.
She had also lost her other boarder, the Psychic, who left on a whim one afternoon unexpectedly to follow the cloud patterns to the Native American Gaming Casinos. She left Miss Linda a note written in red lipstick on a paper towel in the kitchen (the last paper towel on the roll, by the way). It said, "Sorry...gotta go!" Miss Linda understood, but now she was left alone and almost penniless, without a solid plan of action.
She missed Manuel. He drove her crazy.
She was afraid. She might actually have to get a job.
She would have to be her own boss, of course.
She began to contemplate her options, while chewing on a stale slice of dry burned toast accompanied by a glass of lukewarm tap water.
She began to contemplate her options, while chewing on a stale slice of dry burned toast accompanied by a glass of lukewarm tap water.
