...towards us. He seemed to have been been airlifted from the top of an enormous, forty-foot high wooden model of me grinning like a yokel and, via some cunning hydraulics, throwing a tight spiral across I-94. I moved over and let him slide in, as the lowly gameday hostess never said about the greatest quarterback of all time. Minibus was clamouring for news but Bus was unusually unforthcoming as the copter whirled around and headed back towards Mississippi.
Back at home Deanna met me on the porch and gave me a hug. Bus came panting past carrying my pant-carrier into the passage. What happened, I said as he turned to go. They think their future's all about Luck, he said. All our futures are all about luck, I thought philosophically as the helicopter climbed and then banked away. Minibus fell out and spreadeagled a goat grazing innocently in Fred Smoot's back yard.