We Get Productive
I opened my eyes, at the same time hearing the last fading of a sound like whimpering. Who could have made that? I looked around, saw I was in Fetzer’s gallery. No one there but Bernie and Fetzer, so it must have been Fetzer.
“Come on, boy – work to do,” Bernie said.
I was up in a flash. I gave myself a real good shake, the kind that sets off a rippling in my coat, front to back. In moments we were out of there and back in the Porsche, me in the shotgun seat.
“Can’t believe how productive that was,” Bernie said.
Whatever that meant, it sounded good to me. I’d had one of those real deep naps and was rarin’ to go.
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