volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

Another vulture vultches.
He takes a deep, cleansing breath, squares his shoulders,
and puts his right foot forward, resulting in the following set
of consequences: (a) his right foot trips a clean cut, leather-clad
gent who has a telephone headset hanging from one ear and is
engaged in a frank, sexually-explicit discussion with someone
many miles away; (b) while retreating from this mishap, Roy’s
backside is introduced to the front tire of a bike ridden by one
of the many Bike Messengers who careen along Seattle’s busy
sidewalks and, as a result, is (c) propelled headlong into the
door—his original destination—albeit, with far too much force
and just (d) at the precise moment when an extremely overweight
woman in brilliant green tights beneath a rust-colored poncho is
exiting, arms piled with books.
These sorts of things do not happen when Roy is listening to
his tunes.
He collides with the garish woman. For a long moment,
Roy— temporarily blinded by the acrid off-gassing of her
perfume—gropes empty space, in search of a handhold. One
of these groping hands unintentionally lands upon the woman’s
expansive bosom, while the other comes to rest upon her
extensive bottom.
The garish woman shrieks.
Her books—in accordance with Nature’s Laws—thud to the
earth and scatter.
From inside the building, Straights appear—both male
and female versions—nametags blurred by the speed at which
they travel, faces graven with the Corporate-inculcated fear of
litigation.
Several pairs of helping hands appear from several places at
once. While some scrape books off the ground (the ten-second
rule applies to new merchandise, as well as to food), others scrape
Roy’s hands off the woman.
Since it is she who has just spent tons of money in the store,
and since it is she who has been so inappropriately groped, then
it is she who is the central focus of their concern.
The name-tagged employees size up Roy in a blink—they are
1 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY