Mooky scratched his chin. “Huh. And here I thought my sinuses were just acting up.”
Mooky had one condition. “I get to keep the Elvis-botanist dimension. I’ve got a hankering for some of his patented peanut-butter-and-begonia sandwiches.”
Mooky finally put down the harmonica. “I broke it? Lady, I haven’t even had my morning grits.” francis mooky duke williams
All was right with the universe—until Thursday, when Mooky planned to try a new note on his morning toast.
“Are you Francis Mooky Duke Williams?” the creature demanded, dripping ink onto the linoleum. Mooky scratched his chin
Mooky grinned. “Best job I never applied for.”
He climbed down from the roof, tossed a drumstick to a stray dog, and headed home. The sun set normally. The air smelled like fried chicken and victory. And somewhere in a parallel dimension, a botanist named Elvis Presley was teaching a begonia to sing “Heartbreak Hotel.” “I get to keep the Elvis-botanist dimension
Prittle sighed. “Fine. But hurry. The Dollys are starting to harmonize, and when they do, the whole multiverse might just break into song and never stop.”