22 G R E G O R Y J A M E S “Good morning, Jeffery,” I shouted down to him. The scantily clad man, while still running, turned to face us. “Good morning, James!” he proclaimed. “Did you hear? THE MOLE PEOPLE ARE COMING!” “Yes, Jeffery, I heard you yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And every day.” “Good! I’m glad I could help! Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to be going! There are a lot of people who still need to hear the message! I have to let them know!” “Yes, you certainly do,” I humored him. “Good day, James! See you tomorrow!” Jeffery shouted once more before turning around and continuing on his way. “THE MOLE PEOPLE ARE COMING!” Silently I watched Jeffery’s naked back disappear into the distance. “That is one zealous man,” I said. “Completely out of his mind of course. I mean seriously, crazier than an albino rainbow dur- ing a drought. But you’ve got to admire that zeal.” “Crazy?” said Lee. It was a single word in the form of a ques- tion, but it was the way that he said it that caused me to stare at him, perplexed. “James,” he continued, “are you saying that you don’t believe in the Mole People?” Silence… Eerie silence… Eerie, uncomfortable silence… My face—acting on its own—gave Lee one of those looks. You know the look. That look that says, “Seriously? Did you really ask me that question? Is this really happening? Where am I? Who are you? Is this some kind of joke? Maybe some kind of sick, dement- ed dream? If you were truly serious in uttering those words, then something is desperately wrong with you, and the only method of fixing it involves a blowtorch, three pairs of dirty socks, and a large ball of rubber bands.” You know the look I’m talking about.