You head in the general direction of Bullock/Dana/Hughes. Everything seems fine. The moon is out, the air is somewhat clear. You start to hum some excerpts from WSRS's elevator collection. As Air Supply comes into your head, you feel a sudden flash of paranoia. You spin around quickly and discover that you're surrounded by six neighborhood kids.

 Breathe. Stay calm. You think of your self-defense unit of high school gym class. You draw a blank. The leader of the group steps up under your face and demands $20. You're a college student. It's the middle of the semester. You are inadvertently forced into a state of uncontrollable laughter. They're kids-- they don't get the joke.

 Two of them dive for your ankles, teeth bared, with all the restraint of rabid Chihuahuas in heat. They attach themselves securely. A third member, the tallest, goes for your jugular. You feel a slight tingle, a period of warmth, and then head-to-toe numbness. Within seconds, you're on the ground. You open your eyes to find the other three members of the party attempting to go up your nose with a car jack. You close your eyes. Must regain consciousness, must fight this. The members of Air Supply are line-dancing in your head to the tune of a Bette Midler song. If it's possible, their hairlines have receded inches more... No! Your eyes go wide open.

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