"You see," said G.B., "it all triangulates, hell, quaterniates, from the "IF GOD HAD WANTED TO, HE COULD HAVE PUT THE TEN COMMANDMENTS ON AN ERSATZ PLASTICIZED WOODEN PLATE LIKE THIS" ersatz plasticized wooden plate on the wall, to the batty woman who just winked at you, a vision not unlike two spiders doing the fandango, it is all UNDER THEIR CONTROL. I know, I know, comrade, you are going to say that the psycho drowns in what the mystic swims in, but I am doing the 400 metre butterfly here, and breaking the world record, and it is the WINTER OLYMPICS, comrade!!!!" He looked down at his black T-shirt, which covered his scrawny body more out of compassion than aesthetics, which had the logo: "FAREWELL FAREWELL TOUR!!!" and the list of cities where Waylon was not going to be in the next three months. He looked back up, beak trembling. "The truth is, comrade, there is nothing more pathetic than a drunken bird, and that is what I am shooting for. Aristotelian pathos."

The Mudcat bartender, who, in order to get his pouring papers, had taken six months of ornithology, and also had a minor in "A man walks into a bar followed by a kangaroo..." humour from Twizzle U., handed G.B. a book.

"What is this?"said the heron.

"This is the road map. The code. The way we know that in this universe subatomic particles spin counterclockwise, and clocks spin clockwise. It is called 'The Virginian', and it is by Owen Wister. I think that after you take this next set of pills -- goddamned radical sucking neocon anti-oxidants -- you will find it essential, especially the schoolmarm parts."

"Oh," said the heron, intrigued. "And is that where we are going next?"

"Billings!" said the roving Mudcat bartender.

"Essential," said a salesman at the penultimate booth. "Essential. Unless you can keep up with your billings, you are nowhere."

"Billings it is," said the heron.