Welcome to the Book Villa! We are a family-owned bookstore (and purveyor of pornographic magazines; yes, those magazines are still available in print) located downtown. Things are rough in the city these days—you’ll pass dollar stores, a bingo hall, and empty storefronts on your way here—but take heart! The recession is temporary. We feel lucky to have jobs, and so should you. We’d say you were hired for your unique qualifications, but this is retail, so we’d be lying.

Writer received the patient in their room. The patient, Van Gogh, Vincent, male, age 35, initially observed sitting on the bed smoking tobacco.

Two oddly shaped chairs were observed by the writer in the patient’s room, which were angled such that one imagined one would slide off and onto the floor if one were to try and sit.

The patient wore a blue cap lined with black fur and appeared disheveled with bad hygiene.

The officer tripped over Dali’s walking stick for the third time. “Do you really need that thing?”

“Do I need this walking stick? Perhaps. The visual is everything.”

The cloudless morning sky failed to lift Harold’s slumped shoulders as he walked along the shoreline. At thirty-five, he assumed he would be married, yet he hadn’t dated anyone in ten months. And none of the prior ones had spawned a second date. With the reach of the waves lapping at his feet, he counted the time since his relationship with Cynthia had disintegrated. He rechecked his math and muttered, “Eight years.” His face wilted; his unfocused gaze drifted to the sea.

I apologized for arriving almost on the dot of the scheduled arrival time. “People never arrive when they say they’re gonna,” Karen agreed ominously. “There’s another guest who’s supposed to be arriving tonight too. Let me show you around.” I followed Karen down the path shorn through the high grass. We passed the schoolhouse bell, a lone beacon hovering above us.

To our right, as soon as we entered the property was a tiny, gated area. Excuse me. The area that was enclosed by the gate was expansive. It was the gate that was tiny. The gate was six inches high. This six inch high fence ran around the perimeter of shorter, mown, bright green grass. Inside the enclosure were four guinea pigs. The fancy kind, with bangs.