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Terry Connors was in an especially good mood. What had really started out as a mutual aid session face to face with Warren and Elaine Buffs about their term papers for their EDU class, had turned into a warm to the marrow of his bones evening with Ginger Tolliver.    The b'baller had came over on a different matter, involving her and Elaine's set of female friends. The four all had known each other since Willie Williams Elementary. The then awkwardly lanky, four eyed Ginger, had turned into the tall and properly packaged forward on the varsity girls' contending basketball squad, far, far, different from the dismally doofus men's (emphasis on the small 'm' ) team.  

      " I've always liked you too, Terry." He nearly whooped when she said that, after he finally came out that he'd been loony for her, since Gertie Richards' fourteenth birthday party.  They kissed. And he was glad he didn't drool or bust a nut, or break wind, or a million other things that could of ruined the moments.  Her brother Darrian came by to pick her up. Else Terry would have walked her home to 3497 Pasteur.   Terry thought if he stayed on Clermont Avenue it would take too long to see her. He had neutral colors on. His cousin Tyrese was in cool with the Gatrillazs, who claimed dominance in this part of the 'world'.    Terry crossed through an alley separating Macklin and Clermont, intending to go over Zap-a-Punk Hill to 'The Full Plate' fast food near the foot of the hill. 

      Traffic,whether of cars, bikes or strollers, wasn't heavy. He thought, then decided not to, to get a burrito from the 'Full Plate', even though they did put more meat in theirs than the competition. Just as he got over the crest of the hill, he was pushed down by a heavy waft of air sounding like a closet door opening on a carpeted floor!  A bright yellow light filled his head. Then was gone. To be replaced by the odor of animal!

       Terry rolled over to see coming from the other side where he'd been on the hill, three Black men, mounted on horses!  They themselves looked like a cross between green uniform jacketed Mounties and heavily armed gunslingers. Their hats brims were folded up and back on the crown, like the cavalrymen wore in John Ford westerns. Two had pennoned lances. The third cradled a lever action rifle. They all had pistols. In their holsters. In their belts. They even had a big pistol in a flapped holster on their horses' saddles. Following behind them came nine more men afoot, wearing similar hats, but dark blue jackets and pants and lace up boots. They were all armed with bolt action rifles and had pistols either in their belts or two at least did, in shoulder holsters.      

" All right my good young fellow," said the mounted one cradling the rifle. "If you understand me, nod your head. Good. What land is this? What year is it?" Terry mechanically droned out the answers.   "Excellent! Excellent! Then that means..." At the foot of the hill blotting out the streetlamp, a great yellow diamond shaped light appeared.  " You got it right Sarge," one of the lancers said.  "That's what his majesty pays me to be Qals. All right lads, there's the shortcut home. Let's be on our way."   The mounted noncom leaned over in his saddle, and not unkindly said,  "I do suppose you know, that no one will believe your story,eh lad? Good! Take care now!" Terry watched as the battered, yet triumphant band of survivors of a unit of His Royal Majesty's East Frontier Force returned to their proper realm.   The light winked out, the street lamp re-appeared.    After what seemed a short while, still laying where he'd been pushed, Terry checked his watch. It was around 6:00 in the morning and his stomach rumbled. He got up and headed to the Full Plate to get a breakfast burrito. Maybe when he was old and in his forties he'd tell Ginger about all that happened.

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