Maybe Penelope was wrong about advertising on a country music station, and about Dave and Margo trying to shipwreck Bedwetters on the rocks for tax purposes.

Penelope was in a rage when I arrived at the store.

Elysian Fields apartment complex. I carried the toolbox and the hose up three flights of stairs. The apartment where I had to reassemble a waterbed vibrated from the sound music blasting. I knocked loudly.

Winston K. Finley, with pink, blotchy skin, wore a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect his skin from the sun. His complexion was like a shadow, only in white.

I was outside a country house hooking up several lengths of water hose to a well pump. The pump gurgled, ran for a short time then cut off

The landscape changed to slightly rolling pasture land near Zephyrhills.

I hold these truths to be self evident. The sale of the Lincoln Log waterbed took me to the housing projects on the east side of downtown Tampa.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I got laid?” I asked.

Penelope held an ice cream cone like the Statue of Liberty lady held
the torch of freedom.

The invoice was for a triple-decker, Campaigner waterbed.