I screamed, aware that this was not the scream of Don Johnson, hero of the alien world; it was the scream of Don Johnson middle-aged boring man of Ear...h. It bloody hurt. Why?Why was I stabbed? A man approached, if I’d been more aware I might have seen his gait, his look, his face all suggested something not right. Perhaps I could have switched to his mental waves and realised he meant to do me harm and another chapter in the legend of Don Johnson would have been written. But I didn’t see any of. So, when the receptionist at the Palm Homes Motel, seemingly remembering me from my short stay last Christmas time, checked me in I was decidedly short on clothes and toiletries. Only equipped with the bare minimum from the local Wal*Mart, just enough to get me through the next few days.Even on the Monday night I left, Jill had called me incessantly. Somehow I found the strength to pick up and talk to her the first couple of times, but when Jill’s answers about trying to return to a more. More

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