Chasing Schrödinger’s Cat - A Steampunk Novel Read Free

Kim Hye -rim from her
husband Brutus by carrying her away on a motorcycle to find a “paradise of our
own.”   The Jin- pung character reminded me a lot of Moe Szyslak on the
Simpsons.   “Oh playthings,” I said.   “No.   Right.   We wouldn’t want that.”
    You might be wondering how I came
to be involved with a humorless termagant like Hope Buchan.   Me too.   Like most other things in my life, it was something I had drifted
into.   We had coffee a couple of times
and the next thing you know, I became the guy she was ‘going around with.’
    It wasn’t that I didn’t like
her.   I enjoyed her company in small
doses but I was uncomfortably aware that she felt we were becoming
‘serious.’   I had thought of breaking it
off more than once but let’s face it, women weren’t exactly knocking down my
door.
    My worry was I might end up sleep
walking my way into marrying her.   I knew
I should be looking for someone ‘more compatible’ but where was I likely find
anyone with standards so undemanding they could put up with the likes of me?
    I was busy trying to think up ways
to escape when the lounge door opened and a girl named Amy Kim came in.
    “Hey Amy,” I said.
    “ ,” she said.   “I love this show!   What’s happened so far?”
    “Maybe Hope can fill you
in,” I said, getting up.   “I have to be
on my way.”
    But the low-humor
portion of my evening was not yet over.   On the way out, I ran into one of those yellow wet floor signs.   I didn’t slip on the floor, but I did manage
to kick the sign over, earning myself a glare from the janitor.   I mention the incident only because silent
comedy mishaps have been a constant throughout my life.   If there’s a banana peel, I’ll slip on
it.   If there is a puddle on the street, a
car will drive by and drench me.   I have
never been hit in the face with a cream pie but I’m sure it will come.
    That being said, things
had been pretty quiet on the slapstick front of late.   Whether it was because I had learned to be
more careful or the Universe was tired of persecuting me I couldn’t say, but I was grateful for the breathing space.

Chapter
VI:
    A
cluttered storeroom – Parallel Dimensions
    “I f you ever
did get to second base with her, you’d probably cut yourself on her ribs,” Bill
Fowler said when I told him about my failed seduction attempt later that evening.
    Bill and I were getting pleasantly
drunk in what I call Bill’s boneyard , a cluttered
storeroom in the basement of the Electrical Engineering department filled with
outdated equipment of no earthly use to anyone but much too good to throw
out.   Bill was lying on a worn sofa next
to a shelf filled with ancient vacuum tubes, obsolete computer parts and other arcane
electrical paraphernalia.
    “Anyway,” he continued, “we both
know she’s just keeping you around until someone better comes along.”   He looked at me through the brown glass of a Rainier bottle before draining the rest of its contents.
    Going back to my classification
system, Bill is definitely one of the mole people.   He’s a big pear-shaped guy with a pony tail
and two days’ growth of stubble whose idea of formal wear is his prized Warren
Moon Seahawks jersey, but don’t let appearances fool you.   If you want to know the value of Planck’s
constant in Joule-seconds (6.62606896(33)x10 -34 ) or the words to the
Monty Python Philosopher’s Song, Bill’s your man.
    You might wonder how a sloth like
me became friends with a mole person like Bill.   It turns out we’re both into pistol shooting.   Even so, we would never have met under normal
circumstances.   Bill is an old-fashioned,
dueling stance shooter.   Breath control,
proper sight picture, gentle trigger squeeze, all that Zen stuff.   Bill is really good.   He gets mad at himself if there is more than
one large hole in his target.   Me, I like
cowboy shooting.   Draw from a holster,
cock the hammer and fire.