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Hello..." you stammer, blown away by the beauty of yourartwork. She stares at you, wide eyed with fear."Who... who are you? What... where..." she stutters, looking you up anddown. "What's going on?!" I, uh..." You blush, holding up the pencil. "I'm your artist - I gaveyou... er... brought you to life."She looks at the pencil, back at you, then back to the pencil. A look ofrealization and understanding flashes in her eyes, which quickly furrowand glare at you."Yes," she says in a low voice. "Yes, I... I understand now. You made me.I don't know how, but I just... I just know it."You smile, looking her amazingly shapely figure up and down. Yourconfidence begins to build now that she seems to have accepted herposition as your creation. She takes a few steps toward you, and yourheart flutters with excitement."So, you drew me, correct?" She smiles, looking at the pencil. You nod."Of all the ways you could have brought me into existence, you decided togo with *this*."She grabs her huge tits. It finally got to be funny to watch the pedestrians try to figure why they were about to be hit by a train, on a roadway. Duty weekend over, we were all back to normal, at least as normal as anything could get around Nick. He and Doo had paid back the money advanced by my pawning exercise, but I had blown this in the fine old fashion of wine, women, and song. At least women, women, and women. I never did recover the camera, or the watch. I worked directly for Nick, and our department had a cubbyhole section of about 25 1′ x1′ cubbyholes where expended requisitions were sorted, pending posting by a really sweet Japanese lady. She would periodically grab all the copies, and go to her desk and file cabinet to post them, removing them from inventory. Then Nick found the spider. This was a tarantula-sized rubber spider, with an air hose and bulb at the other end. Nick played it perfectly, just waiting for Mitsuko to reach into a cubbyhole. It jumped, she shreiked then grabbed a yardstick.
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