Where the Tubes End

The soda fountain sputtered and coughed a half-hearted stream into my cup. "Out of syrup?" I asked the attendant.

She frowned. "It's sick again." She turned over her shoulder and called, "Hey, Louie! Get the cattle prod and the tranquilizers!"

I chuckled dutifully - she was kind of cute, under the paper hat - but she didn't even crack a smile. Behind her, a grim-faced man donned a leather coat and pushed open a door marked "Employees Only." From the darkness beyond, I heard the rustle of scales and the wheeze of labored breath.

"I'll just take a bottled water," I said.