Technically, He's the Janitor

"Oh, crap." Phineas peered sideways at the caller ID. Phineas had peered sideways at everything since he hit puberty, being a flounder.

"Don't tell me a school pulled in," said Otto. Six of his tentacles were cooking seven different orders.

Phineas quivered. "Old Man Crenshaw wants delivery."

"I thought he got banned."

"The year's up. We've lost four delivery-fish already," Phineas said. "That shark is a menace."

Otto considered. "What about Foogie?"

"Puffer venom doesn't work on sharks."

"Does Crenshaw know that? Anyway, what else does Foogie do?"

"That's a thought," said Phineas. "Hey, Foogie! You wanna make ten dollars?"

Ceaseless in Dreams

The man is running down a darkened alley. The alley has no end. There is probably fog or mist, and many shadows. He can't see the thing behind him. He can't hear it, either. But he knows it's there. He splashes through a puddle, and the water's cold lingers against his skin.

"Oh, God," he's saying. "Please. This is a dream. I know it is. Please wake up. Someone wake me up."

He cannot wake up. Not because this is not a dream; it is. He's quite correct about that.

But he will not awaken.

He is not allowed to.