-- "Old Play", according to W.B. Yeats
This is something I actually wrote in my sleep. I woke up and the encounter was still in my head, if not quite all the words.
"Return to Cheddar, please."
Robert Capelli, occupant of the very last ticket sales booth, looked up. In front of him was a tall, grinning light green man with a British accent.
"Round trip to Cheddar," the light green man corrected himself, and flashed another, faintly unsettling, grin. "Please." He had very short hair and wore a dark leather jacket tinged with green, as if both of them had unexpectedly grown mold. "Cheddar, New York," he added. "It's on your schedule."
"There's no such place," said Robert, but looked down. There it was. Cheddar, New York.
"Fifty-four dollars," he said, grudgingly. The green man reached into his pocket and deposited a handful of change, crumbs, paper shards, and, from the look of it, orange peel.
"Jesus." Was he going to pay in quarters?
"I've got some notes, give me a mo," said the green man, and reached into his pockets again. Behind him, Robert could see his luggage -- two large light green cardboard boxes, stacked on one another, and what looked like a battered blue-green Port-a-john.
Jesus. "Extra charge for freight," he said. "That thing better be sterilized."