Kill me!” Fred cried. “Kill me now!”

“Fred is that you?” Phil asked.

“Any second now a foul alien creature will explode from my abdomen,” Fred explained. “Kill me now before it’s to late!”

“Is that Saran Wrap?” Phil asked.

“Yes,” Fred answered. “I’ve been Saran Wrapped to this telephone pole.” Her legs and feet were wrapped together and her arms were straight at her sides. She was wrapped from her ankles to her stomach; her exposed skin squashed against the transparent wrap.

“Who did this?”

“My best friend in the whole world, Vicky.”

A horse fly was buzzing around Fred’s face. Phil flicked his hand at it until it flew away.

“The sun will be up soon,” Phil pointed out. “You’re gonna get a sun burn on those white legs." The wrapping process raised the hem of her dress up so some of her thigh was exposed. “A bad enough burn and you could get skin cancer. I think Vicky is trying to kill you.”

“What are you doing out so early?" Fred asked.

“Going to the Convenient for some smokes. How long have you been like this?”

“Since about midnight. Vicky is really pissed at me, something about a boy. She can be way too competitive.”

“Aren’t you going crazy out here?” Phil asked.

“I got some sleep,” Fred answered. “I can see the big screen TV in the Hartman’s house across the street. The African Queen was on, that’s when I fell asleep.”

“What’s on now?” Phil asked. He turned to see.

“Looks like Bugs Bunny,” Fred answered.

“There’s bird shit in your hair,” Phil said, not taking his eyes off the Hartman’s TV. Fred’s short jet-black hair had a splash of white near the top of her head.

“That’s a bad sign,” Fred commented.

“Nonsense,” Phil replied.

“A bird shitting on your head before the sunrise is a sign to go home and crawl in to bed for the rest of the day.”

“My parents are taking the boat out on the river this morning,” Phil said. “You wanna come along?”

“You know I do.”

“You really love the river. Bring sunscreen this time if you’re gonna wear one of those dresses. And your big goofy straw hat.”

“Here comes Mrs. Stilman,” Fred said, her head turned to look down the street.

“In all of her blue haired glory,” Phil chided, “and walking her mean Chihuahua. Don’t ya just love small town life? Want me to stick around and make sure it doesn’t piss on your boots?”

“I’ll be okay,” Fred assured. “You’re probably dying for a smoke by now.”

“Be at the marina by eight?” Phil asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Fred answered.

Fred was right Phil wanted a cigarette bad. He meandered down the sidewalk toward the convenience store. Behind him he could hear Mrs. Stilman.

"You’re going to get those snow white legs sun burned,” she said. “It’s supposed to be a warm day today.”

“Kill me Mrs. Stilman!” Fred cried. “Kill me now!”