"Dark Friday."

It was a dark Friday. Darker than usual. I turned on the light in my office. Sweet illumination. There was the Friday I had remembered, in all its electric glory. I sashayed to my desk, lit a smoke, and sat down. Something was different. I didn't feel like my self. I felt softer, more dense. Was it something in the air? Maybe. Or maybe I should have stuck with that diet. I just couldn't part with the carbs. No bread? No way.

Suddenly, I panicked. I couldn't breath! What the hell is wrong with me, I thought silently to myself, am I dying? I wasn't dying. I had forgotten to exhale again. I blew out a smoke ring and was overcome with a whooping cough. We'll all be dead in the ground someday; I might as well get my lungs good and cancered in the mean time. It's a mark of character. Like I always say, there are no non-smokers in this cock-eyed caravan, only ninnies. Funny, my cousin Paul is a ninny. And a smoker too. What a paradox. I didn't have time to contemplate it.

I kicked my feet up on the desk. I wasn't worried about scuff marks tonight. I needed a vacation. Yeah right, I thought quietly to myself, you remember what happened last time you needed a vacation. I'm not about to revisit my trip to Mexico, but lets just say the word "punta" has nothing to do with tartar sauce.

Vacation? Please! I needed another vacation like I needed another hole in my head. One was more than enough. I tried to open my desk drawer. It was locked. Funny, I didn't remember doing that. In fact, I thought quietly to myself, this desk doesn't even have a lock. That's odd. Hold it. Hold it just one second. This drawer does not have a lock, as sure as my name is

I had forgotten my name again. I checked the door. Morris L. Farnsworth. I never liked that name, it was feeble. It was weedy. It didn't have the same punch as my three favorite names: Biff, Cliff, and Bartholomew. If only my parents had known I would grow up to be a private eye, hush-hush, kiss-kiss, bang-bang. Even Lou or Jack would have done fine. Too bad. Once again, fate turned a blind-eye to ol' Morris. On paper, I look like a non-smoker. I wonder what the L stands for. Larry was a stretch. I'd put my money on Landon.

The dame was late, but I wasn't about to hold it against her. She had curves that would make the pope weep, a solid ten in my book, but not without baggage. She used a lot of two dollar words where nickel words would do just fine. Disestablishmentarianism? Forget it, baby! Droogish? Maybe some other time, darling. Diverticulitis? I don't think so, dear. And these were just the D's. She was the kind of women who made you reach for your pocket Webster's before slapping her around a bit. I expected her to fold any day now. She was like a sentence fragment, she couldn't stand by herself. I had told her to meet me at half past the hour with the photographs of the deceased. She was convinced it was foul play. A dead dad and a greedy granny. I tell you, some nights, I truly believe life insurance should be outlawed. It seemed grandma bumped off her own son for a little extra bingo money.

I felt hot so I turned on my fan. I heard my door swing open. It wasn't her. It was a fat man in a clown suit. "Nice clown suit," I told the fat man. Lord, how I hate fat men. "This isn't a clown suit! This is a trench coat!" He was playing hardball.

He proceeded to ask me who I was. The nerve! I should be the one asking who the one was! So I did. "I'm Morris L. Farnsworth!" he said, matter-of-factly. He was good, really good.

I stood up and started to gather my things. "Put down my paper-clips!" he yelled. Something was fishy here. He asked me what I was doing in his office. I took another look at the door. Morris L. Farnsworth, DDS. That explained the dentist's chair in the corner. So then what was my name? God damn it, I hope it's Bart.

I lit up a cigarette and walked towards the door. "My apologizes, Dr. Farnsworth," I told him with a sardonic twang. Rule number one: never bestow yourself to anyone. I blew a ring of smoke in his face. "Those things will kill you," he said with a scowl. I smiled and gently rubbed his bald head. "That's a risk I'm willing to take, Farnsy, that's a risk I'm willing to take." Rule number two: always repeat yourself, especially before an exit. I winked and walked out the door. It was a dark Friday, and I needed to find my office.