Listening to the satellite radio station

Listening to the satellite radio station play the old "Johnny Dollar" whodunnit radio program from the 50s, Jared knew that he would be extra-sensitive to any sudden

awesomeness or excitement. Try as he might, he could not pretend that "theater of the mind" radio shows from the '50's were entertaining. He dozed off while driving and listening

to ads for cigarillos and TV dinners and BANG! He slammed into a DeSoto sedan. But had he really time-traveled to the 50's? Or had the theater of the mind maintained the illusion?

He lifted his head from the steering wheel and wondered briefly why the airbag hadn't done it's job. He blinked the blood from his eyes and got out of the car. A well-dressed man

he wasn't, what with the blood and all. He really didn't dress all that well, but in that millisecond that his life had flashed by during the car accident, he decided dat jumpsuits

were especially well suited for quickly jumping out of danger without snags in either digital or analog scenarios, but he knew he had to fractal-prep his new jumpsuit style so that

it was stylish yet comfortable. To make the jumpsuit he rolled himself in an oilskin tablecloth (grapes pattern), glued himself to it and stuck doilies and glitter all over. He cou

ld pass himself off now as a fruit on the parade float without raisin' suspicion. Waving to the crowds lining 5th Ave., his eyes scanned the faces for the perpetrator. THERE!

She was standing on the corner eating raisins, squishing them in her big mouth, relishing them. Suddenly she choked on one, eyes wide and bugging. Talk about the wrath of grapes!

And she thought the /book/ "Raisin in the Sun" sucked! She'd never tried eating one before, and underestimated just how hard it could be. Nobody came to help her; it was New York.