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Bridge over tainted waters. I took pause before venturing across Penetencia Creek. Debris and jetsam under the bridge indicated a strong albino presence - poodle bones, Chinese finger-locks, burnt parchment (most likely spells), used syringes, and the tell-tale scent of Paris green - a French poison often employed by albinos gone bad or mad or both.

I suspected an albino orgy had recently taken place under the bridge. Dozens of multi-colored condoms littered the shore, and several empty bottles of Cloquet-Veuve Champagne were floating in the creek, trapped by branches from downstream advancement.

I gingerly stepped over the bridge, one eye below and one eye on the altar grotto on the other side of Penetencia. I did not want to be surprised by a contingent of orgiastic demon worshipers. It occured to me that I had picked a bad day to leave my Weatherby .459 at home. Perhaps I could talk my way out of a troublesome situation.

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