On the smooth black asphalt of Exit Ramp #4, Star-Lord Crag-Devourer propped himself up on his granite elbows, shaking his huge head as the twelve little golden cartoon sparrows slowly faded away from his forehead.
Before he could even wipe the blood from his missing back teeth, four pairs of polished leather shoes stopped right in front of his nose.
Crag-Devourer looked up.
Standing over him was Abacus Su, his brass spectacles gleaming like two cold moons, flanked by three junior tax clerks who were clicking golden abacuses in six-part harmony—clack-clack-clack, clack-clack-clack!
In Abacus Su’s right hand was a roll of yellow itemized billing paper so long that the tail end of it was still unspooling all the way back at Wormhole Toll Booth #1!
“Mr. Crag-Devourer, former operator of the Black-Crag Palace and owner of the impounded Ten-Thousand-Ship Rock Fleet!” Abacus Su spoke in a crisp, cheerful accountant’s voice, unrolling the yellow paper scroll across Crag-Devourer’s twenty-foot chest like a blanket. “Good morning! The Dry-Well Municipal Bureau of Highway Audits & Property Damage has completed the post-accident inspection of your roundabout collision!”
Crag-Devourer stared blankly at the mile-long yellow paper scroll covering his stomach. “Post-accident inspection? You people bounced my ten thousand ships with rubber tires, punctured my boilers with spikes, and smacked my face three times with a house brick! And now you are handing me a bill?!”
