The first thing I saw when I awoke was her shirt, slung over the old Saarinen Tulip I use as a desk chair. The “VIXEN” lettering was appropriate.

“You know, I was going to make you breakfast in bed today, but I’d rather keep you around for a while,” she chuckled, and I turned over. Where the purple-haired woman was last night lay an entirely different kind of fox, this one the size of a tiger and bearing four legs, three tails, and black and silver fur, but the same red eyes.

“Girl troubles?” she had asked as she sat down across from me at the karaoke bar table. I’d just attempted “Round Here” by Counting Crows. I did better than I thought, judging by her response to my reply.

“For those you have to have had a girl.”

“Can’t imagine why you wouldn’t,” she said, “You’re actually a pretty good singer, and not bad looking, to boot.”

“Heh, and now you’re just lying. Name’s Brandon McMay, what’s yours?” I asked.

She smirked. “Call me Maria.”

“Chicago’s pretty far from Nashville.”

“Nashville’s overrated.”