There’s nothing like spandex to ruin your day. Nah, I don’t mean Europeans in Speedos or my wife’s surprise visit to the kink shop, and I know they save us plenty of trouble. But so help me, I’ll take a thirty-car pileup on 42nd Street over one more goddamn Cape delay.

Today, for example? I’m ahead of schedule. Five hundred down pillows delivered on time from upstate to the Grand Park Hotel in an open trailer because some crunchy from the coast claims that feathers and metal are bad feng shui.

Only my whole shipment gets royally fenged up when two men fall on it from outta the sky. All five hundred pillows pop at once, like the head of a goddamn dandelion.

I’d barely pulled the first sad sack free before he was puking out the window of the nearest cab and long gone.

Now I’m standing in a gentle shower of white, wondering if I’ll get a paycheck at all. Are random acts of superheroism comped? And the second skydiver is flashing his spandex at me and sneezing angrily when the explosions start.