By Audrey W.
A Scraggy haired Johnny Gage was talking with his shiftmates, going off on another rant about an issue that was non-issue until he turned it into one. Suddenly the tones went off, sending the squad and engine on a run. A very short haired and young Johnny trotted through the apparatus bay from the dayroom, and got in on the passenger side of the squad.
Roy had gotten in the driver's side and now stared at his partner, whose hair was not short, but no longer scraggy.
"What's wrong?" Johnny aksed.
"Your hair. . ."
"What about it? It's still black, isn't it?"
"Yeah, of course. It's just. . ."
"What?" Gage was genuinely puzzled. He didn't know about the old Indian curse that was put on him as a baby by Chief Changing Hair.
"It's shorter," Roy shrugged.
"No it's not."
"Yes. . .it is."
"Roy, I think you'd better see an eye doctor. You're seeing things, man."
DeSoto gave his partner an unsure glance, then pulled the squad into the street. When he turned to look right, he noticed Johnny's hair was scraggy again. The younger man didn't seem to notice there was anything different.
I think I need a vacation, Roy thought. When he looked in the side mirror and saw he and Johnny were also hanging onto the back of the engine as it went on the run, he hit the brakes and got out of the squad.
"Roy, where're ya goin'?" Johnny asked.
"Don't worry. I'll send you a postcard!"