Soon-to-be future Police Chief Johnny Woonsocket slipped and fell and screamed "AAAHHHHHHHHHAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAHHHHHAHAAAAAAAHHH!"

       "Oh my FREAKIN gosh! What's wrong?" Miles yelped from far far far far far far far far far very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very far far far above him. "Are you sick? Are you hurt? Are you tired? Are you three? Are you four? Are you five? Uh, are you OK?"

       "I'll be fine," Johnny Woonsocket gritted. "Just a scratch. I'll sleep it off. I can deal. Just a flesh wound. Capiche?"

       "Are you absolutely certain? I mean, you're really OK, right? You're not just saying that? 'Cause I'll come down there--"

       "Really," Johnny assured him, ignoring the massive pain that swept through his very soul. He stood shakily, went downstairs, and sat down. He was hurtin'. But he couldn't let Miles know. Miles was his Friend. He didn't want Miles to be Concerned.

THE END