"Whose idea was it to leave the apartment?" the Muse asked. Her cheeks were red and she breathed heavily in the winter air. The wind, straight from Bizarro World, was somehow blowing both into our faces and from behind us, wrapping us both in a sub-zero whirlwind.
"Yours. I was happy to sit in the big blue chair and read. You're the one who wanted a hot dog."
"Next time I have an idea," she said, "I want you to pick up your lamp and hit me over the head, as hard as you can. That should teach me."
