He was sitting in his office, typing out a passage for the local paper. Winston, the dog, was curled up on his bed, asleep. The Stooges were blasting on the stereo. In other words, it was a normal day in the life of Clifford Sanchez.

"Hey, Winston, I don't figure you'd know anything about town events? No? Jeez, the least you could do is help me out with work. You don't even pay rent, ya freeloader."

He scratched Winston's brown and black scruffy forehead and smiled.