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“About seven million to the right collector.”

“Oh, my God!” she gasped. “I should collect comics!”

“They’re not worth anything anymore, though most fans don’t understand that. There’s too many in bags and boards. Thousands. The ones I have are valuable because there are only a few of them left in the world—especially in this condition—and the characters are iconic. Everyone knows Superman, Batman, Captain America,” I held one up to show her “Nuderman number one? Perfect, mint condition? Worthless.”

She took the comic from me and looked at it with strange curiosity. As she did, several members of an extremely overweight Green Lantern Corps walked by, and River grimaced. You just haven’t lived until you’ve seen six or seven fat people in tight black spandex, pale green gloves and boots.

“That is just so wrong,” he said.

I started to agree with him, then choked on the words when Wisper—who was still studying Nuderman—asked, “Why do we always ridicule what we don’t understand? Even when the thing we deride brings pleasure to others?”

I kept my eyes intent on the jiggling backsides of the Corps as they receded happily into the distance, enjoying one another’s company and companionship, oblivious to what others might think of them, and held my comments.

“Lots of reasons,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “Fear. Jealousy. To feel better about ourselves by making less of others.”

“So, is this is a good sign or a bad sign?” she asked, distantly, still looking at the naked superhero on the cover of my comic. “This makes fun of the perceived oddity of my lifestyle. And you found it interesting.”

I took her hand back. “Nuderman is a hero,” I said softly. “And I loved this comic.”

“Oh,” she said, and smiled. “The judges will accept that answer.”

I turned to the others and told them, “I’m heading to High Plant comics. You can come with me if you want, or we can meet later.”

“Are you going back to the nudist place?” Waboombas wanted to know.

“Once I’ve sold these,” I said. “Yeah.”

“Well, good luck,” she said. “I guess we can say goodbye here then. May as well get back to the real world.”

I looked around as a Darth Maul passed on my left and a Batman on my right.

“Right,” I said. “The real world.”

“I got comics of my own to sell,” Waboombas reminded me, indicating her suitcase.

She smiled at me, and I felt a twinge of sadness. She was someone I would have made fun of—did make fun of—and here I was already missing her. Funny how life is changed by experience, isn’t it? At least when you’re paying attention and open to it.

“Thanks for everything,” I said, moving in and hugging her tightly. She responded with warmth as sincere as my own.

“Remember the tar baby,” she said and squeezed me tighter, melting around me.

As we finally separated, Wisper reached out and took Waboombas’ hand, smiling at the taller woman sweetly.

“And thanks especially, Wendy, for helping Corky and me,” Wisper said.

“Heeeeey,” Waboombas replied, clearly feeling awkward. “No worries. Corky’s never been anything but good to me in all the twenty-four hours we’ve known each other, even if it was mostly because he was afraid of my ass.”

“More than just your ass,” I said.

“She don’t treat you right,” she said, smiling at me. “You know I got the goods.”

“I do know,” I said.

“I’ll treat him right,” Wisper promised.

“I’m sure you will,” Waboombas laughed. “Unfortunately.”

Then she leaned in and whispered to my Ms. Nuckeby so everyone could hear. “Be sure to give him head once in a while. He’ll never leave.”

“I will,” Wisper promised, and I felt my pants become even more uncomfortable.

“Come visit us sometime,” I said, shifting and adjusting.

“Suuuuure,” Wendy said, not meaning it. “Well, I’m off then.” And she gave more quick hugs all around. Then she moved to River and wrapped him up completely in her arms; they seemed to hold one another a lot longer than necessary.

“I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow,” she said softly.

Eventually, after a long, interesting pause, she reached down, grabbed his ass, and squeezed. “Damn, boy. I could