Detour Dimension

By David Keay

The Detour Dimension's Ron Sterling meets Hot Dog Man Frank Weener before boarding a bus to hometown Binghamton.
Weener's at the wheel and his "Fried Chicken" serves as Ron's reading material for the ride.
Interspersed with "real" events on the journey are the "fictional" ones in Frank's text, involving The Crazy Clown, Dr. De Mize, Mr. Dude, The Poultry Poet, Martin Kellogg, Larry Lutz, The Artist, Bill Dollar, Hospy Hospice, The Word Worm, etc., with cameos from the likes of Patty Lane and Paul's Grandfather, providing enough material for a whole season's worth of "Detour Dimension" episodes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350944556

David Keay

Born in 1957 in Detroit, Keay grew up in Long Island NY and Pittsburgh PA. Moving to New York City in 1978, he proceeded to play drums with Harry Toledo, Elodie Lauten, Richard Lloyd, The Vipers, The Coachmen, Sonic Youth and others. He has been involved in musical projects with wife Laura Feathers in The Daycare Centre, The Kiosk and The Dark Circuits Orchestra. In 1999 he self-published the novel Fake Book, included by Richard Kostelanetz in his Dictionary of the Avant-Gardes. In 2021 he published his second novel, Power Park. Detour Dimension (2024) is his third book..

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Copyright © 2024 David Keay

Detour Dimension

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording,

or any information storage and retrieval system now known or invented,

without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion

in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

Print ISBN: 979-8-35094-454-9

eBook ISBN: 979-8-35094-455-6

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

ONE

A dissonant guitar.

A bongo roll.

The opening theme to your favorite television program: The Detour Dimension.

A man in a suit and skinny tie, smoking a Chesterfield, introduces each episode:

That’s me, Ron Sterling.

Supposedly, I died over half a century ago. But what do they know? You think I was kidding with those shows?

No, I’ve been around. Doing my best in whatever paradoxical situation I find myself in. Over which, admittedly, I’ve got limited control.

Somewhere, it’s been decided that I’m at the Peter Pan window at Port Authority, buying a ticket for the three-hour ride to Binghamton.

I’ve been in Gotham, going over a script with one of our writers and figured I'd take my annual hometown pilgrimage while I’m at it.

Of course, I could ship myself with a snap of the fingers or puff of smoke, as in The Detour Dimension.

But, as I say, the realm I roam is not altogether in my hands. It’s a kind of collaboration.

Anyway, I happen to like buses and trains.

It’s also 1962, so I can smoke on the bus.

***

I could use a coffee. And I ought to get a sandwich for the ride.

So, I get in line at Travelers’ Treats, studying the menu behind the counter. Towering over it is a cartoon hot dog, saying,

BON APPETIT

I pull out my trusty bottomless wallet. Glance again at the menu for the prices. And The Hot Dog Man has vanished. Like he just walked off the wall.

Maybe I imagined him. My expertise, after all, right?

There’s Time to have my coffee here, before getting in line to board.

The tiny tables are all taken except this one right next to the bathrooms, rocking back and forth every Time I put my coffee down or pick it up.

***

Suddenly, in a squeaky voice,

Is this seat free?

It’s The Hot Dog Man from the menu! He’s got a bus driver’s cap on. A regular Ralph Kramden.

For hot dogs, yes. If you were a hamburger, I’d have charged a quarter.

Not bad. I can use that, he squeaks, squeezing into the cheap chair.

"What, are you a comedian?"

Yeah! But actin’ simple don’t necessarily bring home the bacon, he admits, indicating his cap.

He takes a bite out of his cruller and then gives me that look.

"Hey, you’re Ron Sterling from The Detour Dimension! Whatcha doin’ here?"

Visiting my hometown, Binghamton.

Yeah? Meet your driver! Frank Weener!

He proffers a spindly arm for a handshake.

I study his face.

Your eyebrows...mustard and ketchup?

Some people like ketchup on their hot dogs.

Well, there’s a big blob of it on your head, too.

"I know. Never could figure out what it’s doin’ there."

It’s 1962. Diversity hasn’t fully flowered. They’re staring, pointing, laughing.

Frank ignores it... There’s a long pause.... He excuses himself. He’s got to go get ready...

When I board the bus, he hands me a spiral notebook.

I don’t mean to impose, but I spend a lot of Time alone in hotel rooms and I’ve been writing this...I call it a novel, but you can call it short stories or writings or... fried chicken, for all I care. I aint lookin’ to get anything out of you or nothin’. I just like your show and thought you might get a kick out of the material.

TWO

Some folks don’t relish boarding the bus. They won’t feel safe on the highways in the hands of a Hot Dog Man. They want to see Frank’s license, talk to the manager.

Their kids are poking him, like they were teasing a dog. Tugging on his rubbery bun.

Frank’s unfazed. Cracking jokes. He’s used to it. He draws the line, however, at biting.

Never saw a hot dog before? I shout.

Hey, some of my bravest buddies on Hamburger Hill were hot dogs, adlibs