"Look
Venkman, in the future, keep those broad, sweeping gestures to yourself.
Especially when you're covered in slime and standing next to the Mayor's
wife. You're just lucky I've got
more important things to do tonight or I'd have to run you in.
There's a goat loose along the parade line."
The cop shook his head. "Only
in the Village."
The key turned in
the cuffs and Peter was free. Waving his thanks, he headed toward where he'd
last seen the others.
He found them
clustered around a street vendor.
"Hey Peter!
Where've you been? We got him. Nasty little gooper, wasn't he?" Ray mopped
at the purple ooze dripping down his forehead.
"Look at
these." He pointed at the
t-shirts on display, each emblazoned with a gore-splattered zombie. "Aren't
they great? We should all get one."
Winston
forestalled the others' protests. "How
`bout we catch the rest of the parade?"
Dried purple ooze
made them itch. All four men were soon wearing hastily purchased t-shirts.
"I knew we
shouldn't have let Ray watch that Romero marathon," Peter muttered.
Egon, rapidly
shifting his weight from foot to foot, ignored him.
"Awww Egon. I
told you to go back at the firehouse." Taking pity on his friend, Peter
pointed up the street.
Egon groaned when
he saw the line extending from the Port-a-John. Stifling his pride, he tapped
the shoulder of the man in front of him.
"Excuse me,
my need is critical. May I cut in
front of you?"
"From your
lips to Ra's ears." Waving him
forward, the mummy loudly announced, "We've got an emergency here.
Let the man through. Back off guys, he's a Ghostbuster."
The crowd parted
as if by magic.
Driving home,
Winston confessed, "I didn't get that last float. What was up with that
goat?"
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