be completely honest."

"Is it going to hurt?"

"No, no. It won't hurt at all. It's perfectly..." Or is it?

Robert Earl was a big old boy, two-fifty plus some, but if enough electricity coursed through his body it could not only hurt him, it might kill him. I should have tested it at home.

He needed to check and make sure the wires weren't touching. He stood between Robert Earl and the desk and lifted the box; the wires, wrapped individually with electrical tape, weren't touching.

Still he had doubts. He could already hear the news anchor: "Sheriff electrocutes man with cracker-rigged polygraph machine. Hear the details Live-At-Five."

Maybe this isn't a good idea.

"Sheriff, what was you about to say?"

"Oh, nothing. Just it's perfectly safe."

"You gotta plug it up first, don't you?"

"Yes, right."a comedy club.

Up ahead, a van was parked on the shoulder. A prison crew, eight men wearing striped orange-and-white jumpsuits, sat on the ground in the van's shade. Shirley crossed over to the opposite side of the street.

Passing the van she saw the officer sitting in the front seat, all the windows rolled up. She then realized that her navy blue culottes, decorated with red and white daisies, were drenched with sweat. She kept walking, her thoughts traveling to Red Lobster. She hadn't been there in years.

She'd order a Caesar salad with all the trimmings: American cheese, cottage cheese, cucumbers, tomato slices, bacon bits, fresh peaches, raisins, all under a pool of Ranch dressing.

The town proper came into view. Three blocks of non-descript, flat roof brick buildings, circa