The first light fell on the magnificent castle upon the plain of Limbo. Ovid lay groaning in his bed. My freakin’ head! he moaned inwardly, and turned off his alarm. He lay still for a moment, staring at the stone ceiling, waiting for it to stop spinning. Gingerly, he swung his feet to the cold stone floor and rooted around for his slippers.

He scuffled out of his small, tidy bedroom, and stood on the second floor railing, which overlooked the castle’s central living area, and surveyed the damage from the night before. Squinting his eyes against the hangover, he briefly considered turning around, closing the door, and going back to bed.

Empty bottles, upset ashtrays, and general desolation reigned. The record player in the corner turned, forgotten, the needle bouncing endlessly against the inner groove with a soft clunk clunk clunk. From every iron candelabra about the room hung an item of women’s underclothing; black stockings here, a garter there, and a bright red thong covered with the wax of the burned-down candles. Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Ovid frowned and stumbled his way down the stone staircase.

Turning left, he made his way past the mounds of peanut shells, tiptoed past the snoring carcass that had, until recently, been Horace, and entered the dark kitchen. Feeling the wall next to the doorway, he found the light switch and flicked it upward.

“Oh, man, cut the lights!” It was Plato, covering his eyes, sitting at the table over a bubbling glass of Alka-Seltzer. All about him lay playing cards and the butt-ends of cigars. At one end of the table was an enormous mound of ivory chips, piled high around an untouched glass of whiskey.

Ovid grimaced. “Dude, you look like Hell.”

“Very funny,” answered Plato. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m working on a new Dialogue. Unfortunately, the dude with the jackhammer in my head won’t let me get a word in edgewise.”

Ovid relented, and dimmed the lights. Clearing a path, he grabbed the nearest empty chair and sat at the table. “What the blazes happened last night?”

Plato looked up from his glass and said, “The New Guy.”

Oh, yeah, thought Ovid, The New Guy. “Man, I thought Limbo was supposed to be for the virtuous heathens!”

Plato grunted indifferently, and downed the glass of fizzy grey liquid at a gulp. He belched wetly, and for a moment seemed unsure if it had been a one-way trip. Once he became convinced, he looked at Ovid and asked, “Have you seen Elektra?”

“No,” he answered. “But I’m pretty sure she’s around.” He couldn’t imagine he’d missed seeing her. Elektra was a six-foot redhead with long legs, round hips, and a voice like an angel. Ovid looked thoughtful. “Hey Plato,” he started. “Did you notice that she’d painted her toenails red yesterday afternoon?”

Plato shrugged. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “Wonder what that was all about.”

A loud crash outside the kitchen door caused both men to grab their heads and moan. Homer came into the kitchen. “Dudes,” he said, “I can hear y’all talking all the way out in the stable.” He felt his way to the refrigerator, opened the freezer door, and pulled out an ice pack. He smashed it clumsily onto his head, knocking his sunglasses sideways. Stretching out his free hand, he found a chair and sat at the kitchen table with the other two poets. “I got a four-alarm hangover, doggs.” The others grunted in agreement.

“Hey, Homer,” Plato said, “did you see The New Guy?”

Homer straightened his sunglasses, and rubbed his chin. “Well, that depends,” he said. “You mean when he was clearing y’all out at the poker table? Or do you mean maybe when he was leadin’ a hootenanny with my lute at all hours of the morning? Or maybe when he, Elektra, and Scheherazade were out playing Twister by the hot tub?” He waved his hand frantically in front of his black shades. “‘Cause no, I didn’t see him.”

Plato and Ovid grimaced sourly at each other. “Well, anyway,” said Ovid, “I wonder where he got off to.”

Homer furrowed his brow. “I think he and the girls went to meet somebody out in the woods.”

“Why do you say that?”, asked Plato.

“I heard ‘em heading out a few hours ago, giggling like schoolgirls, and I asked ‘em where they was headed. The New Guy just said, ‘Roscoe’s baaaaaaaack’ like he was all happy about it. Must be a long-lost friend of his.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “The girls sounded pretty excited about meeting him, too.”

Ovid pondered that for moment. “Well, they’ll show up eventually, probably with this ‘Roscoe’ character.” They all nodded. “Oh, and Homer,” he continued, “what were you doing in the stable, anyway?”

Homer broke into a wide grin.

Plato shuddered. “Oh dude!”