Inside Gregson’s mind there was a switch. It seldom got used; most people doubted it was even there, but when that switch got pulled, he became something not even he understood.

“More hotdogs…!” The fry cook screamed. “Ready on my mark… Go!”

Gregson put those dogs into his food chipper and watched the Sumo-child doing the same. They smiled at each other, as one belly grew larger than the other. It was a race for space or a space race inside their tummies. Gregson’s second mind was in his gut. He used it constantly. When it got stretched, he became creative. When it was full, he could solve crime. Insights were flooding through his body as the dogs chased each other, looking for space.

“Ruff…ruff,” Gregson chortled.

“What’s wrong with you?” The fry cook asked.

“You become what you eat,” Gregson said.

The Sumo son looked confused and then he got it. He laughed and laughed until the dogs ran out of his mouth.

“Okay…you win!” The fry cook said. “Nobody take the title from my son until now.”

Gregson wiped his mouth and shook his hand. Then he entered the arena.

Jackson was throwing contestants like rag dolls. Gregson looked for familiar faces from Muscles and Thongs. They were all there, competing. He decided to do the same. Gregson had some weight on the first chap, complements of the hot dogs. His opponent tried to take him to the floor and Gregson sat on him.

“You’re out!” The referee said. Gregson progressed to the next round.

Suddenly, he heard sirens. “That’s the bank from upstairs,” a security guard said. Gregson couldn’t figure it; all suspects were accounted for. He rushed to the fire escape to get to the roof. A figure in black jumped and he recognized her sensuous curves and curly brown hair.

Liz flew away; she was lighter than air; a woman fooled him again.

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