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This is, for some reason, one of my favorites. Word count: 47,502

Super seriously the home stretch. 47502. <2500 words to go. A couple of dedicated writing sessions and it’s all in the bag.

Here our hero figures out (with the help of his trusty sidekick, Westy) where the evil Tim Stimph has gone.

“Where are you going next, Tim Stimph?” I asked a photo of him that I had earlier hurled across the living room and into the kitchen. The glass in the frame had shattered, but the picture itself was undamaged. I peered deep into his beady, black, soulless eyes hoping for an answer, a sign, a clue. Nothing came to me.

“Brains.” Was there nothing else in his bomb room?

“Not that I could see. Bomb making stuff, the banner, and more bomb making stuff. No diagrams, blueprints, or maps.”

“Brains.” Where else are there libraries?

“Well, hell, Westy, I’ve been a bit out of touch, you know? Three years ago, most of the libraries had already closed. There were just a few left. But they’re probably all gone by now. And anyhow, how do we know he’s not just out on walkabout, seeing the sights?”

“Brains.” Well, I’m at a loss.

“Me too.” I opened the refrigerator again. “Sure wish I could have a beer, even if it is just Miller Lite. God, Westy, how I loved beer. So much flavor and complexity, it rivals wine for variety of flavor, body, and character. Not Miller Lite, of course, but other beers. Better beers. Actual beer beers, you know? Stimph had good taste in everything but books and beer, apparently.”

“Brains.” We have just now recalled something that might be pertinent.

“Oh yeah? And what was that? That Tim Stimph is an asshole?”

“Brains.” No, not that.

“Well,” I said, shutting the refrigerator door, “I’d say that’s about the most pertinent thing I can think of. What’cha got?”

“Brains.” That woman, the human —

“Polly,” I supplied.

“Brains.” Polly. She said something about Stimph promising to bring her a bottle of his favorite beer. With the amount of ‘Miller Lite’ in this refrigerator, would it not be a safe bet to assume that ‘Miller Lite’ is Tim Stimph’s favorite beer?

“Nobody has that much Miller Lite in their ‘fridge by accident,” I said. “Where are you going with this?”

“Brains.” Wouldn’t it stand to reason then that Tim Stimph is going, or has gone, to the location where this ‘Miller Lite’ is produced?

“He wouldn’t have to go to the Miller brewery just to bring her a bottle of Miller Lite. He could have just come to his refrigerator and grabbed one. He sure had plenty here.”

“Brains.” That is true. However, and please, correct us if we are wrong, but is it not somehow traditional for vacationing or travelling humans to often say that they will bring back one of (or some of) whatever it is that the place to which they are travelling is famous for? For instance, if one were to be going to Maryland, one might say, “I will bring you back some crabcakes.” Or if one were going to Detroit, one might say, “I will bring you back some crime, unemployment, and urban blight.” Therefore, if one were going to wherever it is that ‘Miller Lite’ is produced, one might say, “I will bring you back a bottle of Miller Lite.”

“Good God, Westy,” I marvelled. “You’re brilliant!”

“Brains.” We do what we can. Now, where is it that this ‘Miller Lite’ is produced?

“Miller Lite is made by MillerCoors, LLC which is located in Chicago,” I said.

“Brains.” So he has not travelled far.

“That’s just their corporate offices, I think.”

“Brains.” Then where is their production?

“Miller products are brewed in Miller Valley. Up in Cheesland. Home of the Brewers. Land of Sausage.”

“Brains.” Milwaukee?

“Yep,” I said. “Milwaukee.”