MI6

I ran into Dogboy in the bar the other night.

"Hey," I said. "How was that MI6 thing?"

Dog Boy frowned, then ordered a beer.

"So?" I asked. "How was it?"

"I don't know what MI6 is," he said. "Is it a new car?"

"Come on, you told me you were going. How many C's did you meet? Was the real James Bond there?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

He shook his head and walked away. I'd have believed him, except that a decidedly English accent had slipped into his voice. I followed him over to the pool table.

"So seriously, you're not going to tell me?" I asked.

"So seriously, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"What I'd really like to know is, how did you get an invitation, and I didn't?"

Dogboy rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Eightball?" he asked.

"Eightball," I said, realizing that somethings in life are better left unexplored.