"Sure, why not?" I grunted.
I set Flipover down on the ramp, fitted Pete's makeshift harness to his shoulders, and wrapped the leash-end around my wrist.
The little beast started tugging right off.
"Looks like he knows his way around!" Pete chuckled. "Maybe New York was his home town!"
That didn't sound funny to me. But a few minutes later I was taking it seriously. The crazy pup had led us deep into the labyrinth of dark streets which bordered the skyport, and there was no stopping him. I had all I could do to keep up with him.
Pete's eyes were shining with excitement. "Give him his head!" he urged.
"What do you think I'm doing?" I yelled.
From the houses lights streamed out. Cornerset windows flamed in the dusk and people moved across shadowed panes. Music came from beyond the windows, loud, tumultuous. Someone was playing Milhaud's Bal Martiniquais on an old-fashioned percussion instrument with shallow keys.
I liked it. Give me color in music, polychromes. Give me color in life. The flare of rocket jets, the blackness of space, a spinning wheel in a big crystal casino—
I'd stay one week on Earth! Then I'd be off again and never come back. I'd bury myself in the farthest—