George shrugged and sighed heavily. "Back to the Moaning Chorus, I suppose?" he said.
"You know it, brother," the sentry nodded, and leaning forward he swung the gates open in a wide gesture. "Pass on, George Pillsworth, spiritual part of the mortal Marc Pillsworth. Come and get it, kid."
George drifted disconsolately through the gates and toward the Council Chambers which loomed large and formidable through the swirling mists ahead. Slowly, softly he began to hum to himself, a tune of great melancholy and gentle discord. He paused, hummed the tune again.
"Not bad," he mused, "not bad at all. With a little arranging it might go over big."
Humming the tune again, he resumed toward the chambers. He shrugged, dusted his ectoplasm and smoothed it down.
Now that he stopped to think about it he was sort of relieved to be back. Certainly the Moaning Chorus couldn't be any more exhausting than what he'd just gone through on Earth. And, coming right down to it, those humans down there were beginning to get a little spooky lately....