'Ten Minutes Late for Reality' by Lou Morris (c) 1988, 1989, 1991, 2002, 2015. Thirty-five:

Thirty-five:

   "Squawk!  Squawk!"

                                 - Goes the stupid bird when
you shoot it with the
coin-operated light gun.


   "Hey, mister!" Kaye-Boom was asked, "Got a quarter I can
have?"  The little kid held out his palm, awaiting possible
change.
   "A quarter?" Kaye-Boom asked, slightly puzzled by the
childish request.  "I don't have a quarter."
   "Oh," the kid said.  He turned and ran back to the
old-west type building a few feet away.
   Kaye-Boom followed.
   It was an open-air shooting gallery called Eastern
Shootout.  Many a demented soul were spending fifty cents a
pop, shooting various animals and people in various poses.
   "Who!" hooted the owl, flapping its wings.
   The little kid finally grubbed a quarter off his mother,
then, adding a coin of his own to the pot, plopped fifty
cents into an available gun spot.  He picked up the shotgun
and began to shoot or rather miss.
   The piano man began to play... then slumped back over the
keys.
   Kaye-Boom quickly caught onto the idea of the game and
decided to try it as well.  He shoved two gold pieces into
the nearest coin slot then shouldered the light-beam shotgun
in an awkward way.  He aimed at a skunk then pulled the
trigger.
   Click.
   No money, honey.
   Kaye-Boom frowned.  Since he didn't carry any of this
world's coinage, nor did he perceive a way of getting some
quickly, he decided to continue to play the game, but in a
slightly different but much more effective manner.
   "Pop!" went the weasel as it exploded.
   Heads turned.  All eyes were on Kaye-Boom, watching him
play.
   Kaye-Boom smiled at them then mumbled something and
pointed his index finger at a plastic pig this time.  A red,
almost laser-like beam shot from his finger and struck the
pig between his porky eyes.
   "Plowie!" squealed the pig, shattering into a million
plastic bacon bits.
   Bye, bye went most of the crowd.
   "Wow!" said the kid.  "Can I play, mom?"
   "Blam!" went the piano man.  Sam will never play it
again.
   And so on...


   Soon Kaye-Boom grew tired of incinerating plastic
animals.  More likely, he ran out of creatures to blow apart.  
A pyromaniac never likes to admit the true breadth of his
illness.
   He puffed away a trickle of smoke from his finger and
walked off, leaving the now burning Eastern Shootout behind.  
He walked around the park, studying his new surroundings,
planning for the inevitable final showdown between he and The
Dead Eye.  The more he could learn of this strange place, the
better his chance of success would be.
   Then he could burn the hell out of it.