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

Forty-two:

   "1- the $1.95 admission price is for after 6 p.m. on
weekdays only and does not include other small charges and
extra fees.
   2- other charges include: parking- $5.95 and lockers-
$2.95; extra fees include: ride fee- $5.45, security fee-
$3.90, and entrance fee- $5.75.
   3- regular admission price (subject to many frequent
changes)- $25.95."

                                 - Just a few very small
footnotes at the bottom of
a Death Adventure
brochure/coupon.


   "Err, hi!  Gimmie a ticket!" demanded Corbin/The Dead Eye
of a gray haired old lady in one of Death Adventure's ticket
booths.  He now wore a set of Corbin's clothing including a
plaid cotton shirt and baggy cuffed pants.
   The ticket clerk smiled an "I'm sorry but you can't do
that" smile.  "I'm sorry, young man," replied Tara, or so her
name tag read, "but this is the senor citizen's ticket
window.  You'll have to go to the next ticket gate."  She
pointed a pink and brown sweater clad arm out to the next
booth on Corbin's right.
   The Dead Eye followed her gesture and glanced over at the
right hand ticket window.  He gave Tara a blank look then
glared at the two to three hour long line to the window.  No
shot, lady, he thought.
   "No shot, lady," he said.
   "I'm sorry, but you must be sixty or better to use this
half-price entrance," Tara said tartly.
   The Dead Eye gave her a menacing glare with his normal
eye.  The other one, his "dead eye," did nothing but drip
yellowish pus onto the concrete floor, making a big mess.  It
also grew another quarter of an inch, now making his fake
looking cartoon eye the size of an average sized orange.
   "I'm over six hundred years old, dudette!" The Dead Eye
explained loudly, "That's why I'm dead!"
   "And you just look like a eighteen year old boy with an
eye problem because you've taken over his body in some
satanic possession, right?" Tara sarcastically shot back.
   Corbin nodded with relief.  "Righty-ho!  That's right on
the eye!"
   Tara smiled at the poor nut.  "Good," she said.  
"Security!" she also said.
   Two Death Adventure security guards, who were lounging
around the front metal detector gate, staring at cute girls,
quickly trotted over to the senor citizens ticket booth.  
They looked to Tara for an explanation.
   "Take this hoodlum over to security.  He's giving me a
hard time," Tara told them.
   "Hey dudes, there's no problem; we were just rapping
about--"
   "Shut-up punk!  We're taking you to security!" yelled the
more burly of the two guards.
   The other one added, whispering in his friend's ear, "I
hope this one ain't no drugie like that psycho clown..."
   They forcefully grabbed the wimpy form of Corbin Wick,
each one taking a shoulder and an arm.  They dragged him
away.
   "You can't do this to me!" The Dead Eye yelled, "No more
mister nice eye!  I'll squirt eye juice all over you two!"
   "Yuck," commented both of the guards as they dragged him  
farther away into the main of the amusement park.
   "Good riddance," Tara sighed as they dragged the lunatic
out of sight.  "Next, please..."
   Mongo stepped up.  "Uh, yes," he said in a low whisper,
"I'd like two tickets to get in, please."
   Tara exploded.  "Didn't you just hear what I said to that
kid that was just here?!  This line is for sixty and up!"  
Her face grew dark with patches of red.  "And why do you want
two tickets for?!  There's only one of you!"  She was
obviously very tired of teenagers trying to enter the
amusement park through this window.
   Mongo started to shake--drips of tears slid down his
reddened face.  "Well, I--I already have one ticket..."  He
held up his free ticket and waved dejectedly, sniffing back
more tears.
   Tara nodded.  That much is obvious, she thought.
   "I need another one for Bookie, my bookbag."  Mongo  
waved his bookbag in her face.  He felt something inside,
something that he had lost then found then forgotten and now
just remembered.
   Tara stopped in mid nod.  Bookbag?  Not another retarded
kid; I hate dealing with them.  She turned to call over
another set of guards.
   "And the second one I need is for my gun."  Mongo yanked  
his handgun from his buddy and waved it in front of her.  He
pushed it to her forehead, ready to pull the trigger.
   Tara froze.  "I'm sorry..." she pleaded.
   Mongo dropped his frown and turned it upside down--he
smiled.  "Oh, really?  Okay!"  Instantly calmed, he put his
gun back into his bookbag.  "Can I go in?" he asked in his
quiet whisper of a voice.
   "Oh, sure--go right on in, sir..."