"Zere design-eet ees garbage," said Maestro Zipiti. He put a strong accent on the second syllable of the last word, as if it rhymed with garage. "Here"-he pointed to the diagram showing the first, long climb-"zey make ze quick drop, go to ze left instead of straight, zo as to zeem more the dangerous. But Pah! Eet ees a trick even a child could zee t'rough. Gar-bage!"

            "Sure, Maestro," said Buster, very patiently. It was the fourth or fifth time he had heard Maestro Z criticize the shortcomings of the rival park's showpiece roller coaster. "We don't want no garbage in our park. That's why we brought you in to design this here ride for us." He shifted another blueprint to the top of the stack and pointed. "Now, remin' me again, what's the load on these-here crossbraces?"

            "Zat ees all written out!" said the Maestro, flinging his long locks of hair back over one shoulder. "'Ave you no read ze plan?"

            "Over an' over," said Buster. "By now, I may understand it better than the feller what drew it up. What I want to know..."

            "Merde! Un'erstan' eet better zan Maestro Zipiti! Per'aps you 'ave ze eye of ze mechanic, but zat is nozzing, nozzing! Ze soul of a genius..."

            Buster's voice didn't change. "Yeah, I know you's a genius 'cause you done told us so. Now, maybe you can tell me what's gonna be holdin' up this here stretch of track when a car full o' people's settin' on top of it. It looks real pretty the way you draw it, but I gotta build the damn thing. Figure we got twenty-four people in a car, average weight of a hundred ten kilos apiece..."

            Zipiti was outraged. "Zat is too high! I design eet for ninety-five!"

            "An' what happens if you get a fat people's convention?" drawled Buster. "We gonna shut down all the rides? I figure we gotta have at least...What the hell?"

            The latter exclamation was prompted by a loud explosion, followed by frantic shouts. A cloud of smoke was rising from near the park gates. "'Scuse me, Maestro," said Buster. "I reckon I gotta go see what's up." He turned and sprinted off toward the growing commotion.

            Maestro Zipiti peered off into the distance, his face turning red. "Cretins!" he shouted. "Salauds! You sabotage my beautiful rides, I keel you! I keel you all!" The smoke kept rising, and somewhere in the distance a klaxon began to sound. It was the start of another typical day.