Ernie walked to the bar, grabbed an armful of magnums, then walked to the plastic experimental table, flung open the door, slung bottle after bottle at the instruments, caused three small explosions, a sputtering red fire, a terrible burst of black smoke and a sudden explosion that turned the whole new dimension--such as it was--into a white blinding sun. When the nausea left, he saw the bodies lying on a green grassy area in what seemed to be Washington, D. C. He made his way in torn pajamas to Unison Station, paid a man to go out and buy him a second-hand suit by giving up his gold wedding band, then found the Senatoreale Office Building, located the office of the Senatore of Iowaki, as he had planned to do, and asked for permission to enter the "other" dimension to take home movies. The senatore asked him the name of his home town, accused him of lisping it, handed him a year's free pass to Other World and a two-year pass to the Senatoreale in session. Ernie, following instructions on the card, walked to a little white building near the Washingable Monument, stepped inside, handed a man his Other World card, then walked through a door, felt sick at his stomach, came out to the streetcar line to Melinee and home. When he got there, it was almost daylight, and the front door was locked. He climbed through an upstairs window, looked through the laundry chute, saw nothing and returned to his bed. Melinee was still sleeping soundly. He wrestled with his pillow a while. Then the alarm went off. The rest was simple. At breakfast he told her he was taking the day off. "Darling, why on Earth?" "We're moving," he said. "But _why_?" "There was an explosion in the night. I think it was gas escaping." "We might have died!" she cried. Ernie closed his eyes. "Go look in the hall, dear, and tell me what you see." When she returned, she was in a quandary. "Well?" he asked. "Did you see that crazy extra door blown off the wall?" "No, Ernie, but there's a man at the door in pajamas like yours who claims he's been following you." Ernie squinted. "Who is he?" "He says his name is Irvin--" "Irvin?" Ernie barked. "--and, dear, he's the spitting image of you." End of Project Gutenberg's Thirty Degrees Cattywonkus, by James Bell