I was riding the subway train when a few of the original residents attacked, furry and vicious, hunger overcoming their natural shyness. I swung my backpack at the wide-eyed, clawed little things, protecting the other passengers so they could escape. Then a gang of leather-clad thugs with shotguns came to my side. We fought off the subterranean creatures, and afterwards the thugs wanted to thank me.
"We have infiltrated the Kelly Blue Book," they said, "and we vary certain car values year-by-year to make a profit. Buy a '76 Pinto this year, then sell it back in 2005. You'll make a few thousand off it. Better yet, buy a few. Don't tell anyone else."
"Your secret is safe with me," I said.
