Lefty\'s expression became wry as the skeletal horse continued its antics--there was a healthy bit of self-mockery going on there, but it was entertaining self-mockery--but Ami\'s outburst commanded his total attention, and the illusion vaporized in a twist of smoke. "Huh?"
He blinked, wide-eyed at her as that crazed spark leapt into her eye. "Hmm. It was back in... jeez, was it that long ago? \'76, I think. Early seventies I was out West, hung around the Mojave a lot. When the decade waned, I went north. It was in Canada."
He took a deep breath. "Wasn\'t a virus, and wasn\'t voodoo. It was some kind of magic, though. I could smell it on him--and that was a feat, \'cause he stank. Nice enough guy. He had these carvings on him, like... symbols, in his skin, and they glowed. It was weird. See, I ran into him in the middle of a city--was it... Calgary? And he was out standing, in broad daylight, just standing near some fountain, with these people walking around him. Nobody noticed him. I don\'t think they could see him.
"And I go up to him and I says, \'Mister, you can\'t be from \'round here,\' and he laughed and told me no. And we talked about the Wendigo and the top forty--" here he paused to snap his fingers. "No! It was seventy-two. Because the #1 song was Hot Blooded. And that was in \'78. He was... lookin\' rough. I think he was happy to have a normal conversation."
He shrugged. "But that\'s about all I learned from him. Hope he found a way to deal with the... uh, runny stuff."