A man lay buckled over in an alley, clutching his head.
The Middleman stood over him, BTRS in hand. "This is odd," he mused. "There were no signs of extraterrestrial goings-on last night. Nothing here to indicate magical shenanigans of any kind. It can't be another case of gorsplatch, we'd have noticed if there was a rain of ducks. I can't put my finger on it. What do you think, Dubbie?"
Wendy pointed to the stamp on the back of the guy's hand. "I think he had too much fun at Margarita Monday and needs some better friends. Can we go now?"