When you are working night shifts at a gas station, you meet the strangest people.

Take the guy who came in last night at half past ten. Little fellow he was, with blue, shifty eyes and bushy brows that nearly touched his hairline. He comes in, takes his hat off and looks at me all queer. Like there was something wrong with me. And then he asks me if I have seen his forehead. Can you imagine that? Of course I think that he is trying to pull my leg, so I say: Why, Yes Sir, I saw it drive towards the interstate in a yellow Studebaker barely an hour ago.

But the little guy shakes his head and says the matter is serious. Says that his forehead has a mind of his own. Says that it can detach itself from him and peg itself to other people. He pulls out his wallet and shows me a photo of himself…well, not of himself but of someone who looks quite like him, but has a huge forehead. Probably his brother or something.

Now I looks the guy in the eyes, and, as I think the matter over, I come to think that this guy is probably not joking. He is probably a genuine loony. Maybe even escaped from somewhere. So I try to calm him down and say: Well, Sir, your forehead is gone, no doubt about it, happens to the best of us, but maybe you are better off without it?

And he looks at me as if he wants to punch me, but then calms down and says, no, he has to catch it, he is the only one who can stop it. You see, he says, the forehead wants to rule the world. Wants to build rockets and robots and submarines and all kinds of stuff, to start a war. So he has to catch it before it can wreak havoc. And then he makes me swear that I will report any foreheads I see running about to the county veterinarians office. And just like that he runs out into the night.

Well, what was I to do? I called the Sheriffs Office and told them about the nut. But they say they wont do anything as long as he is not violent. Talk about solicitude. I never saw the little fellow again, but he probably spent the whole night wandering about in the underbrush, searching for his forehead.

My own forehead? No, it has not grown. Seems my story has scared you a bit, eh? Well, anyways. I gotta go now. I am building a rocket in my garage.