“Can you tell me how to get to the bank?”

The bullfrog’s throat inflates outward in a mottled yellow balloon.

“Come on, you’ve seen everything here.”

“RIDDIT.”

He knows that he has to go around the ship that towers over him so high it’s mast tears a cloud. Something about turning back is uncomfortable to him.

Argh, what does this mean? Another weird human thing?

He keeps walking, growing dizzy.

Or…is this a me thing?

It’s not like the flood he experienced earlier, rather, it’s like a bird fluttering its wings inside his head.

He passes under the stem of the prow, where a carving of something like spaghetti and meatballs wraps around it like an octopus. Strands of rope mimic noodles that drift in a light breeze. A noodle drifts down and for some reason, his head clears, mostly.

“Alright. To the bank.”

Again, he hears the warbling hoot from the bank first, and then the dry-bone smell rolls towards him.

I don’t know why, but those dusty bones smell…like something bigger and meaner than I ever was.

The loon calls again, beckoning the coins and the croc inwards.

Coffee-security people wait just inside the doors.

“Hello, may I help you?” asks a young man in a large lobby.

“Uh, yes. Hi. I’m looking for Marley…the…chains?”

“Marley Deschaines! Yes. I believe…” He checks a tablet. “You’re in luck. Come with me.”

Dry-bone scents float around the floor like swamp gas, and Big Sal feels a shudder ripple down his back.

I don’t want to be here. But here I am.

He leads him down a bright hallway to an office door with the name ‘Marley Deschaines’ on it and knocks.

“Come on in!” says a voice that sounds like the grave.

The door creaks open, and the scent of red-rose tea rolls out from a young woman in a cardigan, thick-rimmed eyeglasses sitting behind a large desk. The desk has a varnished scent of hardwood.

“Ah! The Hooks croc! What brings you this way?” she says. Then to the man, “Thank you Percy.”

The young man nods and leaves, closing the door behind.

The red-rose…it reminds me of…somewhere. Somewhere nice.

He feels himself relaxing, even if just by a scale.

“I need…bank stuff,” says Big Sal.

Marley snaps her right fingers. “Yes. I can help with that. But first, do you have ID?”

Big Sal nods, and pulls his purse up to open it.

“That purse…that looks, that looks handmade. By…oh what’s her name? May I see it?”

“Uh, sure.”

Setting his wallet on the desk, Big Sal carefully takes the purse off and offers it to Marley.

“Oh, Izzy,” says Marley quietly as she finds the creator’s tag inside. “You never told us you did one out of linen.”

The scent from Marley is of cedar-nutmeg and water-return.

“I…don’t understand,” says Big Sal. The cedar-nutmeg is new, and she seems to be looking into the past.

“Who gave this to you? Was it Isabella Fast?”

“Uh. Yes. It was before the big truck ride. After I…crawled out of the ditch. She gave me soup, bison soup.”

Marley chuckles. “Her hospitality was always, yes, Fast. So, you’ve come all the way from Arcanum Glades? That’s quite the trip.”

“Farther, actually. I flew into Ar…Arcanum Glades from Stinkwater.”

“Don’t know that place, but Izzy was renowned for her handmade purses. Most of them were leather or even silk. This must have been one she kept for herself. Between waitressing downtown and selling her wares, people knew her. Here you go.”

Marley hands the purse back to him.

Big Sal holds the purse in his hand for an extra moment. It’s so smooth and soft he’d barely noticed it.

“It doesn’t smell like anything,” he says, confused at how he missed this.

“Oh, Isabella knew her crafts. She was good at giving people what they needed. But I believe I can help you with something you need as well, right?”

“Yeah. Something called a debit card, I think.”

What…is that?

Shifting the ID in the light, a silver picture of himself seems deep within the card. He had seen that. But it disappears when viewed from an angle. Something else is in there too, seen from a different angle, but it’s more hazy than anything. Something that wasn’t quite defined, but starting to be.

“Those holograms in Ankerton’s ID are pretty neat, aren’t they?”

“That’s a picture, but not from over here?”

“Things change from different perspectives, right?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Marley smiles and shakes her head. “Can I see it?”

Big Sal hands it over, and she copies information from it into a laptop on her desk. She asks him a few questions, and when he doesn’t know the answer, she nods, looks something up on her computer, and continues.

Near the end, she hands him a card that has a loon on the front, and a black stripe on the back.

“You take care, Sal. Thanks for stopping by. And if you ever see Isabella again, tell her I said hi.”

“Thanks. I don’t think that’ll happen, but I’ll try to remember.”

“That’s the best we can do. Tootles and Slightly!”

Big Sal nods, not sure what that means, and Percy appears at the door to take him back to the front doors.

The dusty bone smell has shifted, and instead of scaring him, there’s more of a smell of bones with cooked meat on them, and his stomach rumbles.

I should try making bison stew sometime.

As he walks back out to the street, a FlaminGo bus pulls up beside him.

“Hey Sal! You should get on! Next stop is Hooks!”

Petra waves to him from inside the bus.

“You can cover this, right?” says the bus driver. “Not like the other croc who wanted handouts?”

Big Sal sees the ‘Tap’ near the driver, and presses his Loon to the tap. A warble echoes down the street.

“It’s the Hooks croc!”

Every eye on the bus turns to him, except for one set. Petra sits near the front with a group of children that look both terrified and amazed. Scents of mango, banana and cilantro fill the bus as it takes off.

“Hi Sal, have a seat,” says Petra, pointing at a spot next to her.

“Thanks, but I’ll stand,” he says, holding an overhead rail next to her.

There’s something else on this bus that smells more human than humans. It comes from the set of eyes that remain downcast. It’s only two rows back further.

The kids around Petra all wear the same color t-shirt, orange. In black letters, EVERMORE DAYCARE.

Chapter Index

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Chapter 27 podcast drops July 25
Chapter 28 text drops August 1

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 26 - Strained
✅ Captain Clamjaw ad
✅ Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

I feel less like a croc and more like a heron with two long sticks for legs.

The Henry-smell that he’d been carrying around is gone, and where it had been his nose finds only clean air.

“This could make it easier to dance,” he mumbles, different songs stumbling their way through his head.

Inside Hooks was a picture painted across the back of the dining area of a pirate ship sailing the high seas. As he walks, another ship emerges from behind a tall building. But as he grows closer, he realizes it isn’t a picture at all, but a large building. Windows glint from cannon ports. A black flag with a human skull and crossbones flies from the top of the mast.

Okay, so did someone bake this? From pictures to real things, right? What menu did this come from?

The mast stretches as high into the sky as the buildings surrounding it. A few people on the street wear something shiny on their heads. The ship-building smells dry, boring, and nothing like Hooks.

He checks Petra’s map. He needs to walk around the bow.

“May the Great Noodly Appendage bend in your favor!” says an older woman who walks by him with a shiny hat on her head. It reminds him of what the chef uses to steam vegetables at Hooks.

“Uh, thank you?” says Big Sal. “You too?”

The woman beams at him. “You know, it’s a special thing to be the new croc at Hooks. Nothing is more Ankerton than the Hooks crew.”

Big Sal shrugs. “Really? I’m just figuring things out as I go.”

“Oh, but we all are. Here at City Hall, we make sure everyone can do that. Tootles and Slightly!”

And with that, she disappears down the sidewalk.

That human smelled like pasta. Like, spaghetti and meatballs. This town is meatballs.

Big Sal makes his way around the bow, passing a couple others with shiny, metallic hats. Once on the other side he sees a giant frog. It sits in a shop window, it’s bored, bullfrog stare fixed on the busy street. A pink tongue drools from its mouth. A plate of insects sits on a table in front of it. Next to the shop window a door sits propped open with what looks like a fabric brick with a plastic antenna. Blinking in the door’s window is a twizzly-smelling sign that says ‘Phone Nerds.’

Big Sal can’t help but look at the frog that is far bigger and juicier than he ever saw in Stinkwater.

“May the Great Noodly Appendage bend in your favor,” he says to the bullfrog.

“RIDDIT,” comes the throaty reply.

It isn’t until he’s inside Phone Nerds that he realizes something.

That frog didn’t even make me hungry.

“Greetings, Mr. Croc!” says a girl’s voice. “Check this out!”

And she twirls the phone in her hand to show him what she’d been looking at when he walked in; the video that he’s already seen of himself walking out of the refrigerated truck carrying a pallet stacked with boxes.

“That’s the best debut for a Hooks croc,” she says. “The last one opened with a dance that was great at first, but then became boring.” Then, with a grin, “Your entrance, like ROAR…”

“Sorry to cut you off,” says Big Sal. “But I need a phone. Can you help me with this?”

“Sorry! Yes!” The girl puts down the phone and starts showing him the phones in a glass case. She takes one out and offers it to him to try.

“Oops,” he says as it slips from his dry hands and hits the floor with a smack.

The scent of vinegar steams out from the girl. Excitement drains from her face. For an instant it says ‘Oh no’ before settling into a placid, bored look similar to the bullfrog.

“Sorry about that,” says Big Sal, leaning down to pick up the phone. “I broke my moisturizer, and….” He sighs. “My hands haven’t been the same.”

Cracks spiderweb across the phone.

He pushes the side button.

It doesn’t respond.

Her cheeks dimple, and she holds out her hand for the phone.

“It’s a floor model,” she says. “Let’s put the next one in a case.”

He points at another one.

She gives it to him and it stays in his hands this time.

“How do you work these?” he asks.

“Tap the screen and it’ll come on.”

He does, but nothing happens. He taps it again. And again.

“That’s weird,” she says. She takes the phone and pulls a spray bottle and cloth from beneath the counter. After wiping the screen, she hands it back.

Again, nothing happens.

With a frown, she reaches out and touches one of his claws.

I’ve never felt anything like that before, he thinks.

“You really need that moisturizer. Either that, or…”

She lets go. Then taps her chin with a finger.

“Just a moment.”

She disappears into a door in the back marked ‘STAFF ONLY’.

Big Sal looks at the claws on his forearms. He touches the glass on the counter, and it’s hard, smooth, and cool.

Usually…

“Here, I found a different one. Let’s try this out.”

The device she removes doesn’t have one large touchscreen the way all the others in the case do. This one has the same buttons found on the sides of the other phones, except these cover half the front, underneath a smaller screen. A few bigger buttons near the bottom have large symbols on them.

“I think this is going to be what you want,” says the girl. “It’s what some might call a dumb phone, but it’s smarter than that. All those buttons you press instead of tapping a screen, and those bigger buttons on the bottom? Push the microphone to talk to the phone, the green button to send, and yeah, it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

Big Sal feels water-return welling up and rushing out of himself.

“Thank, thank you. Thank you so much for this.”

She gives him a smile. “Hey, not a problem. That’s just my job here. Glad we could get you the right device for you.”

She gets him set up with a number. He pays and looks at it.

“Can those numbers be changed to a real clock, one with, uh, fingers?”

“Hands, and yes.”

She quickly sets him up with an analog clock on the much smaller phone display. It’s getting close to ten o’clock. He needs to be moving.

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 27?
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Chapter 26 podcast drops July 11
Chapter 27 text drops July 18

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 25 - The Cinnamon State
✅ Don Maroon’s coverage of The Cinnamon State
✅ Big Sal singing

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

Big Sal has settled up with Stacy and left Raven’s Mirage. crossed the street towards Phone Nerds, only to run into Henry. Chapter 25 opens here.

“Smells like you,” says Big Sal. The cinnamon scent he had been following is background to the sweaty scent that comes from the bag and the human that stands before him. But the toast costume is throwing Big Sal off. He vaguely recalls eating toast in a dumpster once. It smelled nothing like the toasted human that stands before him.

“I don’t smell like butter and toast,” says Henry, misinterpreting Big Sal, thinking the croc was getting a dig in at him. “I smell…” He sniffs his armpits.

“…like Eau de Croco. It’s expensive!”

“No. The bag. It smells like you.”

Henry blinks. Once, twice, three times.

“What in the bag smells like me?”

“I think it’s your old skin. I don’t know why I’m carrying it. Do you want it?”

“You’ll have to show me. This big butter knife is glued to the gloves and I can only rub it around. I can’t get my hands out of here.”

Big Sal doesn’t know how to undo the knot the bag was tied with.

If only I had fingers…

“Is it okay if I tear it open?”

“Sure. No skin off my back.”

Big Sal sets the bag down, tears it open, and pulls out an arm. It flops against the ground and makes a hissing sound as it rubs against the bag.

The smell that snaps out of Henry is like a wet twig breaking. Another adds to it. And then his beaver dam breaks open, a flood washing over broken branches.

“Why did you bring this here?” asks Henry. “You aren’t from around here so you don’t know what this was to me.”

“I don’t know,” says Big Sal, wondering where this is going for Henry. Henry’s actions are different from the last time Big Sal smelled broken beaver dam on a grieving trucker.

“Man, can you only use simple sentences?” says Henry. “Why did you bring this here?”

Big Sal’s nostrils flare. Henry’s scent says something familiar, while his actions are very different.

No skin off this croc’s back. This human is…conflicted.

“Petra said not to lose it.”

Henry’s scents change again, and they are honey and mango mixed with mud and woody brokenness.

“Ah, Petra.”

And tears run out of the face nestled inside a pat of butter, darker streaks tracing over the yellow and into the corrugated toast.

“Those were the best days of my life,” he says quietly, with a singsong rhythm.

Big Sal’s own eyes begin to leak, tears running over his fading crocodile skin.

Henry blinks at him.

“Your eyes, they looked human for a moment there.”

Big Sal shrugs and grunts. “I’m just me.”

Henry looks at the bag. “I think this costume found me. What I’m going to do with it, I don’t know. But thanks.”

Why are humans so confusing? The way this one smells, he’s trying to rebuild old dams that have broken but never moved them upstream.

Big Sal glances towards the bakery, where fresh baked cinnamon buns steam in racks just behind the front window.

“Can I…”

“They won’t let you in,” says Henry.

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t like crocodiles. Trust me. Their sign…”

“Croc that, I’m gonna try.”

And with that, Big Sal leaves the crocodile skin in the bag by the toasted human and approaches the Cinnamon State bakery.

“You really don’t want…”
Big Sal waves his front paw the way he did to Security at the Zit & Grit and approaches the door.

Three customers stand in line inside the bakery, two people behind the counter. At the till, a wide man with a nose that sticks out and up gives a sniff and looks out the window, his eyes narrowing at Big Sal. He might be looking at a piece of carrion too bad to eat.

“Can’t you read?” he yells, and slams his hand onto the counter, startling his customers.

“Read what?” says Big Sal, opening the door. Cinnamon is the strongest scent, but underneath it is a fear scent so tart it almost makes Big Sal pucker. There’s also a rot within a sweetish coriander smell that is the baker.

“Get out! Crocodiles are not allowed! Never have been and never will! We do not serve crocodiles, whether from Hooks, the zoo or Egypt! Get out!”

One of the customers, a teenaged boy, gives the shopkeeper with the tilted-up nose a snort. “That’s the new Hooks croc dude. He’s famous. You’re making a bad decision.”

Turning red with anger, the shopkeeper takes the cinnamon bun from the boy.

“You do not know what you are talking about,” he yells, shaking the cinnamon bun in the boy’s face, frosting going everywhere.

“This kind sunk family bakeries over many years. WE. DO. NOT. SERVE. CROCODILES. Read the sign!”

“Nuts to this,” says the boy, walking out. “I’ll take my business to Zenbucks.”

“Go!”

“I just want a cinnamon…” says Big Sal.

“Get out you scaley freak! I will call security! I will call the police! I will call everyone!”

The other customers scurry out another door, one eating the cinnamon bun on the way out, the other leaving it behind.

“Hey Boondaggle,” says Henry from behind Big Sal.

“Yes, patsy?” says the baker, Boondaggle.

“I would not know…” Henry moves a hand, and the large butter knife waves in one direction. “What might happen if I were to, oh accidentally trip, oh whoopsie!”

Henry leans on one leg, teeters…

“Oh you…” starts Boondaggle.

Henry goes down face first onto the sidewalk, unable to stop himself with hands glued to the butter knife.

CRUNCH

Big Sal whirls around, his tail sending a garbage can flying. Reaching down he pushes Henry face up, the side of the toast costume folding over.

A scent that Big Al hasn’t smelled in a long time tickles his nose.

Blood.

A trickle runs down from Henry’s forehead.

“This costume never passed safety,” whispers Henry. “Remember, my hands are stuck in here and I can’t catch myself. He’s liable. Get out of here.”

Big Sal’s nose flares, but then he decides to do exactly that.

Cinnamon buns are harder to get than anything else. Maybe one day I’ll have one. And maybe I’ll bring one to Henry.

So, with a chagrined grumble, Big Sal rumbles down the sidewalk, while Boondaggle’s voice chews out the toast on the sidewalk.

Updated June 24 for clarification and scents.

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 24?
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Just one offer when an edition is ready.

Chapter 23 podcast drops May 30
Chapter 24 text drops June 7

In case you missed it earlier this week, Chapter 24 will not be made public as it was submitted to a contest. The story resumes next week with Chapter 25.

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 1 - The Escapee
✅ Eau du Croco ad
✅ Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

Hi everyone,

Today didn’t go exactly as planned.

Despite our best efforts, internet connectivity at the venue made the livestream a no go. I know some of you were hoping to join us online, and I was disappointed not to be able to share the event with you in real time.

Fortunately, although the livestream failed, the presentation and audio from the event was successfully recorded. I'm working on putting together a recorded edition so everyone who missed it can still experience the launch.

But the launch itself was something special.

Friends, readers, curious newcomers, and members of the Manitoba writing community gathered to hear Big Al’s story. We laughed, shared stories, answered questions, and celebrated the release of The Stinkwater Escapee together.

Seeing both old friends and new ones gathered in a room to listen to Big Al’s escape and later misadventures is a moment that will stay with me.

Thank you to everyone who came, and thank you to everyone who was waiting online. Your support means the world.

Over the coming days, I’ll be sharing photos, reflections, and some thoughts on what lies beyond the chapbook and where Big Al’s adventures go next.

Thank you for your patience, your encouragement, and your belief in this project.

The livestream didn’t happen.

The launch did.

And what a day it was.

With gratitude,

Jacob Buller
Author of The Stinkwater Escapee

I’m busy preparing for Sunday, putting together the different media and making sure everything works.

If you can’t make it out on Sunday to the Artspace building, well, I have news for you, you can watch the livestream here:

stinkwater.ca/launch

I must say, it’s really wild to be thinking that I’m debuting a book on Sunday. I never imagined my first book would be about Big Al, or have pirate-themed restaurants, or even doing a podcast with media literacy. It definitely keeps my life busy, but man, there’s definitely a feeling of accomplishment here.

For those of you who are curious where things are going after Chapter 24, well, Big Sal finally gets to The Cinnamon State, Ankerton’s premier cinnamon bun bakery. If you can guess who's waiting outside the bakery, and what costume they're wearing, I'll draw one correct answer from the comments and send that reader a free copy of The Stinkwater Escapee. Just sound off in the comments!

I wanted to give you a quick update about The Stinkwater Escapee.

Chapter 24 has been submitted to a writing contest. As part of the contest rules, I can’t publish that chapter publicly while it is under consideration, but I’m super excited to have the story considered.

This means there will be a brief interruption in the normal chapter schedule.

The good news is that work on the story continues every week. Big Al’s journey isn’t complete, and I intend to keep moving forward with the book. This is one of those odd moments where the realities of publishing overlap with serialization.

I know many of you have been following along chapter by chapter, and I didn’t want the absence of a new installment to come as a surprise.

Thank you for all your support for this oddball crocodile as he smells his way through the world of Ankerton and beyond.

I’ll have something special to share this weekend instead.

As always, thank you for being part of my writing project.

— Jacob

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 23 - Doctor Crow
✅ FlaminGo Ad
✅ Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

I’m excited to share that The Stinkwater Escapee: Season 1 has been selected as part of the Manitoba Writers’ Guild Spring 2026 Book Launch Series.

On Sunday, June 7, I'll be at Art Space in Winnipeg for readings, discussion, and a few surprises from the world of Mudwater Mutters.

For those who have been following my work, this launch marks the culmination of a long journey. What began as a strange idea about a talking alligator named Big Al wandering through a baffling human world gradually grew into something much larger: a serialized story, a podcast, in-world advertisements, public service announcements, and an entire universe of media literacy satire hiding beneath the humour.

Educators, librarians, and parents interested in media literacy programming are also welcome to attend. Many of the themes explored through Big Al's adventures have become part of my growing work in digital and media literacy education.

At its heart, though, The Stinkwater Escapee remains a story about curiosity, belonging, and trying to make sense of a world that often doesn’t make much scents at all.

The launch will include a reading from the book, discussion about its creation, and a chance to purchase signed copies. Whether you’ve been following along from the beginning or are just discovering Big Al for the first time, I’d love to see you there.

Event Details

The Manitoba Writers’ Guild Spring 2026 Book Launch Series
Featuring: The Stinkwater Escapee: Season 1
Date: Sunday, June 7, 2026
Time: 2:00 PM – 4:00 PM
Location: Art Space, 100 Arthur Street, Winnipeg (4th Floor, elevator accessible)

I hope to see you there.

— Jacob

I’ll be that way later. Need this ID thing first.

The scent of his destination fills his nose, and it’s a subtle, soft aroma that seems to change from cedar to rosemary to pine to cottonwood and back to cedar. It’s a forest smell, but made of bricks and mortar.

Big Sal shakes his head.

Not sure if I’ll ever understand this human world.

And with that thought, he pushes through a door with a bunch of cups stenciled on the outside into a lobby where many different people mingle. And an animal.

“The Hooks croc!” says someone from across the room. “I knew we’d be seeing you!”

A breeze of a muddy smell passes through him, with hints of cilantro and a tang of something slightly stinky.

What was that?

The room turns to look at him. It isn’t full, but still enough humans to feel like Hooks last night. A crowd, but now they’re all standing in lines, not sitting. A mix of sweet banana and mango fills the room.

No one moves from their line. A number of people wave, some hold phones and mouth “selfie” to him. A few just look bored.

“Right over here sir,” says someone in a blue uniform that smells an awful lot like security from the Zit & Grit but with more coffee. “Glad to see you, sir. Wait time is about fifteen minutes. You got here early. That’s good.”

The security-coffee person motions him to a line, and he stands behind a woman wearing a hat that smells like rabbit, cow from the jacket and shoes, reminding him of a different human from long ago, although not as tasty smelling anymore.

Banana scent puffs out from him, and he looks around. The animal he smelled earlier is still here, but he can’t see it.

He looks up at a TV on the wall where local news talks about new animals at the local zoo, and then about warming temperatures in the rural areas.

Fifteen minutes later, after three selfies and having something called a business card handed to him, he stands before a woman. Initially bored, when she notices him, she focuses and hints of green-tea hiss out of the transparent box she sits inside.

“Ah yes. You. My kid showed me your video. Well, today I guess we’re gonna get you identification. First things first, put your thumb, claw, arm or noodly appendage against the sensor on your right.”

A little red light flashes on, illuminating something that looks like a phone. After a moment, he touches the not-phone.

It beeps, and a moment later the woman behind the counter looks confused.

“D…N…A match…unsuccessful. Not amphibian…not mammalian…STACEY. What do I do here?”

Another person steps into the cubicle space the woman sits in. This one looks at the screen.

“Huh. Well it’s not unheard of. He’ll need to see Doctor Crow.” She turns her attention to Big Sal. “The doctor is busy at the moment, but should be done in about ten minutes. Have a seat over there,” she says, gesturing towards three chairs against the wall, all empty. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Water would be nice.”

Big Sal tries to sit, but the tail doesn’t fit. After a moment, Stacey comes out carrying a folding chair, and the gap in the back gives ample space for his tail. Water-return surrounds her in a pleasant aroma.

How did she know?

“Thank you,” he says. “That was…”

“Oh, not a problem. We’ve dealt with stranger things, believe you me. Everyone deserves to be looked after.”

A digital clock on the opposite side of the room, near where he came in, shows 8:15. He isn’t sure what this means. It changes to 8:16 as he watches. When it reaches 8:30, Stacey reappears.

“Doctor Crow will see you now. Come with me.”

“Things sure get more expensive the more we sit,” says Big Sal, thinking the time meant cash, like at Hooks. He swings the plastic bag over his shoulder and trails Stacey.

Stacey’s scent shifts to misunderstanding, to water-return and something else.

She shrugs and smirks. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Down a hallway that is more lemon-antiseptic she leads him to a door where the animal scent is the strongest. She opens the door.

A small man, not much bigger than a child, sits in a chair on wheels. He pushes away a screen that swings on an arm and sets a keyboard down.

The scent coming from the man is decidedly not human, but very much Crow. Yet there are no feathers, no crows’ feet, and no beak. But he hops up and his movements could be crow-like. His dark eyes are bright, intense.

“Here’s his initial scan, Doctor Crow,” says Stacey, handing him a file.

“Thank you, Stacey,” he says. She turns and exits the room quietly.

Turning to Big Sal, “Ah! You’re new to Ankerton, aren’t you?” he says. “I’ve been hearing about you.”

Big Sal looks around the room. There are beanbags, a couch, a couple chairs folded up in the corner and a soft throw rug in the middle of the room.

“Something about being viral, I guess?” he says.

Mr. Crow smiles. “Sometimes we come to the world a little sideways, yes. But this isn’t about that.”

He looks at the printouts from Stacey, then back at him. His attention is like a ray of sunlight through shade on a hot day, a warm piercing that relaxes everything. Big Sal slumps to the soft floor, sleepy. The bag rolls toward the door.

“Most interesting. What’s your name?”

“Big Sal. But not ‘isbury.’ I’m not a steak. I was Rick for a while, but that was a mistake. Before that I was Big Al, but something changed. I don’t know what. I talked to an owl. It sent me here.”

Mr. Crow smiles. “Big Al. Rick. Big Sal,” he says, writing this down. “Less reptilian than before. More human than expected. Mm. Do you know where you are headed? What your destination is?”

“Uhm. Back to Hooks. What time is it? I’m supposed to be there for 11 AM but I don’t know what time it is.”

Mr. Crow tilts his head, birdlike. He looks up at a digital clock on the wall. Big Sal follows his gaze.

“It’s just after 8:30. You’ve got lots of time.”

“That isn’t eight dollars and thirty cents?”

Mr. Crow tilts his head the other way. “No.”

Big Sal doesn’t know why, but he feels his cheeks getting wet. A part of him wants to curl up and just sleep here.

What is happening to me?

“Is the garbage bag important?” asks Mr. Crow, glancing at it

“I was told it was, but I have no idea.”

“What’s in it?”

“A crocodile skin.”

“Yours?”

“No, someone else’s. I…I don’t know why I’m carrying someone else’s old stuff around.”

“Mmm. That is a good question. But not one that needs answering right now. Rather, is the place you come from still important to you?”

Stinkwater? I haven’t thought about it in forever.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Would you ever want to go back?”

Hooks had solved the food problem.

I need a place to live. Don’t have swamps here.

“Maybe. Probably. But not for a long time. I have good things here. I want to stay here where I am for a while.”

“Mmm. You’re happy?”

“…what does that mean?”

For a moment, Dr. Crow doesn’t say anything.

Then, “Content? Satisfied?”

“Getting there, I think. I don’t know. Humans are so confusing. This world is so confusing. I’m just trying to be me and I don’t know what’s happening. Am I still a crocodile? Maybe not? That scares me.”

“Life is full of adventures.”

Big Sal doesn’t know what to say. His tail twitches and he feels himself sinking into the soft carpet.

The moment stretches out, and then Dr. Crow clicks his pen.

Big Sal’s sleepiness begins to lift like night shifting to day.

“I think I’ve got everything I need,” says Dr. Crow. “Stay strong, my boy. See Stacey on the way out.”

Chapter Index

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Chapter 23 podcast drops May 30
Chapter 24 text drops June 7

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 22 - Towards the Mirage
✅ FlaminGo Ad
✅ Dept. of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

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It’s Petra.

“I’ve got to get to my kids, but you should get going. It’s early, and if you leave now, you’ll be able to get everything done.”

“Thanks, Petra. Hey, how do I get rid of the Henry smell in here? That old skin still smells like him.”

After a moment, Petra wrinkles her nose. “Oh, his costume.”

She goes to a cupboard, takes a plastic garbage bag out, and hands it to him. “Put it in this, tie it up and hang onto it.”

“Thanks.”

Opening the closet, he stuffs the costume into the bag. He fumbles with the knot until Petra comes over and ties it for him.

“You still have that plastic card I gave you?”

He picks it up from the table.

“Put it in your purse and only take it out when you want something. You lose it and it’s like you lost a stack of cash. Also, I made another copy of the map. Remember how to fold?”

Big Sal takes the new map, carefully folds it into quarters, and puts it into the purse at his side.

“Alright, you got this big guy.”

Petra disappears down the steps.

Big Sal stares at the tied garbage bag.

I guess this matters somehow.

Swinging it over his left shoulder, he heads to the street outside Hooks.

The sun is still coming up, and the city is cool and damp from the night. City scents waft around him like clouds of swamp bugs.

With a deep breath, he tries to smell out Raven, but doesn’t find anything. What he does smell is a warming trace of cinnamon.

“Oh ho ho, where do I find cinnamon buns?”

Fortunately, it comes from the direction he needs to go.

Within a block, the buildings grow taller than any trees he’s ever seen. Their shadows shrink as the sun climbs.

He walks past a building spilling buttery, salty scents over human emotions ranging from fear-tart to water-return.

CHIMERA DOME flickers on a marquee that curves over the sidewalk before a building shaped like a giant ball cut in half. A statue of a strange animal with two heads, a snake for a tail, and wings crouches on top of the ball.

A sign beside the entrance lists movies and showtimes.

I want to go there sometime. I think it would smell amazing. Might see something fun too, he thinks.

Must be something that humans made. Doesn’t look like a real animal.

Another block later, a scent wafts toward him, similar to the smells from Hooks. He follows it, and finds a little shop with a long line of people that runs outside. Overhead the door is a green lady wearing a crown. The shop smells of coffee: bitter, dark, sweet, and everything in between.

“Hey look, is that the Hooks croc?” says someone from the line.

“Don’t leave the line or you’re losing your place,” grumbles a short, squat man with big hands. “Coffee first. Croc later.” He cracks his knuckles.

From behind him, a teenager approaches holding up her phone.

“Can I get a selfie with you?” she asks. “Nice garbage bag.”

“Uh, okay.”

The cinnamon trace fades beneath the overwhelming coffee aroma, and he sniffs again, trying to keep it alive.

“Say ‘No croc, only rock!’” she says, holding her phone up next to him and snapping a photo while he does a funny face.

“Say what?” says Big Sal after the photo.

“I believe,” she says with a cryptic smile. “Don’t listen to the haters.”

She returns to the line where a friend switches places, does the same thing, says the same thing, and rejoins the rapidly moving line.

“See you later gater!” they call as the line pushes them inside.

“Gater?” grumbles Big Sal, sniffing for the cinnamon scent. “Not…hater…but sounds like.”

Another block and he can hear birds squawking. They sound like the night herons, only louder, raspier, and obsessed with the size of their cage.

He follows their sound for three blocks, their chatter getting louder.

“I swear this cage is the biggest one we’ll ever have!”

“No no no! This cage is just the beginning! Look at that outside! It’s a cage! One day we will fly in that great cage!”

“You’re wrong! You’re so bloody wrong!”

Big Sal comes to a stop in front of The Crooked Cage, looking in through a large front window at brightly colored birds.

“What are you talking about?” he says, connecting with the birds. “You’re inside a cage, inside a cage of a pet store, inside…” he trails off, not sure where that thought was taking him.

They quiet down and look at him, their feathers suddenly still for a moment. The door slams open and the owner comes bustling out.

“You’re the first person who ever quieted those loud, obnoxious birds!” the woman with her hair in a gray bun says. “I never should have brought them in. They’re yours! Take them!”

The birds grow quieter, tucking their heads beneath their wings.

Free snacks? What?

Big Sal shifts the garbage bag from one hand to the other. He remembers the plastic card in his purse, and begins to reach for it. But something doesn’t sit right. A bird peeks out from beneath a wing. If it leaves the pet store, it thinks it won’t be flying any more.

“Th-thank you f-for this. I’m act-actually on my way to Raven’s Mirage. I’ll be passing by l-later.”

“You’re really good with them, you know,” says the owner. “They’re smart and great pets for the right person.”

“Th-thank y-you. Later.”

She sighs and shakes her hands. “They’re expensive, but I’d give them to you. They don’t quiet down for anyone else.”

He looks at the birds and knows that he could take them back with him, and no one would be the wiser.

“Again, thanks. I must be off.”

And with that, he turns and heads across the street, to the left of where he had been coming from. The cinnamon scent grows stronger, and the birds stay silent behind him.

With the raucous squawking gone, he can hear a sound from the swamp. It’s a weird sound, a warbling hoot that echoes down the street like a coo. The bird’s scent is missing, though.

“A swamp sound, in the middle of the city?” he says to himself.

People pass him, some giving him wary looks. A little girl shies away from him, then looks up and seems to relax when she sees something.

The loon comes into view as he crosses another street. Crowds fill the sidewalks.

He stops in front of the bank. The smells rolling toward him belong to the city, yet underneath them is the scent of dry, dusty bones.

And I have to go in there later? The bone smell scares me.

He looks at the map, uses his hands to figure out which way is right, and realizes how much he’s passed that wasn’t on it.

“This map is not the walk. Way more to this than what I thought it was.”

Heading to the right, part of him wishes he had taken the birds as a snack, but a bigger part of him pushes that aside. He recognizes the hunger and begins to wonder where those cinnamon buns are.

Down the street he sees something that looks like a pink heron standing outside a small, square glass building with rainbow stripes around it. As he draws closer, the beak is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

“Whatchoo looking at?” says the flamingo in a deep, rich voice, and it leans to one side.

Big Sal takes a step back. “What? What are you? You’re not a bird. You smell like…orb. Like…”

“I’m the FlaminGo ride-guide. Where do you want to go? I’ll get you Flamin-there. Need a ticket? Take it from my beak.”

“Uh.”

Big Sal looks down the street to the left from where he came. A haze seems to shroud a building. He looks at his map, then back at the FlaminGo ride-guide.

I don’t think that thing needs a good-bye. It’s like an orb, I think.

“Goodbye!” calls the bird guide from its permanent position outside the bus shack.

“Later, gater,” he says with a smirk.

Chapter Index

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Chapter 22 podcast drops May 16
Chapter 23 text drops May 23

Over the past year, this project has gradually grown into something larger than just a serialized story. Alongside the book itself, there’s been it’s audio companion, Mudwater Mutters, plus fictional ads from Ankerton, strange public service announcements, and a growing media literacy layer woven through the whole thing.

The launch is going to reflect that.

There’ll be a live reading, audio segments from Mudwater Mutters, projected visuals from the world of Ankerton, and copies of the Season 1 chapbook available on site.

📍 Manitoba Writers’ Guild – Artspace Building (4th Floor)
100 Arthur Street, Winnipeg
🗓 June 7, 2–4 PM
Free / All Ages Welcome

And fittingly, the same weekend also marks the end of Season 3 of the online story.

If you’ve been following along — whether through the chapters, the podcast, the weird side material, or just occasional glimpses of this thing taking shape — I’d really love to see you there.

Facebook Event

Website

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 21 - Cryptic
✅ Hooks Insider Pirate Performer Opportunity Ad
✅ Dept. of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text & chapter archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

His hand hovers near his throat, feeling for the zipper, but Petra’s smile warms him. Suddenly, there is space inside.

“My friend!” says Raleigh, jubilant as he walks up. “I have your signing bonus! My goodness that was an amazing routine! This weekend will be swimmingly busy. I couldn’t have asked for a better debut. We’ve needed this.”

Big Sal shrugs, not sure what to say.

“The music just kind of…lifted me. Made me…fly.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear,” says Raleigh, still inflated like a balloon. “I changed the stinger to Snap and Sweep. That’s your signature emote. The floss is finished.”

“What’s the Snap and Sweep?”

“I’ll go over it with you,” says Petra. “It’s much more your style.”

Raleigh holds a white envelope. His hands smell like onion rings, and when he hands it over, Big Sal snaps his teeth, savoring the onion flavor that has soaked into the paper.

“Mmm…. a little thin. Needs salt.”

Raleigh switches faster than Big Sal can keep up.

“What are you talking about?” he says, defensive.

Aromas Big Sal is familiar with but not on Raleigh suddenly puff out from him.

“I pay my main cast staff well!” says Raleigh. “And why did you just eat your paycheck?”

Uh oh. That wasn’t onion rings. Paycheck?

Petra’s eyes go wide and she holds up a hand to Raleigh

“Hold on,” she says. “He didn’t even see the amount. He ate it right out of your hand.”

Amount? So confusing. It smelled like food!

“Now I have to void that check! What was that?”

“Remember, he comes from the backwoods,” says Petra. “We’re all still getting him up to speed.”

Aromatic frustration pops into the air around Raleigh. For a brief moment, it smells like Henry.

“Uh. I’m sorry Raleigh. I didn’t mean to. I’m hungry and it smelled like onion rings.”

The glitter fades, and Raleigh looks perplexed.

“We’re going to need to pay him a little differently, aren’t we? And if you’re hungry, well, we’ve got that covered.”

“I think a pre-paid card would be a good start,” says Petra. “He’s still learning math. Give him like, thirty percent of the signing bonus on one of those. We’ll figure the rest out when he finds a place to stay.”

“I guess that works,” says Raleigh, his attention drilling into Big Sal. “You don’t have a bank account, do you? Or photo ID?”

“Bank account? What’s that?”

Petra crosses her arms, amused. “You really lucked out hitting Ankerton, you old croc. We’re the only city in the country that lets recognized performers get ID with their costume on.”

“And everyone is going to know you thanks to our viral videos,” says Raleigh with a decisive nod. “He needs to get down to Raven’s Mirage.”

Raven?

“Can you follow a map?” asks Petra.

Big Sal shrugs. “Maybe.”

I hope so. Maybe I can smell my way to Raven?

He tries to remember what Raven smelled like.

“Alright. You’re going to need that ID to find a place. My reputation can only take you so far.”

“Can’t I say here? It’s got a nice bath. And the room is cozy.”

Petra and Raleigh glance at each other.

“Technically, no,” says Raleigh. “But I have made occasional exceptions when performers are between places. But no more than three days. Any more than that and the Hospitality Committee comes prancing around. They seem to just know these things.”

“I’ll finish off your shift with you and then point you in the right direction,” says Petra. “And ask the chef for a Hook’s cast special, it’ll fill you right up.”

The cast special is two double burgers, four crocodile legs, a box of onion rings and a chocolate milkshake. It’s the first time Big Sal has felt even a little satiated in a while.

He doesn’t know what to make of the crocodile legs. They smell—and taste—delicious.

That can’t be what I taste like.

He wonders if he’s still a crocodile.

As the day goes on, the restaurant gets busier. The music still lifts him, seeping into parts of him he didn’t know he had.

On his last break, Petra shows him the Snap and Sweep. He snaps his mouth, turns his body and makes his tail slither along the floor.

“I figured you’d like it. Henry hated it because he didn’t have the jaw control in his costume. You do.”

A line begins to form outside of Hooks, and it begins to get late. The noise and scents of the restaurant press in on him. He keeps moving, tries little variations on the Snap and Sweep. People giggle.

Near closing time, as he’s taking a round of crocodile legs to a table, he smells a very familiar scent.

Lemony persimmon, a little thicker than usual. The pilot sits across.

“…too much to take. I’m sorry to hear it.” The pilot’s scent is the damp of water-return.

He sets the crocodile legs down in front of the two men. Lemony-persimmon is clouded with water-return and…beaver dams broken open by too many floods.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again,” says the trucker. “His mom’s phone was disconnected when I got back from your place, and…yeah…they’re gone.”

They barely register him. Water-return washes over the table from the pilot.

Big Sal studies them for a moment.

Both stare into their cups of coffee.

He almost wishes his proximity band would go off so he could make them laugh.

It doesn’t.

He keeps moving.

The next time he visits, a family of five has replaced them.

Street lights flicker on as Hooks closes. A pink and orange sunset ripples across the sky.

“So where is Raven’s Mirror?” he asks Petra.

“Not Mirror. Mirage. It isn’t far. Bit of a zig zag.”

She pushes a small plastic card towards him. Taking a menu, she draws on the back with a pen and colors using highlighters.

“That’s your prepaid card for tomorrow. See this here? This is Hooks. This line is the street outside our front door. You like birds, right?”

“They’re very…”

Tasty. Or used to be.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been trying to think about birds you can look for on the way to Raven’s Mirage. So follow this street we’re on, Sparrow’s Strait, until you see a pet store called Mabel’s Moors. You can see birds through the windows. They’re very loud. Take a left.”

Big Sal holds up his left hand with his finger and thumb in the ‘L’ shape.

“That’s ri…correct.” Petra smiles. “Now go down that street until you see a loon on the top of the building with the columns. Again, you’ll hear it before you see it. Creepy sound if you’re not in the right mood. That’s the bank. Take a right. Follow that street until you see a pink flamingo on the side of a bus shack. You should be able to see Raven’s Mirage down the street to your left from there. Call me if you have any questions.”

She hands him the map, and it looks just the way she explained it. Each landmark she described is drawn in detail, down to the pink in the flamingo on a little building next to a bus.

“Uh, call?”

Petra’s eyes widen and her lips tighten. Her hand asks for the map back, and after turning it over, she writes a few things down.

“Go to Raven’s Mirage first. That ID is super important. As for cell phone, you’re going to want one.”

She chews on the back of the pen for a moment, then draws another zig zag with a curve between the zig and the zag.

“Phone Nerds are only a few blocks from the flamingo. There is a bullfrog in the store window next to them. But you will have to go around City Hall to get there. You’ll know City Hall when you see it. After that, go to the bank. Ask for Marley Deschaines. Raleigh works with him a lot.”

Handing the map back, cilantro seems to radiate out from it.

“Thanks Petra. I’ll get going,” he says and turns to leave.

“You’re going now?”

“Why not?”

“Uh. I know you’re good. Raleigh knows you’re good. But I don’t think Ankerton is ready for you after dark. Go tomorrow morning before your shift starts. Go get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow’s another day.”

After saying good night, Big Sal makes his way up to ‘The Croc’s’. It still smells of moisturizer, and his heart sinks. The suit in the closet also spews scents, and he recognizes Henry.

Why do I have to smell Henry all the time? I should ask what I can do about that.

He turns the tub to cold and sinks in, one hand feeling for the zipper at his throat.

Chapter Index

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Chapter 21 podcast drops May 2
Chapter 22 text drops May 9

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 20 - Diamond Hand
✅ Forever Croc
✅ Dept. of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text & chapter archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

Phones begin to ease out and point at him.

Henry walks up and pokes Big Sal in the chest.

“I don’t know where you came from, or how you managed to land this job, but you will never be as good as I was! Everyone remembers my floss.”

“Who’s that guy, mommy?” says a little girl, maybe five. Then, cringing away from Big Sal, “And why’s the puppet so real?”

“Ah-HAH! Even she knows you’re just a puppet!” says Henry.

This human smells like that old crocodile suit. Trick. Conflicted. Two scents pulling opposite ways.

Big Sal looks around for a barkeep, but all he sees is Raleigh behind the tall, long table. His back is to the scene unfolding as he checks orders. Petra isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“And where did you get such a suit? What kind of blasphemy is this?” He gestures to the entirety of Big Sal.

The smell coming off him is sweet-ish, but not. Cinnamon buns had a full kind of sweet, held up by spice. This one is hollow, sweet on top, sticky-sharp underneath. It has a shape, too. Pointing right at Big Sal. Trying to…make him feel smaller.

“Wow. Real impressive,” says Henry, poking at his arm. “Good for you. You don’t belong at Hooks. You’re going to fail here in less than a week. Maybe days. Maybe hours!”

Working himself back up, Henry grabs Big Sal’s snout and pries it open, peering in at the rows of teeth.

“Hm. Too realistic. And grody.” He leans back. “Yeah…I can smell…actually, never mind, I don’t want to say it. Not in front of the cameras.”

Then he lifts the croc’s left arm, studies the armpit, and frowns.

Before Big Sal can stop him, Henry climbs up and sits on his head, feeling along his jawline.

“Why does it seem like there are no seams? What are you, welded to this pathetic mimicry of a crocodile suit? Seams fishy,” he says. “Hah.”

“Wait,” says a boy. “Look under his chin.”

Henry scrambles down and looks where the boy is pointing.

“Huh,” he says, leaning close.

The top of a zipper sits against Big Sal’s throat, as if it were melded into the skin.

“Not a real crocodile,” whispers a girl to her little sister. “You’re okay.”

Say what?

If he had hair, it would be prickling. His hand lifts toward his throat, but the proximity band goes off and the speakers bark, “This croc can dance! Watch him floss!”

He tries to do the floss, but his short, thick arms still won’t go behind his back.

“Like I said, pathetic!” says Henry, matching to the stinger as he performs a floss that swings in a wide circle.

Big Sal looks down at this person, two feet shorter than him. It’s almost amusing. It isn’t.

A familiar human scent from the crowd reaches him. He can’t quite place it. Then he can.

It’s the pilot, whose airplane he caught a ride on out of Stinkwater.

Big Sal looks around, trying to see the human, to remember the face, but he doesn’t think he ever saw it. A song starts to play, and it’s not one he’s heard before, but the beat, the rhythm catches him.

And then his body is already moving. He doesn’t understand how, or why, or where it came from. Only that something broken left something open, and the music pours in. Pulls him.

This isn’t about snacks.

Gesturing at the far side of the crowd, he tries to move them away. People look at each other, confused, until he bellows, “Move. Please.”

The crowd parts, and the front doors slide open to the staged front of Hooks.

“Duck,” he says to Henry, who looks confused. Then, “Get down.”

Henry waffles for a moment as Big Sal takes the prosthetic tooth out of his mouth. He winds up. Henry finally ducks.

Big Sal throws it out the front door, runs, and jumps, launching himself out after it.

“Watch out!” says a mom, pulling her kids close.

“Flying crocodile!” says a teenager.

“Don’t lose your hat!” says someone else.

Aiming high, he fans out all four legs and, like an airplane, lifts, twists, and pulls the tooth out of the air, landing in a smooth roll outside of Hooks, on the pavement where he first saw Petra.

He tosses the prosthetic tooth up in the air, catches it behind his head and rolls it down his ribbly back, over his tail and then launches it as high as he can.

“This croc…”

Hands out to one side, his legs move across the pavement to the music, and his tail tips a sunhat off of a woman’s head. It’s not as big as his floppy hat, but does the trick.

“…has got to…”

In a breakdance method that only he could make smooth with his tail, he falls to the ground, tipping the hat up and over to land on his head. It’s a little low and covers his eyes, but he’s good.

He twirls in a stirring motion, then with an exaggerated sniff, he rumbles. “Mmm…make it homey…”

The crowd, though, hears ‘homey’ like ‘bro’, and loses it in a raucous cheer.

“That’s the croc!” yells a little kid from his dad’s shoulders. He tries to do the flying motion Big Sal did, and Dad has to catch him before he falls off.

“No no NO!” yells Henry, trying to storm through. “This croc is—”

“Oh run some floss through your teeth,” says a teenager. “Give it a rest.”

Big Sal grooves to the music, letting it flow through him on that sidewalk in front of Hooks. There’s some mad drops and a few hat twirls. He does a spinning headstand and as he’s beginning to feel the song start to end, a glowing orb soars over the crowd to circle him in a rising spiral.

Petra.

He stalls, the orb knocking him out of his zone for a moment, and he almost fumbles his end. His tail reaches up and out and catches the tooth he threw upwards as it returns to the ground, slides it up to catch it in his hand, and jams it back into his mouth where it had been.

The song ends, and he stands in the middle of the crowd.

Everyone’s looking at him, expecting something.

A swishing sound and the sliding doors close behind everyone. The orb disappears back over the crowd.

“That’s the croc!” yells the kid from his dad’s shoulders again.

“THAT’S THE CROC!” the crowd rumbles.

“Dad, I want crocodile legs,” says the kid.

“Uh, I think they come with ranch sauce. You don’t like ranch,” says his Dad.

“DAD, NO! I wanna be able to fly like him!”

Chuckles from the crowd respond to the kid.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a crocodile,” says a man who looks like he works in construction. He winks at Big Sal and turns towards the entrance.

“Can I get a selfie with you?” says a teenager, approaching Big Sal.

“Uh.”

She leans against him, clicks her camera and whoops. “First post!”

A line forms fast, and Big Sal finds himself making different faces and motions for each one.

Three selfies later, the restaurant’s big outdoor speakers boom, the current selfie goes awry with shock on everyone’s face, even his.

“WELCOME TO HOOKS THEMED RESTAURANT!” says a deep voice. “WHERE THE SHOW GETS FLOSSED EVERY…”

“Whoops,” says Raleigh, walking out with his phone in hand. “Not floss. Not floss. Dammit. I should have changed that years ago.”

“You didn’t change it because I was only on leave,” says Henry, gruffly as he shuffles away.

“Oh go back to The Cinnamon State, you stick-legged rolly poly roll,” says Raleigh. “Enjoy basting yourself in butter.”

Chapter Index

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Chapter 20 podcast drops April 18
Chapter 21 text drops April 25

This episode includes:
✅ Don Maroon covers The Cinnamon State’s new CinnaStirStick
✅ Chapter 19 - Windows
✅ Hook’s callback

Full text & chapter archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca