Thinking Beyond the Trope
He was a legend in his own mind.
She was the damsel in distress.
When they met, even the lesser gods exchanged weary glances.
Zeus, meanwhile, was having the time of his immortal life.
The getaway car wouldn't start.
In fact, it wouldn't start for almost forty years.
Why does that sort of thing happen?
Destiny?
Nerves?
It can be nerve-racking, after all, sitting in a getaway car, waiting for bank robbers to come bursting out of a building naked and triumphant after the storm.
That had been the plan.
They were supposed to change clothes at the bar down the street—the one where clothing was optional, and questions were discouraged.
Not that the car was going anywhere.
It sat stubbornly at the curb, contemplating eternity.
The bar was close enough to see.
The night was young.
And it was 11:00 on a Saturday.
