Idaho!
The very name conjured up images that paraded like a marching band through Something’s head: images of a state shaped vaguely like a golf club or a platform shoe, some city named Boise that he guessed was the capital, the letters I, D, A, H and O, and, well, potatoes. He was sure there was more to Idaho than that, but the author of this chapter was far too lazy to indulge in actual research.
“And what’s in Idaho?” Something asked. “Besides Boise and potatoes, I mean.”
“That,” Barabbas answered gravely, “shall be explained in another chapter.”
“What a cop-out,” Rhode Island Smith muttered under his breath.
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