You gasp. You got the bad end of the deal on this swap!
It's the principal of your old high school. You were glad to leave him behind 2 years ago when you graduated, now he was staring back from your reflection. Old Milquetoast Milhouse himself, or should you say yourself.
What the heck is a high school principal doing in a $100,000? car you ask yourself. Your hand brush against a hard bulge under your suit coat, it's a nickle plated lugar.
In the rear view mirror your former body is hopping up and down furiously. You think Milky would be happy to be 20 again, and in the body of a hot muscular stud athlete. What gives?
The car phone rings, you pick it up.
"Mr. Milhouse, I'm at the warehouse when will you be here?" whispered a throaty teenage voice conspiratorially.
"Who is this?" you ask.
"Oh, sorry sir, I was whispering. It's Danny Morton, sir, the delivery is here, sir."
Too many sirs. Danny Morton was the current quarterback. You had met Dan Morton, he was no wimp. At least he wasn't then. What happened to turn Dan into Danny?
"Where is here, Danny? Give me directions, I'm at the market on Park Street."
"Oh, go south on Park, and left on Elm to the waterfront, and right to warehouse 53. I thought you'd been here before, sorry, sir."
Sir again, what hold did Milky have on the kid.
By now Milky in your toned body has figured out something and is pounding the pavement to catch you in his body and car. You think about your strong muscular body pummmeling this weak middle aged flabby one, and the alternative of shooting your old body.
You gun the motor, you're going to find out as you drive to waterfront warehouse. About a block from the market, your pursuer gives out, you're too far ahead of him. He stands shaking his fist at you. You know this isn't over.