Somehow, David's descending heel missed Bryan's
prone body. The tiny man lay there on his back,
stunned, the wind knocked out of him, as he watched
David shake his head in confusion and move over to
the sink, where he automatically washed his hands.
After one last glance at the clothes (in which Bryan was
certain he'd be seen but somehow wasn't), David left
the room.
The miniature teenager was alone. Slowly, he rose to
his feet, panting with the horror of an averted disaster
and an uncertain future. That's when he heard his
name, bellowed as if from an immense fog horn. The
bathroom door opened once again, this time admitting
the last person Bryan wanted to see: his manager, now
the size of an office building. The office building opened
its cavernous mouth and bellowed again: "Bryan!"
What to do?