hello nice reederz its dennis the vizsla dog hay wel after my imadjinaree toor of the faymus boo park in the mithikal sitty of carbondale i thawt it wood be nice to shayr sum pikchers of an akchooal toor arownd oshunside!!! i hav not ben going to the harbor so mutch on akkownt of it is toorist seezun witch duz not meen we git to hunt them ha ha it meens they go to the beetch and the harbor and spend green paypers but they do not giv the green paypers to me so as far as i am konsernd they ar just in the way!!! but i digress!!! my poynt wuz that trixie and i hav ben going on short toors of owr ded end street insted of going to the harbor!!! tucker stil duz not hav the enerdjee for wawking mutch so he has ben holding down the fort at home!!!
After interminable hours of driving through the featureless desert, we have arrived in what’s left of California, where, right on the border, we find exactly what Logan said we would: The last Target of the 23rd century. But if Target is some sort of fabled promised land here in the realm of Wally World, why is it completely deserted? I have a bad feeling about this, and am beginning to wish I had simply gone back to the Doghouse of Justice instead of agreeing to help Logan escape from the Mark-Downers. But, as they say, in for a bit, in for a kibble.
Finding the Target parking lot empty, Logan does what any good shopper would do, and parks as close to the entrance as possible. The door to Target yawns open. An invitation? Or a hungry mouth waiting to devour us? We are about to learn which.