” Lucy said as they walked nearer to the floodlit area of an expansive new subdivision where ground was still being broken. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Lucy asked Michelle if “Pfister” kept the bras and panties of misfits for their trophy value, or perhaps sold them on the black market to perverted old men. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. "There's the exact expression I want. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. Do not underestimate my power. “Buon Primomaggio.
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