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180 pages, Paperback
First published October 25, 2012
At this point, you’re wondering why I do this – eradicate hit-and-run drivers. At first I called myself an assassin but Merriam Webster ruined that idea by defining assassination as “killing for impersonal reasons” and that’s incorrect. I kill for extremely personal reasons. Starting with the individual who hit me, shattering my neck, crushing my left arm and feet, and squashing my large intestine to mush. I can’t digest much of anything, but my dick still works. Go figger.
Blattlatch looks at the end of her tongs like she’s got a rat by the tail. She actually sniffs at it. Brings the tongs closer. Sniffs again. Explodes “Used! Worn! Uuuck!”
Sid climbs the headboard, chittering and squeaking. Such a drama monkey, he loves seeing Blattlatch upset. He must get it from me.
“They belong to a friend,” I venture.
“Dis-GUS-ting,” Blattlatch cries. Frog marches the thong to the trash, dumps it with a clatter of tongs and whirls to face me. “Where did you get that? Ordering off the internet? Eh?”
“I wasn’t always in a wheelchair Blattlatch. I used to be a man.”