Ironically, the only bags she had to offer Mouse for totting his newly bought red dress home were trash too. She unceremoniously dumps the purchased dress inside, draws the likewise red strings, and hands the filled black plastic container over to him from across the counter. Although he struggles with carrying both the bag and the cane at once while walking out, she doesn’t offer to help, doesn’t even hold the front door open for him.
He trudgingly makes his way toward the now vacant Rat Hole establishment from the shop, wondering if his not wife but girlfriend — maybe — will enjoy the gift. Birthday, he ponders. 666 or thereabouts. Hard to forget. Demon inside her too to help him remember. Might as well be stamped onto her forehead.
Wheeler again of course.
Where is the old fool? she thinks after glancing again at her watch still on her arm.
Must rest now, he determined, catching his breath. Hope she f-ing likes it!
Sunklands 