Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 24.

It turned out that Devina’s flight was delayed. She eventually arrived at my apartment in the late evening. I had spent most of the afternoon worrying about what I was going to tell my nemesis, such as I thought Devina to be.

I could go with the idea that Trixcie had run away, though that would reflect badly on my level of care, for which I would surely pay most dearly. With Devina’s history of blackmail, physical violence, not to mention the involuntary application of a male chastity device, I felt upsetting her may be a path best avoided. And yet, the death of her dog was sure to sting. I even felt a very small (infinitesimally small) pang of sympathy for the ridiculous creature. It was not easy to remove the image of Trixcie, looking up in confusion, the colorful ball in her mouth, as several tons of fresh concrete engulfed her amid a look of terminal surprise. Why could it not have been Devina down there? Does fate have no sense of justice?

I could go with the truth, and say that through a tragic oversight I buried the tiny chihuahua and that Trixcie was forever part of the Chicago sidewalk. To think that each time I stepped into my apartment I would be doing so over the concrete encased form of Trixcie gave me mixed feelings. On the one hand, I’d traipsed around after that ludicrous animal picking up it’s poop and searching for the key I’d been told it…