He was a medieval slob on a skateboard. Paunchy.

He was a medieval slob on a skateboard. Paunchy. Balding. Long greasy hair at the sides. Sweatshirt. Cargo shorts. Hunchbacked. Smoking. Wide leather bracelet like

the good old times. And yet you would have no idea that he was a man on a mission. The Hunchback, the sweatshirt, even the skateboard - all decoys. The smoking was real. But

the whoring was a front as well. He hadn't walked the streets since his auntie died while trying to replace the busted sewage main. Not that he minded -- ya gotta do what ya gotta

do and though he said it himself he looked quite fine in fishnets. The only problem with street-walking was when he walked over a drain cover, thoughts of his drowned aunt flooded

the basement of his mind, ruining the spines on all his favorite classics. It was in such a stupor that Martin found himself in front of Chery's house at 3:30 in the morning. He ha

d a bone to pick with her.Chery'd borrowed some of his favorite books last summer & never returned them. So what if it was 3:30 a.m.? No time like the present to kick down her door

. But he'd forgotten all about Cheryl's watch dog. No sooner had he kicked down her door to retrieve his precious books, when her giant Mastiff chomped into his buttocks with glee.

The dog bit as though to say, "Mah stiff teeth cause tremendous pain." Pain. He needed to check the P section of her shelves and get his precious books back. His books with the

from the raw gash on his ankle. The wound was too deep to venture far today, but he would be back with a posse of bandits and Fang, his one-eyed attack budgie.