A million ants tap-danced on the tin roof with steel shoes. Brown streaks slid down the dirty window, making beautiful landscapes just outside the bars. A pile of musty clothes rustled in the corner as the bolt on the door slid back with a squeal of delight.
“Either you’re early or I’m losing my mind,” said the pile.
“Quite so, Mr. Quid,” replied a pleasent voice. “I’ve brought you something today.”
“The weatherman is a liar,” the clothes murmered. “He said it wouldn’t rain. He also said my rat was eyeing my fortune, but my poor rat has been blind for a year.”
“Now, now, none of that today. You haven’t been allowed to watch televesion for three months. We know what happened last time.”
The clothes muttured something incoherent. The ants continued their mad dance as the pleasent voice drifted across the room. The owner of the voice resolved itself into a large man with no face.
“Would you like your gift Mr. Quid?”
“No, not really. I’m wallowing in misery today, and a gift would just ruin that.”