There is an unexpected knock on the front door.
It comes just in time.
Catherine is this close to breaking the mashed potato bowl in her husband’s face. She cannot take another fucking second of his story that somehow ties together Joe Rogan, crypto-currencies and how Covid was a hox. It could be Mormons at the door; Any excuse will do. Please, tell me about my lord and savior, I wanna hear, I need that sweet sweet salvation.
When she opens the door, she does not find Mormons.
She finds a man who has decided it is ok to wear a yellow tuxedo in the middle of winter. It is snowing, and he has no coat on. Just the Tuxedo. He wears perfectly polished leather shoes — yellow, too — and has a black cane to complete the look. He is not a handsome man, but calling him ugly would be a stretch. He just… looks like failure. That could be the yellow, though. Whoever he is, he is a distraction, so tonight he gets a minute.
Catherine smiles politely. It is a smile that says, in the clearest of terms, “Yes?” so the man returns her smile and fishes a card out of his breast pocket, which he hands to her without a word.
The card simply says Dick Thick, Pleasurer.
Catherine reads it twice. She flips it, hoping there will be something on the back of the card that might…
