The lights are dim and the floorboards are creaky. The aisles are stocked with frilly old lace things, heavily-used suits from decades forgotten, and ...asks. You're fucked. You look around for a mask, since a petticoat-corset-tophat-monocle combo isn't gonna work with your jeans.You see the cashier eyeing you eyeing all the junk hanging up in The Closet. You see your unadorned, regular self in the dozens of tarnished old mirrors behind her. She leans over the counter hard, squinting at you.You. "Are you still hungry Michael?" she asked me as she began gathering up the tray."Ah ... no. Thank you," I replied."Are you okay?" Bea asked softly, obviously referring to what had just happened with Sydney."I'm fine," I replied again. "Uh ... how's Sydney?" She'll be okay. I sent her home," Bea told me. She paused, then slipped into her fake cornpone lilt and began to explain."That girl, she done built a big ol' wall around her heart after her husband went and got hisself killed in da war. And. More

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