Otto Fernicola. Bernarrd Hazenfust.
God I love those names. The bluntest
people in the world, these Hitlerites,
but I give them credit for something:
they know how to handle their spit.
Here on Credola Lane, both things
and people simply disappear. We've
not a mind for anything anymore.
The truck that caged the monkeys
has not returned, and the shooting
lancemen still practice marksmanship
with dummies made of glass. They
can only go by sound to tell if they've
hit their mark. Really, it's that bad.