On My Back
“Where did you get your thing?”
I gesture toward my back. “Oh, this?” I pat the hideous creature on the head. “The usual. I guess it represents some emotion or abstract concept or character flaw. Could be greed, or envy, or existential angst; it’s almost always something like that. Of course, there are guys like Oscar down the street; the poor bastard has one what represents his unusual fondness for almonds.”
“How you gettin’ rid of it, if you don’t know which it is?”
“Get rid of this little guy? He’s automatic street cred, and besides, look at those eyes.”
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