The Sordid Roadsign

It was remiss of me never to follow up the doings of Splotchy Astrid, the reproachful spinster. Many letters have thumped on to the doormat at Haemoglobin Towers from readers eager to know what happened next, and I have ignored them, disgracefully. However, thanks to No. 25,088 set by Crucible, I can bring you up to speed.

It seems Splotchy Astrid was tucking in to some tiramisu in a worldly teashop, when a lethargic menial began playing an anthem of the Resistance on a viola. A chill came over the room, and a sagacious adult customer challenged the menial to a bout of fisticuffs. The reproachful spinster was well aware that this was a lethal locality, for her itinerary had taken her past the sordid roadsign, daubed with four letter words, which led her here in the first place. She was the only eyewitness to the altercation, apart from an arty gentleman suffering from amnesia.

To be continued, one of these days.

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