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A word to you, my thief; my enslaver from the shadows; the woman who intends to tear me from my home and my family so she might dash me to pieces against the crumbling walls of a Stepfordian nightmare that drives its inhabitants to unending despair:
I only hope Wednesday will one day aspire to such high ambitions as yours. Your husband is a lucky, lucky man.
...well, what are you waiting for? You told me stories of the rising dead, a carnival of terror and an insane, paranoid man orchestrating everything from where he's hidden himself in a child's body. I'd like to meet the fellow. Is he a golfer, by chance?
I only hope Wednesday will one day aspire to such high ambitions as yours. Your husband is a lucky, lucky man.
...well, what are you waiting for? You told me stories of the rising dead, a carnival of terror and an insane, paranoid man orchestrating everything from where he's hidden himself in a child's body. I'd like to meet the fellow. Is he a golfer, by chance?
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Oh, yes, even randomly sharing body parts or memories with another citizen, too. Apparently, people advise others to not go to the post office because you need to give up something to get something back.