"...Same to you, buddy!!"

Anadotti Squiggs was not having the best of luck recently. Some crone turned her stomach into gelatin and Dietrich was on her about getting some other jobs done that didn't end in back alley confrontations, hospitalizations, and loss of the goods.

Plus, Blue Toad was unholily expensive over here because it had to be imported. What got her a six-pack in the states was lucky enough to buy two bottles here.

That man walking away turned around to give her a rude gesture.

"Hey! No one said you owned the whole sidewalk! Leave space for those walking about in heels. There's lower traction or something." Heels, in Dotty's preference, were crazy clodhoppers with thick soles that gave her an extra six inches of height. You could almost call them stilts. But in actuality, Dotty's "falling into another guy" was not because of her footwear. She had tried the ol' "bump and snitch" to pilfer his wallet. All she got was pocket lint and scraped knees.

Well, the morning hadn't been a total waste. A pumpkin juice, several packets low grade dragon meat jerky ("Guaranteed From Heartstring Harvested Dragons" or some bullarky Dotty wasn't paying attention too) and a newspaper. She tore open one packet of jerky and chewed on a leathery, burnt green stick of shriveled meat. Then she tore into the Daily Prophet with identical motions. The page for Quidditch scores was ripped to pieces, straight down the middle of an article about the Tutshills beating the Wigtown Wanderers in a twister. Dotty was interested in none of this. In all of her life experiences, newspapers were supposed to have a section of ads and neat bundles of coupons that were as good as free money.

Just where was it? The newspaper was starting to look like an origami attempt that exploded on itself.