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This is an archived blog for the Chicago Mammals. For the latest please visit www.chicagomammals.com
From within the cigar smoke, STITCH begins to manifest. First we see one of his crutches within the light. It appears to be homemade, a concoction of pieces from a cane, a broom handle, and the butt of a rifle. The other crutch enters, it is similarly constructed. Finally STITCH drags himself into the light were we can see him. He is the ghost of an old cut man with a cheap stogie stabbed into his maw. His face and every part of his body is seriously scarred. As he drags himself around on crutches, it sounds like someone scrapping a shovel across the ground, as if his feet have been replaced with something metal, that can’t be seen under the cuff of his pant legs
She is in her autumn years, but she still has enough of a figure to let you know she use to be the kind of gal a flyboy would paint on a fuselage. Since she doesn’t have any grandkids to blow her dough on, she’s invested in a smart wardrobe. Dressed to impress, but still adhering to a classy, conservative taste. She can be a chameleon, talking out of the side of her mouth to a cabbie, rolling her r’s with the bullfighter, or crossing her t’s with the jetset.