Chapter 2:
He didn't know whether to feel bad that the fantasy could not be realized, or to feel bad about having the fantasy at all. He was leaning heavily towards the former.
He admired and set aside the mannequin he had modified with illustrations between its legs (and even colored-it-in, and the more dense and compacted stitching, where it was needed.
He was quite multitalented, and it was often useful.
On that day, his preferred instrument of desecration had been a sharp, pointed pair of scissors that he always kept inside the top drawer of his desk.
The stitchingand seams, which he had created himself, was now delightfully but inconveniently shredded and torn, reddish-pink colored stuffing oozing out (attention to detail and all that). He continued to stare at it, briefly, admiring his handiwork. He unfortunately supposed that he would need to make another one, now that Joanne had outlasted her usefulness.