Bob Jones looked at the spotty knife in his hands and felt delighted. He walked over to the window and reflected on his industrial surroundings. He had always loved dull Upper Boggington with its pong, petite parks. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel delighted. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Maureen Cockle. Maureen was a hilarious banker with skinny thighs and moist legs. Bob gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a graci
