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August 16, 2007

Jim: A Sharp-Dressed Man

Mad Dog McGrew carefully tightened the stiletto sheaths atop his sinuous forearms, taking care that the lashings didn’t interfere with the dagger hilts on the undersides. A solid stomp bared the knife in the toe of his right boot. He pushed it back into concealment.

Mad Dog patted himself thoroughly. Belt knives, buckle knife, chest knives; they were all in place.

He pulled on his leather jacket with its rows of sharpened spikes and put on his Prussian spiked helmet.

One quick grin in the mirror to check his teeth and he sauntered out to go pick up his date.

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