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The Devil has a bad day.

My Dear Mr Don,

I very much regret to tell you that I have had a less than successful trip to the city.

All was going well until I arrived at the train station (underground, of course) near the Western Union office. A whole bevy of little sticky-fingered brats, presumably out on a school excursion, fairly bowled me over as I stepped from the train. My natural inclination was to dispatch a fireball in their general direction but I have been a little loathe to do that after the EPA put a restraining order on me last time. The parents get upset too, being quite irrationally attached to the little hoof-biters.

I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and considerably bruised started off on my way to the WU office again. I had not gone more than ten paces when group, this time a grill of bratwursts came galloping down the escalators, presumably hoping to catch the train that I had just alighted from. I was knocked hoof over horn and I fear I must have blacked out. The next thing I knew was an overpowering smell of lavender. I opened my eyes and a very earnest old lady, her hair in a bun, was slapping my cheeks and enquiring as to my state of health. I do not know what came over me but I put my hand up her dress and squeezed her bum. Just the devil in me, I guess.

This was a mistake. It wasn't the scream that upset me but there was the small issue that she had been supporting my head with her other hand. When she jumped up she let my head go, dropping it to the concrete, and then she fell on top of me. I must have blacked out again.

I awoke considerably wet, apparently some do-gooder had thrown a bucket of water over me. It was too much for me; I let loose with a burst of automatic fireballs, broiling six pigeons, melting the old ladies frock, removing all eyebrows on the front row of spectators and drawing the rather unwanted attention of the fire brigade.

I have returned home, and plan a further attempt tomorrow afternoon.

I trust you will be patient with me as I am determined to carry through with this transaction but circumstances beyond my control took over today.

Yours a little hot under the collar.

Nick Lucifer.

PS: It appears that the little lady has followed me home and is sitting all doe-eyed out the front of the chapel. I believe that there is a deputation from the EPA there too. What do you think I should do?

The Brimstone Chapel,
964/502 Victoria Street,
Victoria Australia.

Phone: (+613) 9838 4333
Fax : (+613) 9328 5338

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