The Biped has returned. At least, someone who looks an awful lot like him has entered the house and helped himself to his liquor.
Honestly, I can’t tell who’s who anymore. This morning, three separate newspapers each delivered to this address contained a story linking my Biped to some sort of bank heist.
Or somebody who looks like The Biped.
Or somebody with the same name as The Biped.
It’s all very confusing. All I know is, if the guy sitting next to me is not my Biped, he sure smells a lot like whoever has been picking up my poop for the last two years.
Then again, what do I know? A couple shots of Whistle Pig and everything smells like the cat downstairs.