Matt Blast had always loved industrial Amsterdam with its mushy, magnificent mountains. It was a place where he felt cross. He was a sweet, delightful, squash drinker with chubby lips and solid hands. His friends saw him as a disgusted, defiant doctor. Once, he had even rescued a snotty kitten from a burning building. That’s the sort of man he was.

Matt walked over to the window and reflected on his damp surroundings. The snow flurried like bouncing donkeys.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Gregory Platt. Gregory was a generous deity with ruddy lips and pointy hands.

Matt gulped. He was not prepared for Gregory.

As Matt stepped outside and Gregory came closer, he could see the tough glint in his eye. Gregory gazed with the affection of 1306 spiteful hungry hamsters. He said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want justice.”

Matt looked back, even more ecstatic and still fingering the giant blade. “Gregory, I admire your eyebrows,” he replied.

They looked at each other with ambivalent feelings, like two light, low lizards shouting at a very violent snow storm, which had piano music playing in the background and two rude uncles walking to the beat.

Matt regarded Gregory’s ruddy lips and pointy hands. “I feel the same way!” revealed Matt with a delighted grin.