"I've seen things you white males wouldn't believe," Sonia muttered as she slid the enormous strap-on from beneath the judicial robes.
She ran after Souter, gibbering and hooting in Bronxian Spaglish. She could hear him breathing, hiding behind a rotted wall. She could even hear the skin of his withered testicles as they drew up in fear. She rammed her head through the wall and caught David's hand, stripping the gavel from it easily. "Empathy is for turtles," she said as she gnawed his hand open. "This is for Ruth!" she growled, his pinky bone snapping like a whip. David cried out. "And this is for Sandra!" as she broke his ringfinger while he moaned. Sonia placed the gavel back into his hand. David tried to adjourn, but she was too fast.
David ran from her through the crumbling hotel. He couldn't help but look back at her strap-on as it flailed in time with her inexorable stride. The roof, he thought. The roof.
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