Where are the black stockings?

They didn't have black.

Stop someplace else.

Where?

A Catholic hospital.

Sure. We'll just barge in like it was a goddamn five-and-dime.

Sister, sweetie, we gotta have some black stockings to hide our face.

Okay, forget it. Anyway, nuns are bad luck.

Kind of sexy, though.

You wouldn't think so if you'd lived in one of those orphan homes... with those black widows always at you. Always sneaking up in the dark, spying while you sleep. Hitting you with a flashlight for wetting the bed. That's the first time I was saved by the yellow bird.

The what?

Sort of a parrot. Taller than Jesus. Brilliant yellow, like a sunflower. It attacked those nuns like an avenging angel. The nuns begged for mercy. But the yellow bird slaughtered them anyway. Then the bird folded me in its wings...and lifted me up to paradise.

That's one hell of a bird to have on your side.

Anyway, that's why I have an aversion to nuns...and God and religion.

Forget it. Black stockings are a waste of time. No one's gonna remember us because we're leaving no witnesses.