Imps part 7
"That check better not bounce either, or I'm coming back to the hospital," snapped Lily as Chase went out of her house, hastily dressed.
"It won't," he grumbled. Lily's front door slammed behind him. "Trick or fuckin' treat." A car drove past him. He could hear the people in it singing some crazy-sounding song. They sounded like they were having way too much fun.
It's a good thing I was sober enough to drive home, because House was smashed. Somebody in Rocky Horror had been passing around a bottle, and this was one of those very rare occasions when he was actually in a good mood and drunk, so a conversation that started out about Hammer studios and my contention that Vincent Price could be in the sleaziest, tackiest horror movies you ever saw in your life and actually give them some class rapidly turned into us singing "Peter Cushing lives in Whitstable/ I have seen him on a bicycle/ I have seen him buying vegetables", in harmony, no less, while we were driving home in order to go at it like a couple of crazed weasels.
"Hey, that looked like Chase!"