The girls had all stepped into the flashy interior of a common or garden video rental and Stig was about to do likewise when he suddenly remembered his ride. The 353 was nearly imminent so, after perusing a large advert for some seedy horror flick called The Geek which happened to form the bulk of this particular establishment's frontage, Stig decided to head back. In order to snatch some extra minutes however, he opted to take a short cut down a maze of back alleys, a circuit he was recently familiar with after hot footing it from a gang of half mad dwarf traffickers.
    Crashing into dustbins and stumbling over black bags, he duly became aware of an undesirable urge to piss: faint and insignificant at present, although certainly apt to worsen - the midget being well acquainted with his little bladder's temperamental workings. Stig figured however that he could always use the Pampers. He had donned the nappy minutes before leaving his bedsit's dimly lit confines, stripping naked in front of his mother's full-length mirror, anxiously taping it on.
    His mother, Veronica, had been dead for several years, having finally succumbed to liver failure or something like that, and Stig had secured the mirror from her house. He didn't really care about her death, for the woman's existence had been characterized in the main by hatred: a tireless loathing of all humankind sufficiently rejuvenated through the birth of her midget son. Tolerably attractive, in the 'hips and tits' manner, the woman had been the toast of her far-flung clime for many years, in spite of the fact that her uneven features were always lavished in cosmetics and her body constantly reeked of cheap cologne. Being an incorrigible drunk as well, her end had come as no surprise to anyone, least of all Stig. The midget couldn't say how old his mother was at her death because he had never been able to ascertain the woman's exact age, as she seldom celebrated birthdays or anything like that, hell, he wasn't even sure of his own age, yet he suspected Veronica had been very young when she'd had him, possibly not even a teenager... Her final days had been tiresome in the extreme, the midget being forced to move back in with the coarse and spiteful cow at her dreary little terraced house in Cockermouth Road, solely so she could nag him from her death bed.
    Previously the two of them had resided on a remote small holding belonging to Stig's brutal and irascible stepfather Jake McCray, deep in the Scottish wilds. The midget had no idea who his real father was and on the times he had enquired he had invariably received a beating. His mother didn't have much in the way of possessions and hadn't bothered to make out a will of any sort, yet even if she had Stig doubted much of her belongings would have gone to him. He would probably have been bequeathed the frilly pink dress, the one with the puff sleeves, bows and ruffles. Stig had never found out who originally owned that dress, and how his mother had come by it, yet in her more deranged episodes the woman was often in the habit of making him wear it, calling him Evelyn and sending him out into the village on meaningless errands whilst clad in it, much to the amusement of the local farmhands. When she didn't have her midget in it, Veronica hung the wretched thing on a hook in the scullery of Jake's farmhouse, and as Stig neared the bus stop, praying the 353 hadn't already been, he could still vividly recall staring up at that dress, dreading when he would next be forced into it – God he hated it, and if he ever saw it again, he'd mostly likely kill someone.