She’d found the mannequins in the basement.
She enjoyed watching the lights of the city turn on, from the spot that she liked to call “THE INTERSECTION OF REAL ESTATE, RETAIL, & REALITY”. (With caps and air quotes.) She was the one per cent. Her mannequins were the 99. Or maybe she was the 99 and her mannequins were the one per cent. “Whatever,” she thought. She was creating “CULTURE”. (With caps and air quotes.)
Each day, another limb. Each day, another doorstep. Each day, another limb tied to another doorstep. (Relax, they weren’t real limbs. She wasn’t crazy. She was just a little, well, off.)
The building where she’d found them was scheduled to be demolished. Its towering gray concrete had been crumbling for decades. Steel girders had supported the northeast corner for a few less decades. The windows were mostly gone. She liked it that way. It made her think of a skeleton’s skull, ghostly gray, fleshless, black sockets where eyes should be. She …