"Oscar", I said, "Was Greg in here this morning"?        He looked around, embarrassed.  He sorta coughed, sighed, and said, "Why, no, Billy, I haven't seen him today".      I held a necklace against the light.  Lying bastard, I thought.  Oh well, this is the best place in town.  He is bound by some sort of ethics.  Never mind I saw the familiar truck pull out of Oscar's with two people in it, I'll deal with my erstwhile friend later.  I admired the gleam of the gold and enamel against my shining red fur.  Lovely.      "Here you go,"  I said.  "I'll take it".       Bunnies love shiny things.  And the world loves a handsome Rabbit!      I can write fiction, I just don't want to.  I finished "Parson's Pleasure" by Roald Dahl this morning, and 35 years on it is still the most cold-blooded story I have ever read.  What a fucking genius he was.