Dear Doctor, by the time you read this letter I'll already be dead—history really does love to repeat itself.
Listening to the beautiful music his neck bones were playing, Fatty thought of that unfinished will again.
He was plotting out the drama of his will to the soundtrack of his own vertebrae when he suddenly felt two icy hands press down on his head.
The hands came from the back of his head, so Fatty couldn't see who they belonged to.
But out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the left hand's index fingernail, where a little abstract red flower was painted.
It was Xiao Hong; Fatty recognized her at once from that.
The origin of this flower was rather convoluted.
It started one day when Xiao Hong saw a nail art ad in a beauty magazine.
She was instantly captivated by the colorful, gorgeous nails in the magazine, and threw a full tantrum in the apartment, rolling on the floor, crying and making a racket, declaring that she wanted nails that pretty too.
