To tell the truth, the devil did it; for the devil is in the details, and the details did in Don Digby.
He was a man full of joyful sorrow. A conformist of non-conformancy. He wore the normal clothes of his peer-caste inside-out, except on weekends. On weekends he unwinded in a button down suit with slippers, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of baby food in his other. He watched two movies, both muted. One was a war movie played backwards. The other was a porn movie played backwards.
When he made a mistake, he was very theatric, and often banged his head against walls and cursed the gods for causing his hand to slip or choosing the wrong lottery numbers or making the atmosphere too high in nitrogen, not giving his parents enough air while they suffocated in a bubble of air in their car they were trapped on when they drove off a bridge into the Tranquility Reservoir. They were blue when they were recovered.
Don Digby owned a fake leopard skin wallet. He was too embarrassed to