Orbert woke up screaming. He knew it was silly; to be araid of living things, but he just couldn’t help it. If only it didn’t crease his style of operating in the New World. There, apart from the splendor and the wonder of his hair and the fine tawny gold of his appendages, he might surely have lost his mind. He did like his competitions, though. On a weekly basis, he would pit himself against a trained security dog. He would locate a protected bottle shop or pawnbrokers’ and break recklessly in after hours. He never stole a thing; he only cared for the sudden rush of adrenaline that came when his eyes and the dog’s eyes met. He would wrestle then, in ordinary flannels and a pair of workman’s gloves. He took especial delight whenever he could twist the dog’s jaws our of their hinges. They didn’t let him reign long as champion, however. Authorities broke his glasses and stole the keys to his car. Now all Orbert can do is to wake up screaming.