Pavla Nimkova Finds Many Things Have Changed In Her Absence

So. Tonight I called the School of Gypsy Dance, expecting to speak to that traitor, that sad little Former Miss Romania, that pathetic excuse for a Gypsy Queen-to-be, Ana-Elena Devescu, when the phone is answered by Miss Albania. She informed me in that fake sweet way of hers that Ana-Elena had returned from Cluj-Napoca but was not available. "Would you like her voice mail?", she asked.

Her voice mail?! Her voice mail?!

Oh, I would like her voice mail, her throat, and her head in a jar at the MetroArea Science Museum!

Wait. I must take a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out! Breathe in, breathe out!

I am calm now. I learned to control my anger in the MetroArea Correctional Facility. I learned to be at peace with the world. I learned how to overpower a prison guard with a bucket of warm, soapy water.

There is much I would like to do. But I cannot leave my apartment at 1515 W. Liberty. I have a special ankle bracelet. Well, I can go as far as the lobby. Much beyond that there is only a brief sprint, an alarm, some police, and a taser. The same for the laundry room door. And the fire escape. And the large cardboard box picked up by UPS in my apartment last Thursday.

As I have often said, all of this has made me stronger. So I have devised a new plan. If I cannot go to them they will come to me.

Yes, they will come to me.