Kittion Rocatovich Felinikov had murdered his landlord only hours before, and for once felt free to leave the apartment building in his finest drag. But as he was exiting, the moon disappeared behind clouds and a haunted presence overtook the foyer. A vision of his landlord appeared. Felinikov froze. He would consent to a lifetime of guilt, he thought, if he could just retain possession of his landlord’s prized fish on wheels. That, to him, was true happiness: To be able to walk about town, with his purse, pulling the fish. To hear the squeak of its wheels. To sense the envy of passersby. That justified any crime, he thought, and was worth any punishment.