The man, Carl, was tired of being a victim, he just wasn't going to take it anymore! "How could I have been such a fool?" he muttered. "Another sir?" the bartender asked; he got a "yes" for his answer.

The man slept in his car for 3 nights before he found a place, a rundown old apartment on the west side of town. "What am I doing?" the man asked the cracked wall for the thousandth time. Greta, on the other hand, wasn't pining away. On the contrary, she was plotting and scheming. Again. But this time she wasn't after money. Only revenge. "How could he! He's dead!" She knew where he had been, what he had done, where he was living. Easy stuff for her Private Investigator boyfriend. Nothing escapes him! He knew Carl's daily routine down to the minute.

"You know, you shouldn't do this." Greta's boyfriend, Bill, said. "Do what?" "Kill him." "Why not?" "It's illegal." "So?" "You'll go to jail if you're caught." "I won't be caught." "How do you know that?" "Because I'm not going to do it- you are!" "Oh no. I followed him and spied on him but I'm not a killer!" "Neither am I! I'll lie, cheat and steal from anyone but kill? No way!" Well this was a dilemma for Greta and Bill. Neither of them were killers and yet she wanted him dead, and he wasn't too fond of Carl either. Hmm...What to do?

Carl knew what to do. He sat in the corner bar (again) and drank. Drank obsessively. He put all the fish to shame! "Poor guy. Good thing the bar's in walking distance of his house." the bartender thought. And it was a good thing indeed- usually. But tonight Carl's luck ran out. He got hit by a passing car and promptly died. The driver of the car felt horrible. But it was Carl's fault. The autopsy clearly showed that Carl's blood alcohol level was .17 so the driver was off the hook.

Greta, now a widow, was sad. She thought she wanted Carl dead but really she didn't. "How stupid I was!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Carl was better than all those other guys, except Murphy, but that's beside the point." "How can I go on?" Fortunately, she didn't have to- the floor of the old building she lived in suddenly crumbled, plunging her to her death, her neck snapping as she hit a folding chair in just the wrong way. Well that left Bill alone. At last. Bill went on with his life, he didn't really like Greta anyway. Nothing bad happened to him, no grisly death, no gory details, he went on with his life and died of old age at the age of 86.

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