There he was at last, the Triangle Man come to take from me what was mine. He was a child's sketch of a child's sketch, a thinly-veiled attempt at striking the world a new angle, conceived in rage and confusion. I laughed at my defeated defences, a set of traps I'd dreamt up while high (or was that low? or sideways?) on stilnox. All that was between us now was silence, a silence thick with almost sexual anticipation of the battle to come. I thought of an axe, an energy drink, and a pink door closing, and how darn-right good it would feel to rid the Triangle Man of that slack smile he wore across his all-two dimensional, all-too isoceles existence. How right Einstein was when he said emc2, what delicious sense it all made to me now.

I decided it was high time I showed the cut of my jib. I gave the Triangle Man enough of a clop on the head to wobble his id, just to let him know I wasn't messing around. I think it was then that he faltered, all too early. Still grinning, he felt his reality bend within him: you could see it in his face. I took ahold of the strands that made up his hypoteneuse and tugged. The air around him tasted like battery acid all of a sudden, a sure sign of victory. I tugged harder and he screamed in my brain and bled dark matter from his cookie eyes. He wasn't a triangle anymore, more of a rhombus made of space and matted animal fur. One last attack, directed at my throat. I'd gotten overconfident as soon as he'd started to sweat, and he knew it. A fearsome thought raced across my mind like a news highlight: what if none of it - my payments on my car, Pythagoras, spell-checks, my neighbour's noisy dog, Tiscali broadband for fourteen ninety-nine a month - what if none of it mattered?

Jolity, pure hilarious nonsense. A tutted at my foolishness as I took the fight to the alley and ended it there. His equilibrium was shot, I didn't even have to prise his electric talons from my neck. They just fell off like so much razor dust. How now, brown cow! I exclaimed as I walked away. I felt his scream, the refuge of the defeated, anger at my childish taunts, and I chuckled to myself, lighting a cigarette on my boot. I knew I'd have to hide the corpse later, but now was time for baloons. I reached into my mouth and cracked out one of my broken teeth, a crunching reminder that nothing is certain. Chuckling, I flicked it at him, seeing the fleck of gummy flesh all too late. Had I underestimated the Velvet Squad from the very beginning?