Beaten. Disheveled. Morose. Failure.
Lyle's original plan for the evening was to snort two lines of cocaine, get three more lap dances from Kitty Kum, Polly Puss, and Clara Clitz. After this Lyle wanted to stop at The El Torte Taco Shop for a chicken burrito, go home and watch a VHS copy of Jade obfuscated by his tears, and contemplate suicide for eight minutes.
"To hell with it." Lyle growled, shaking his fist like a principal in the 1980s who just found out he was out of the running for the superintendent job. "I'm not going to keep on living like a punk. i'm going to go out with some style."
Lyle looked in the mirror. "Candyman," he said. "Candyman, candyman, candyman... CANDYMAN!"
Smoke and flashes of light briefly filled the restroom. When it cleared a three inch tall Candyman stood by the tiny mirror.
"Why do you want to live?," Tiny Candyman asked. "If you would learn just a little form me, you would not beg to live. I am rumor, It is a blessed condition, believe me. To be whispered about at street corners. To live in other people's dreams, but not to have to be. Do you understand?"
Lyle scrunched his eyebrows, "Uh.... yeah. I'm not begging to live. I knew what I was getting into when I said your name five times. I wanted you to kill me... but I don't know if you're physically able to."
"Physicality is a manifestation of the imagination," Tiny Candyman replied. "Everything you believe is real and creates the essence of 'being'."
"What the hell is this, Way of the Peaceful Warrior? Can you just sting me with a bunch of bees or something?"
'Unfortunately not, I only bring suffering on terms that are not acceptable to my prey. For what you desire you will need to summon Wishmaster."
Lyle squashed Tiny Candyman like a bug. His hand was cut in the process.
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