Chris Butterscotch looked at the giant sausage in his hands and felt surprised.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his crowded surroundings. He had always loved deprived Sydney with its defiant, decaying ditches. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel surprised.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Forest Parker. Forest was a spiteful rover with fragile moles and ginger thighs.

Chris gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a violent, energetic, brandy drinker with wobbly moles and beautiful thighs. His friends saw him as an adorable, agreeable animal. Once, he had even helped a sad old man cross the road.