Bigmost the Suicide Dragon sneezed earnestly at passers by. They didn't even notice his polished marble bedcase or his sweet perfumed cave. The didn't acknowledge the sheen on his hat or the ankle clasp he wore in memory of the nine hundred doomsday servants who perished in December holding their mouths open on the long trip to Denmark. Mousy brown and turnward, a ball of twine lay at his feet and they didn't notice that either. The Suicide Dragon produced a banjo and picked out a faraway melody, tapping his foot on the splintered skull of a government representative. People's ears resonated as they passed, and now and then a man would reach