Chato visualised strangling her thin neck with the same underwear; tying it around her collar like a luscious red bow on a birthday present. Pesto gasped for air, her reptile-like tongue sticking out, her face turning to a beautiful shade of onion pink as she choked on Chato’s kachcha. What a lovely contrast of that delicate pink against that gaudy red and green underwear. Poetry in motion, Chato thought, smiling. What an exquisite and intense way to die.