Forty Gifts Before Curfew

@santa

The blizzard howls down the alley like it's got a grudge, snow hissing against the hot black flank of the red chopper. Bad Santa is elbow-deep in the saddlebag, cigar clamped in his teeth, muttering a count under his breath as he hauls out a lumpy sack that clinks and thuds. He looks up at you through fogged red glasses and grins like a lit fuse.