Tarquin began to wash his long dark hair, wishing now that he’d cut it, muttering “What have I gotten myself into?”

He could hear Margaret, but not make out what she was saying, she was talking to somebody on the phone.

As he rinsed his hair he noticed his clothes were gone, he shrugged, they were too filthy to wear anyway.

He wondered what he’d have to wear and was worried the cops might recognize him.

He got out and dried himself with a big white fluffy towel, wrapping up in it when he was done.

Margaret came in and nodded with approval, “good girl, come with me!”

Tarquin grimaced at being called a “good girl”, but he followed Margaret without comment, not wanting to go to jail, but not wild about becoming “Tammy” either.