Steven Corn Furs. Doesn't that name strike fear into your heart? I mean, what monstrosity could be within those walls? I call this place, The Morgue on 17. With racks of skin and fur, their real owners no more, the name is well-earned.
On this day, the store was having its Columbus Day Sale. Yes, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to save on the finest furs. If you didn't go, you lost out on 10% savings on 100% suffering. But, we went. And the supportive honking from passersby meant that we were welcome. And thank you, Mr. Corn, for turning on the sprinklers. We stayed, and we will be back.
Would you recognize this fella? His hind legs bound, his forelegs chopped off, his fur ripped off, still alive, hours from death. His coat could very well be hanging on one of your racks, Mr. Corn.