“Dill?” Harold tried unsuccessfully to gain the golem's attention, so entranced was it – he – in the processes of the computer. He settled for nudging Dill's shoulders.
“One-three-four by two-oh-eight-one. What?”
“Clothing, old chap.” Harold put on his disarming smile. He used to practice different smiles in the mirror but had no idea if they actually worked. Whenever he tried to use one on Gillian she always told him to 'wipe that smug look off your face'. “Manners maketh man, and all that, and what better manners than to cover your nakedness with clothes?” He held out a jacket and frowned. “I say! This is my best Harvey Spectre Jacket.”
“But it's so last year, Master.” Devious gave him a comforting pat on the leg. “You have to keep up with the times.”
“But it's all right for the golem, eh?”
Devious furrowed his eye ridge. “Last week you were wearing a tee-shirt with three week old pizza stains and jeans with the knees worn through. Let's not talk about the state of your underwear. All that was before you became a zombie. Now you're being offered a twelve-hundred pound jacket and you're turning your nose up? I think not.”
“Twelve hundred?” Harold's voice went up an octave. “I gave you three grand for that.”
“That was last year, sir.”