Tales from the Street by Matthew Ding

He glanced to his left after closing the passenger door, saw Bert mouth the words 'I'm sorry’, and then felt the wire around his throat. Too late to get his fingers between the metal and his neck, he could already feel it biting into the fabric. He looked in the wing mirror and saw his assailant smiling as he strained and wrestled with the garrotte. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd seen Oscar happy. As the material tore at the seams and stuffing spewed out, he could hear someone laughing. He didn't need the mirror to know who that was. He'd watched that crazy, purple bastard howl with laughter as he pulled the feathers from Big. Counting them off as he did so. 

He kicked and twisted and put all his energy into breaking free, but it was no use. Once the first few loops gave way the rest unravelled easily, and soon his head was barely attached to his body. The world around him went black, and he slumped forward as Oscar released his grip. "Toss this piece of garbage," he growled. "Let everyone see what happens when you fuck with Elmo."

Bert reached over, doing his best to avoid the threads of cotton and scraps of polyester, and opened the passenger door. He placed a hand on the shoulder of his dead friend's orange corpse and pushed him out onto the sidewalk. Avoiding the gaze of those permanently staring eyes. He closed the door and turned the key in the ignition. Just another day on the Street.