Me, Feeling. What A Concept.

I Waved To Everybody. Some Of Them Even Waved Back. They Knew Me, Had Seen Me Go By Before, Always Cheerful, A Big Hello For Everybody. He Was Such A Nice Man. Very Friendly. I Can’t Believe He Did Those Horrible Things . . .

It's That Moon Again, Slung So Fat And Low In The Tropical Night, Calling Out Across A Curdled Sky And Into The Quivering Ears Of That Dear Old Voice In The Shadows, The Dark Passenger, Nestled Snug In The Backseat Of The Dodge K-car Of Dexter's Hypothetical Soul. That Rascal Moon, That Loudmouthed Leering Lucifer, Calling Down Across The Empty Sky To The Dark Hearts Of The Night Monsters Below, Calling Them Away To Their Joyful Playgrounds.

Of Course It Was A Terrible Thing, And The World Would Be A Much Better Place Without Someone In It Who Could Do That, But Did That Mean We Had To Miss Lunch?

Could This Be The Apocalypse ?

Perhaps Because I'll Never Be One, Humans Are Interesting To Me.