What Do You Want A Clock For?”

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.

Whatever Made Me The Way I Am Left Me Hollow, Empty Inside, Unable To Feel. It Doesn't Seem Like A Big Deal. I'm Quite Sure Most People Fake An Awful Lot Of Everyday Human Contact. I Just Fake It All. I Fake It Very Well, And The Feelings Are Never There.

I Thought About The Nice Clothes That I Always Wore. Well Of Course I Did. I Took Pride In Being The Best Dressed Monster In Dade County.

It Took Me A Moment. I Blinked, And Suddenly It Swam Into Focus And I Had To Frown Very Hard To Keep Myself From Giggling Out Loud Like The Schoolgirl Deb Had Accused Me Of Being. Because He Had Arranged The Arms And Legs In Letters, And The Letters Spelled Out A Single Small Word: Boo. The Three Torsos Were Carefully Arranged Below The Boo In A Quarter-circle, Making A Cute Little Halloween Smile. What A Scamp.

Money To Me Had Always Been Merely Something The Sheep Used To Show Each Other How Wonderful They Were.