For The First Time I Could Remember,

Dying Makes Everyone Weaker, Subject To Painful Insight, And Not Always Insight Into Any Kind Of Special Truth - It's Just The Approaching End That Makes People Want To Believe They Are Seeing Something In The Line Of A Great Revelation.

I'm A Very Neat Monster.

I Rose To My Knees, Mouth Dry And Heart Pounding, And Paused To Finger A Rip In My Beautiful Dacron Bowling Shirt. I Pushed My Fingertip Through The Hole And Wiggled It At Myself. Hello, Dexter, Where Are You Going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I Don't Know, But I'm Almost There. I Hear My Friends Calling.

The Students We Saw Were All Bright, Attractive, And Polite, And The Teachers All Seemed To Be Smart And Dedicated, And I Began To Appreciate The Benefits Of A Private School Education. If Only I'd Had The Opportunity To Attend A Place Like This, Who Knows What I Might Have Become? Perhaps Instead Of A Mere Blood-spatter Analyst Who Slunk Away At Night To Kill Without Conscience, I Could Have Become A Doctor, Or A Physicist, Or Even A Senator Who Slunk Away At Night To Kill Without Conscience. It Was Terribly Sad To Think Of All My Wasted Potential.

It's Always Me, Isn't It? I'm Not Really A Very Nice Person, But For Some Reason It's Always Me That They Come To With Their Problems.