I Mean, Really: What Kind Of Person

But As I Have Noticed On More Than One Occaision, Life Itself Is Unfair, And There Is No Complaint Department, So We Might As Well Accept Things The Way They Happen, Clean Up The Mess, And Move On.

Detective, I Don't Know Where The Boyfriend Is, Really," I Said. And It Was True, Considering Tide, Current, And The Habits Of Marine Scavengers. -dexter

Since I Am Not Actually A Real Human Being, My Emotional Responses Are Generally Limited To What I Have Learned To Fake.

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.

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.