I Was Good At Being Charming, One

...being Torn Apart By Far Too Many Loyalties That Could Not Possibly Live Together In The Same Brain.

Anybody Can Be Charming If They Don't Mind Faking It, Saying All The Stupid, Obvious, Nauseating Things That A Conscience Keeps Most People From Saying. Happily, I Don't Have A Conscience. I Say Them.

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.

What A Terrible Thing Life Can Be.

A Reasonable Being Might Think That He And I Could Find Some Common Ground; Have A Cup Of Coffee And Compare Our Passengers, Exchange Trade Talk And Chitchat About Dismemberment Techniques. But No: Doakes Wanted Me Dead. And I Found It Difficult To Share His Point Of View.