...my Conscience Has The Same Hard Reality

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.

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.

It Was Always Hard Work To Push Through A Crowed Of Reporters With The Scent Of Blood In Their Nostrils. You Might Not Think So, Since On Camera They Appear To Be Brain-damaged Wimps With Severe Eating Disorders. But Put Them At A Police Barricade And A Miraculous Thing Happens...the Strength Comes From Some Mysterious Place-and Somehow, When There Is Gore On The Ground, These Anorexic Creatures Can Push Their Way Through Anything. Without Mussing Their Hair, Too.

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.

I Did Not Like This Feeling Of Having Feelings.