I Nodded With Genuine Synthetic Sympathy.

I'm A Very Neat Monster.

Of Course It Was A Terrible Thing, And The World Would Be A Much Better Place Without Someone In It Who Could Do That, But Did That Mean We Had To Miss Lunch?

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.

This Was Just No Fun. I Wanted My Brain Back.

I Was Never More Alive Than When The Dark Passenger Was Driving.