There are trace amounts of static cling in my skull that keep me alive. Just as puppy dogs have wiggly tails, I am afraid of people. You scare me.

      We know why puppy dogs have tails but not why I malfunction. I am the failure of American culture. It's OK. It's as natural and fine as if I were an incumbent politician, orthodontist, or businessman.

      Our hearts squeeze like clinched fists. That's one reason we're equal. Another is that we were sucked into the humid air of this planet just like every other baby boy or girl or hermaphrodite, not asking to be here nor knowing what to do. But I'm not afraid of babies, only adult humans.

      My appendix is as worthless as yours. Incidentally, I have white skin to protect my muscles and keep out germs. So, hopefully it can just go right on being worthless. Did you know that in the past people actually hated other people because certain birthday suits weren't in fashion? It's true.

      I'm so afraid of people that I had to buy a friend to help eliminate my phobia. It hasn't worked yet. I went into the market for a friend because when you buy one, he or she must be kind and accepting of you. I tried for years to find a free friend but most of the people I met were too interested in other things, or weren't very friendly. My new buddy is twenty dollars per week.

      So this prostitute and I talk back and forth about anxiety and decay and reasons to fear civilized portions of Earth's skin. Pills and cake and wine and sea. Did you know that once, a long time ago, there was a group of people that made a war to kill other people because they worshiped a different god? Again, it's true, believe it or not.

      When a person wants to be mean to another, he might say, "The lights are on, but no one's home." One day, when my electricity goes out, I hope someone stands over my body, all dolled up in the casket, and says, "The lights are on, but no one's home."