It was around that time that the owner of

It was around that time that the owner of the establishment came flying out of the bathroom door at the side of the station. His pants were unbuckled and he looked as if he were

escaping.The fear in his eyes brought petty to my heart and I asked if there was something I could do,but he didn't even see me so I entered the bathroom

facing backwards to make sure no one followed me into the bathroom. I didn't see but I backed into my mother-in-law who was taking a shit and

eating a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats at the same time. My mother-in-law screamed at me to get out of the bathroom and I didn't know whether to laugh or throw up. I threw

a rubber duckie at the door and told her to shut up and then resumed reading the newspaper and slurping on the limp mini wheats. It had taken a lot of milk but bathing in cereal

but eventually rice crispies got soggy, milk went sour, and desire turned to regret. What if the killer was not driven by a sense of desperate urgency? What if the killer

was just doing it for kicks, running around killing for giggles. The prospect horrified the public when rampant speculation on his motives and abilities was on the evening news.

Compelling rationales for homicide were so twentieth century! He wouldn't even bother re-reading Roughead's chronicle of Edinburgh crime without four unsightly grimaces per page.

Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.