Jane was sensible. She knew that living

Jane was sensible. She knew that living a structured life brought stability, and that comforted her. Every morning she
plucked 27 eyebrow hairs from each side of her face. Something about the symmetry made her quiver with
delight. It was almost as titillating as lining the spices up in alphabetical order in the cabinet, or matching socks in
the laundry basket fresh from the dryer. Murder was his way of organizing his thoughts, putting everything in it's order. There really was nothing else like it. So today when he
peeled the black striped stocking from the purple flossy sweater his vision clarified. Murder it would be.
I was tempted to just bludgeon him, but that's too messy. I took a couple shots of JD, and before I knew it, I forgot what was going on. Something about .... ah who cares. A few
shots and I'm as pliable as a hooker at 3 a.m. during fleet week. The look in his eyes reminded me of Rodney - the one who got away. He kept talking me up. I nodded, pretending
his fake eyelashes weren't trying to fly south for the winter. My consciousness flickered. Either he was as boring as a nodding, cracked out LiLo, or he'd slipped something into my
4th Gin & Tonic. The room began to swim violently, colours crossing my vision like the experience of riding a fast fairground ride. I barely noticed my head slumping to
the side when suddenly the entire room burst into flame and we all did a dance around the bonfire to celebrate the birth of a whole new way of life.

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