In a room filled with monstrous shadows, my bulbous glowing coconut dome seemed to have become, as it were, central. I thought, "when oblivion calls, it will be my artistically-inclined finger pushing the green button."
Further: "I've tattooed all of the oxygen molecules in this room."
There was to recap: Me. Monstrous shadows. My locust army. Sean's hairpiece.
And I said, "is there any truth besides?" But that too was cause for a chapping of the sensitive sphincter, a sort of cause for the primacy of self, when really, its like.
There are other people.
I look over my shoulder and this: