Fanatic
I hopped off the bus at Betelguese, hoping perhaps for a hot cup of coffee and some stellar company. Two dizzying years zipping around the Milky Way on the Quark Express left me with a deep-seated urge to feel the earth - any earth - under my feet and the burning desire to get the taste of space trucking meals from off of my taste buds. The man panhandling on the corner outside the busport grinned his crazy grin - the one that promises his undivided attention until you pay him to stop looking at you, stop creeping you out, stop pretending like he knows where you hid the body. You know the body that I'm talking about. The one in your closet only its a skeleton now, hidden and shameful and giving off a miasmic odour that you're scared will surround you until the day you're a skeleton in someone else's little pandora's box. The stench of doubt. You can travel the galaxy and stare stars in the face until the gamma radiation turns your pineal gland into an elastic leg g