How do we know Moonboy isn’t full of shit? I don’t get it! I tell you, I’m really trying to understand, but there’s something quite not right about him. Maybe it’s the way he peels himself off of the couch when he smells my mothers cooking. I’ve been watching him for years nows. Eras have gone by. All he does is melt and peel. Like banana ice cream left in the sun. I guess that’s what it’s like where banana’s come from. Where’s that agin? Africa. That’s right. I’ve never been. An old friend’s talking of going. I don’t trust it, though. I don’t trust her. Hell! I don’t trust Moonboy and hems the only person I’ve ever really seen with my eye. I’ll have to break it down for you. I’m kind of like a fly. I’m the thing that watches moon man when he’s home. I’m his eye and ears when he’s melted. That’s my job. I do it for free. It’s a passion. While he’s out at work I think about things for him. When he sleeps I whisper them into his ear, so he can think about them too. He doesn’t do much for me, but he’s all I’ve got. He hurts me in fact. This melting of his, it’s disturbing. A goopy gooey mess. Let me know what you think. Out.