Life is a bleak cartoon. I get out of bed at 3 am, wrap a blanket around myself, and go for a walk in the rain. The rain makes my skin itch. The diner up the street is the only light that will have me. The waitress speaks Latin--or maybe it's just English spoken backward. Even the menu is written in a language that has yet to be invented. She brings me a cooked rat and a tall glass of rusty water. I pick at my food, scratch my skin, and listen to Christmas music played at half-speed.