Don't Fear the Monkey
I fear the monkey. Every day, at least once, I see it. It follows me. It is like a flash out of the corner of my eye. In fact, I don't even see it, but I know it's there. It is like the cold feeling you get when you rake the leaves alone out on an autumn evening. It is like the sound the washing machine makes when you put micro-machines in it. The monkey is everywhere. When you can sense that someone hates you, that is the monkey, eating ice cream. When a small animal dies, that is the monkey, getting a hair cut. The monkey loves nothing, and nothing loves the monkey.
