"Fear is unattractive, the man complains." Oh, my dear, I agree: Fear has bones that show, bares no warm tanned slopes of flesh for diamonds or friendly tickling fingers. Fear is a giant with serpent hair that kisses air; hunching, exhaling the rotten noiseless breath of despair, uneven mouth of frowns a grimace gnawing the flat hide of security. And Fear leers from shadows, nightly looms in glass reflections. The blurred jelly eyes can't take sun, but will fix you with paralysis like formaldehyde. Certainly an ugly beast. And the words -- the words of Fear are stale and tyrannical. Of course you wouldn't speak with Fear, since you refuse to recognize such outrageous behavior. But listen, sweetheart: Fear will stalk you all your life to seize the chance to shake your hand. Fear wants to hug you with the tight-armed tremble of emptiness. Don't look too closely in your closets, when you're feeling high and beautiful, because Fear might be there, rising with a still smile from the huddled leather shoes, dressed in your own suit or your girlfriend's raincoat. Fear might extend an eloquent claw -- and then you will understand the need for such a companion. You will feel that no one has a firmer grip. [Fade, whisper] Fear will stalk you all your life to seize the chance to shake your hand. And you will feel that no one has a firmer grip.
