Damn, the bastard is back and he’s smiling and gliding and extending his hand. I don’t want to shake it but people are looking, expecting—because they’ve all been had. The black oil is dripping from his palm and I can see the worms between his rotting teeth. Am I the only one that can really see who he is? Fuck. I take his hand and squeeze until I feel it cracking. He tries to smile through the pain and its good enough to fool those around us but he knows now that I’m onto him. It will be a battle to the end and the fuck if I’m going to lose to him.